Do Not Disturb

by Anna Cleary

  Somehow the more she worried, the more Joe exuded calm and composure. He tucked into his filet with enthusiasm, and finished up all her leftovers, including the truffled potatoes and the tarte de citron she’d optimistically ordered for dessert.

  At the end of the meal when the bill was paid and the coffees nearly empty, she said, ‘Shall we go back to the hotel? Have an early night?’

  ‘First I think we should try our luck at the tables.’

  Her heart plummeted, and she couldn’t restrain herself from bursting out, ‘Oh, Joe, why?’

  ‘Why not?’ He was scrutinising her, a curious light in his eyes. ‘Since we’re here, it seems silly not to taste the experience.’

  She stared at him in appeal, imploring him with everything she could bring to bear. ‘But…I can’t do that. You know I can’t.’

  ‘Why not? Live dangerously. Take a walk on the wild side. Isn’t that what you love?’

  ‘Well…’ She closed her eyes. ‘No— Look, it probably sounds uncool, but…’ The words were dredged out of her. ‘Don’t mock, but you know I once made a promise. This is the one I can’t break.’ He smiled and started to speak but she hastened on. ‘Try to understand.’ Visions assailed her of all those sad people her father had brought home in the early hours. Knocks on the door in the dead of night. Broken, desperate people with nowhere else to turn. ‘After—after all those years my father worked at the shelter… Then in Lavender Bay… All those poor people he’s helped…’

  Joe’s blue gaze held hers, then he said drily, ‘I think you’re thinking of my father.’

  She gazed wordlessly at him, then lowered her eyes. ‘Yes.’

  A silence fell between them, deeper than the deepest gully on the Mediterranean floor. Then he said in a quiet, level tone, ‘I’m not mocking. You see, this is my challenge. I don’t want you to participate if it hurts you. If you don’t want to stay I’ll take you back to the hotel.’

  Her heart thudded and she squeezed her hands together. ‘But, Joe, I… Must you? Do you really have to do it?’

  ‘Believe it.’ He regarded her with an intent, shimmering gaze for seconds, then he rose. ‘Come on. I’ll take you home first and you won’t have to watch.’

  She stood up and grabbed her purse. ‘Oh, I can see you’re already sucked in.’ Her throat had thickened and made her voice croakier than a frog’s. ‘Do you know what? You’re a fool, Joe Sinclair.’

  She marched out ahead of him, as far as it was possible to march in a skintight dress and very high heels. He attempted to steer her towards the entrance, but she snapped, her eyes swimming all at once, ‘No, I’m not leaving. I intend to stay and watch the whole ghastly catastrophe.’

  He broke into a grim laugh. ‘Now who’s talking like Auntie Mim?’

  Then, true to his mad intent, ignoring all her pleading and the common sense he was born with, he headed for the salon where he’d already been hypnotised by the roulette wheel.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  MIRANDI only watched for a minute or two after Joe joined the crowd at the roulette table. It was too painful to see him ignore everything she’d said, exchange his precious hard-earned cash for chips, push a stack of them onto a square marked out in the green baize, then concentrate all his brilliance on a spinning wheel.

  Instead, she retreated to the bar, commandeered one of the elegant bar stools and focused her blurry gaze on the bartender, whose white dinner jacket set off his Mediterranean tan and flashing dark eyes to perfection. If she tilted her head to the right she could just see Joe’s back reflected in the mirror behind the bar, but she couldn’t bear to look too often.

  She ordered a flirtini with a squirt of pomegranate juice, and anguished. This could be the start of Joe’s slide into ruin right here and now, and what good was she? When the chips were down, she could only look on, wailing and gnashing her teeth. What if he was so hooked she couldn’t drag him away for days? Weeks even?

  It was a disaster, but she couldn’t help feeling some indignation towards him. He’d told her he wanted her along as a friend, his sounding board, but the minute she gave him some friendly advice he flung it back in her teeth. Accusing her of sounding like Auntie Mim when all she was trying to do was to save him from himself.

  Auntie Mim indeed. She was as far from being like Auntie Mim as it was possible to get. Ever since they’d arrived in Monte Carlo she’d bent over backwards to go with the flow and not lecture him, when the truth was… When what she secretly ached to do… Someone should tell him the truth.

  Here she’d been secretly beaming and hugging herself about being back together with him. Admit it, she’d been wishing and hoping as the song said. Praying their relationship would stick this time round. Believing that since they’d grown up they could behave towards each other like adults.

  Why did the past always have to dog their footsteps?

  She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, wishing she had the physical strength to march over there, grab Joe by the scruff and haul him out, away from the bitter influences of his past and into the twenty-first century.

  The flirtini was honey smooth, and she was halfway through it when someone strolled up and parked on the bar stool second along from hers. She glanced up into the mirror and saw it was Louis.

  Without appearing to notice her presence, although how he could have missed her was the biggest mystery since the pyramids, he ordered a whisky. Sporting the traditional evening wear and having allowed his beard to make an interesting stubble, he still wasn’t looking quite as chipper as he’d been at the lunch. In truth, he looked a little the worse for wear, and he was frowning into his Scotch as if he had something on his mind.

  Perhaps the blonde hadn’t worked out. Pity, but everyone in the world had problems. It was a bittersweet symphony, right?

  After a while he turned her way and gave a stagey little start as if seeing her there was a complete surprise, then made a long, slow and very comprehensive survey. He took a meditative sip of his drink.

  ‘That’s some dress.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  He gave his eyebrows a seductive tilt. ‘You know, you’re a very lovely woman.’

  ‘That’s what Joe says.’

  On another occasion she might have enjoyed crushing Louis’ pretensions with a little robust repartee, but right at this minute, with Joe embarking on a life of misery and decadence, she felt too lacklustre to rise to her usual heights.

  Perhaps Louis heard the listlessness in her tone, because he swivelled his stool around until he was facing her. ‘Oh, you mean Tough Guy. You know, I noticed you the minute you walked in with him.’

  ‘And I’m sure he noticed you noticing.’

  He grinned in acknowledgement of her warning shot, flashing his perfect American teeth. Then he nodded his head and sighed. ‘What is it with chicks? They make themselves gorgeous for a guy and all he’s interested in is a little ball rolling around a wheel.’

  That struck a nerve, but she tried not to show it. Forced herself not to even blink or wring her hands, though she wanted to severely. ‘He’s just trying it out to see if he likes it.’

  ‘Seems to be loving it, from where I’m sitting. Totally entranced, when he has this beautiful woman sitting here all alone weeping into her beer with her loneliness.’

  ‘Oh, rubbish, I’m not. I’m possibly just a bit jet-lagged, is all.’

  He sighed again. ‘It’s a crying shame, the way good women are neglected.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ she retorted. For one thing, who could ever call her a good woman? She wasn’t even very useful as a sounding board. She was probably no better than she ought to be, as Auntie Mim would say. And no doubt had.

  Over at the roulette table Joe caught the croupier’s eye and pushed some chips onto the red seventeen. As the wheel started to rotate he threw a glance back at the bar and froze as something like a red hot needle skewered straight through his guts.

  He couldn’t believe his eyes. That American gu
y was hanging around Mirandi again, smooching up to her with his smooth looks and phony charm.

  Was the guy a fool? His persistence was astounding.

  Though he had to admit she was irresistible in that dress. Any man seeing her adorning that bar stool with her rich glossy hair and graceful curves, one long leg swinging a little, would desire her. He’d already warned the guy off once. What more would it take?

  It flashed through his mind that it had probably been a mistake to leave her alone.

  Although she wasn’t a child. She could look after herself. And there was no way she would encourage the guy. Surely.

  ‘Dix-sept rouge. Red seventeen,’ the croupier intoned, dragging Joe’s gaze away.

  Frowning, he glanced at the table and saw that his small pile of chips had magically enlarged. Looking around, he saw the anonymous strangers at the table staring at him, some with kindness, others envy, in their hungry eyes.

  His gaze lit on the young man who’d been there since early on. The boy’s glow of success had long since departed. His chips had dwindled to a few, and for an instant Joe glimpsed a desperation in his eyes that brought his father’s face before him with such a gut-wrenching immediacy he nearly swayed in his chair.

  He shrugged off the image and steeled himself to focus on his task.

  ‘Nouveau jeu,’ the croupier announced. ‘Your bids, mesdames et messieurs?’

  Making a hasty selection, Joe shoved some chips forward, then edged his chair around so he could get a better view of the bar.

  Mirandi gave her flirtini a desultory swizzle then popped the maraschino cherry into her mouth. It had an unpleasant, chewy texture. A couple approached the bar and Louis made a huge production of making room for them, in the process finding himself forced to shift to the stool next to hers.

  Surprise, surprise.

  She noticed his cologne. It smelled expensive, like some artfully manufactured designer fragrance. He smiled at her, stroking his designer bristles while he continued his sly interrogation about the shortfalls of her alleged lover. ‘I guess Joe would have made certain you had some fun too. Did he spin you around the dance floor?’ He said Joe’s name with a sarcastic inflection she didn’t warm to.

  ‘Oh, well, he would have, but…’ Listen to her, lying through her teeth for a man who’d rather play roulette than spend an hour with her. ‘I was tired.’

  ‘You don’t look tired.’

  Much Louis knew. Her nerves had been so ragged all day she felt exhausted. It was only the adrenaline in the room propping her up. And the knots in her stomach.

  ‘Did you hear the orchestra?’ Louis said. ‘Not bad for a European outfit.’

  He fell silent, swirling the remains of his Scotch musingly around his glass. After a while he glanced at her. ‘They have the doors open to the gardens now and people are dancing outside on the terrace.’ He lowered his lashes, seduction in his dark eyes, then made a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows. ‘Under the moon.’

  She had to hand it to Louis for nerve, trying to waltz her off under Joe’s very nose. She even contemplated the invitation for a moment. Dancing with Big Shoulders in the moonlight, smelling his classy cologne. He was attractive enough, but everything inside her rose up in revolt.

  She glanced across at Joe’s broad back. Everything seemed to have gone wrong since they arrived in Monte Carlo. If only she could get him away from this place, think of a way to retrieve that wonderful feeling that was growing between them again in Switzerland, she’d do it, whatever it took.

  ‘Listen, Louis,’ she said, ‘I’m not in the mood for dancing. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you’d just—’

  ‘Hey now.’ He stopped her, shocked at her forthrightness. ‘Don’t let’s be negative. Come on, what are you drinking?’ He tossed off the remains of his drink, set down his glass and slid it along to the bartender, adding, ‘The lady needs another…what is it? Ah, sure it is. A flirtini.’

  He chuckled.

  Joe watched the croupier push the pile of chips towards him with a curious sense of impatience. Hundreds, five hundreds, thousands, who cared? Couldn’t they hurry it along? He wasn’t a possessive guy by any means, but it gnawed at him that after the trip and everything they’d said and hadn’t said but had surely meant, not least the night in Zurich, Mirandi would flirt with some guy.

  Here he was putting himself through this harrowing ordeal and she was fairly tearing a hole in his chest.

  He angled around for another glimpse of her and did a double take. The American had insinuated himself onto the barstool next to her. His body language said it all. And if Joe wasn’t mistaken, that drink she was holding was fresh.

  He sprang to his feet and covered the distance between the roulette table and the bar in less than a click of his fingers. He bore down on Mirandi Summers, a complex mix of outrage, disappointment and pure molten rage boiling in his veins, and snatched the glass from her fingers.

  ‘Joe.’ Her startled gaze widened. ‘What…?’

  He turned on the American guy and snarled, ‘Here. Take this with you.’ He stuffed the glass into the guy’s hand.

  Perhaps dreaming of defending himself, the American set the glass on the bar. ‘Now hang on there, buddy. This lady is—’

  ‘She’s with me,’ Joe informed him through gritted teeth.

  The American looked about him as if begging Security to come beefing down on them from all directions, then stood up and held up his hands.

  ‘All right, all right, tough guy. Chill.’ He made a mock apologetic gesture to Mirandi. ‘Sorry, ma’am, if my presence offended you.’ Then his amused gaze shifted back to Joe. ‘Take it easy, man. No offence intended. Mirandi—I mean your ladyfriend here—was looking a little blue. I was only cheering her up.’

  He grimaced in what was intended as a suave smile, then swivelled on his heel and made as dignified an exit as a guy could, under those circumstances.

  His hackles still bristling, Joe swung around to Mirandi and encountered sparkling emerald anger.

  ‘Just where do you think you are?’ she snapped in a low voice. ‘That could have been the most ghastly and embarrassing scene. Lucky Louis is a gentleman.’ She collected her purse and slid off her bar stool.

  ‘Louis is a gigolo.’

  ‘Oh, what would you know?’ she retorted. ‘You were too interested in watching some stupid little spinning ball. For all you cared I could have been getting it on with the bartender.’

  ‘Is he your type?’ He felt her withering look but it glanced off him like an arrow. Ridiculously, his emotions seemed to be engaged and he said, far too harshly for the size of the offence, ‘I don’t know how you could even think of encouraging that guy.’

  As soon as the words were out he wanted to bite them back, but her expression told him it was too late. She started stalking towards the exit, something it wouldn’t have been unpleasant to watch in other circumstances with the voluptuous sway of her hips. He wanted to run after her, but was distracted when an attendant in a tuxedo approached and held out a cloth bag. ‘Your winnings, monsieur. Please exchange them at the bank.’ He indicated the teller’s cage at the end of the room.

  ‘Look,’ Joe said, exasperated. ‘I haven’t got time for that now. You take them.’ He looked around for Mirandi but there was no sign of her.

  ‘But monsieur…’ The man appeared shocked. ‘I cannot… We must not… It is not permitted…’

  ‘Sorry, mate,’ Joe said, pushing past the guy. ‘You deal with it. There’s someone I need to catch up with.’

  What the hell was she playing at? He couldn’t see her anywhere in the room. With a nasty lurch he wondered if she’d gone after that American. She was mad enough to do something crazy like that. He’d noticed several times lately that this new Mirandi Summers had quite a temper when she was aroused.

  His eye was caught by a flash of red in the adjoining salon.

  He took off in pursuit, threading his way through knots of people
, dodging waiters, questions resurfacing in his mind at her having allowed the American to chat her up in his very sight.

  Faster than the speed of light a million thoughts jabbed his brain. Had she changed this much? Was this how seriously she took him now? He couldn’t suppose she was attracted to the guy, not after last night, but whoever knew with women? One minute they seemed to be happy with a man, the next they were headed off into the wild blue yonder ready to take up with the first new gun that came along.

  With a sickening jolt he realised that, to be true to himself, if he couldn’t trust her he’d have to pull the plug on her. Sever all connections.

  Although, perhaps he was overreacting and it needn’t come to that. Probably what he’d witnessed had been nothing more than a conversation. He should, he really should, give her the benefit of the doubt. He entered the next dazzling chamber only to see the red flash of her dress disappear down a hallway, and gritted his teeth with frustration as people got in his way.

  Why wouldn’t she wait?

  He hurried into the hall and had nearly closed the distance between them only to see that it wasn’t Mirandi’s red dress he was following but some other woman’s. Where the hell was she?

  He glanced about and experienced such a plunge of anxiety he had to stop to draw a few deep breaths and take stock. For God’s sake, Joe Sinclair did not run an emotional overdraft. Cool it, man. Take a sophisticated view. Nothing had happened. She hadn’t gone off with the guy, had she?

  As he strode on to the next salon, in an attempt to be rational he fought with the evil genius that had taken over his brain. Face it, this reaction to a little harmless flirting was out of character. Hypocritical, even. How many times had he done the same thing himself? And when had he ever cared what his girlfriends did on the side? If he found out they were dishonest he simply cut them off, no emotion involved. He knew that, but a part of his brain was standing back in bemusement, watching the rest of him get all churned up. It even occurred to him that perhaps this absurd raw feeling as if his guts had been chopped into little pieces was merely the aftermath of the test he’d set himself tonight.