The Backpacking Bride (The Backpacking Housewife, Book 3)

by Janice Horton

  * * *

  When the Rolls drives through the gates at the marina, I see Henri standing in the same spot as last night, in anticipation of my arrival. He’s a delightful and thoroughly unsettling sight in his own glad rags. I climb out of the car into a stiff but warm breeze blowing in from the sea and into his outstretched and waiting arms.

  He greets me enthusiastically with another of his double cheek kisses, dousing me in a sensual waft of his manly citrus cologne. I have to take deep calming breaths to settle my escalating heart rate.

  ‘Henri, you look wonderful in your tuxedo!’ I gush in absolute honesty.

  ‘And, Maya, you look fabulous in your gown!’ He tells me, looking quite taken aback too.

  I do a little twirl and find myself giggling with excitement and anticipation.

  It feels so special to be dressed up and in the company of such a charming man.

  I tell myself that Jon would approve, then try to silence the little voice inside that is chiding me at being overly impressed with Henri’s looks and how well he has polished up.

  I see Henri quickly check his watch. ‘We have time for a quick drink before we leave.’

  As an escalating wind whips around us, he slips my hand into his to escort me just a few metres along the wharf to where the yacht club has a private bar and restaurant.

  Henri opens and holds the door for me and guides me ahead of him with the lightest touch of his hand on the small of my back. With my dress cut low, his fingers happen to touch my bare skin for a moment and a wave of goose bumps tingles down the length of my spine.

  ‘Are you feeling chilly?’ he asks, seeing me shivering.

  ‘Oh, no. Not at all!’ I profess. ‘It’s just the draft from the air con above the door.’

  Henri nods to a security man in the foyer who greets us and calls him ‘Captain’ as he waves us on towards the cocktail bar.

  ‘Maya, what would you like to drink?’ Henri asks as we both take a stool at the highly polished wood bar. I’m not sure if I should have anything alcoholic because I’m suddenly feeling rather lightheaded. I’m not sure if it was the sight of Henri in his tux, the intoxicating scent of his cologne, or the lightness of his touch on my sensitive bare skin that I’ve yet to recover from.

  ‘Oh, just a club soda for me, thank you.’

  ‘Okay. If you’re sure? You don’t want a glass of Champagne?’

  ‘Well, I heard it’s possible that the sea crossing could be a bit rough tonight. So I’m just being cautious,’ I tell him, trying not to let my voice tremble in case it betrays my nerves.

  ‘Ah, yes. That’s very true. And it’s why I’ve decided that we should fly to Macau instead.’

  A sense of relief washes over me. Henri was being incredibly considerate. Especially as, being a sailor of the high seas, he was unlikely to suffer seasickness himself.

  ‘So we’re heading off to the airport soon?’

  ‘No need.’ Henri tells me with a dismissive wave of his hand.

  In that moment I see that he’s wearing gold cufflinks at his wrist in the shape of dice.

  ‘We’ve a helipad right here at the marina. Our pilot has just messaged me to say that he’ll arrive in fifteen minutes. Plenty of time for an aperitif.’

  I’m a little dumbstruck at this and feeling more than a little nervous, to be honest. I’m not normally afraid of flying but to me helicopters have always looked very dangerous. I’ve seen too many movies in which they crash horribly.

  ‘A helicopter!’ I gasp in what sounds a bit like strangled panic.

  Having just stepped over to take our order, the barman obviously thinks I’m ordering an obscure cocktail and looks understandably confused.

  ‘Two club sodas please.’ Henri instructed.

  My mouth is so dry that when I take a gulp from my fizzy water, I suddenly get a terrible bout of the hiccups. How embarrassing. I haven’t suffered with hiccups for years!

  ‘I’m sooo velly excited abooot going to the cashiono!’ I profess before realising that it didn’t actually make sense.

  ‘Maya, are you okay?’ Henri asks me, looking at me suspiciously.

  ‘I’m not entirely sure,’ I confess. ‘I took some pills so I wouldn’t be seasick.’

  ‘What did you take and how many?’ he says, looking into my eyes in concern.

  ‘Twhoo. Itch called Dramashumthing.’

  For some reason my mouth won’t work properly.

  Hiccup! I produce the packet I’d been given and Henri shakes his head.

  ‘Two is too many. These things can make you really high and drowsy.’

  ‘Oh, no I’m snot sweepy!’ I insist. ‘I’m feeling velly happy achtuchly.’

  Henri’s phone pings. ‘Okay. That’s our chopper. Ready to go?’

  I slide off the stool repeating the word ‘chopper’ and giggling like a naughty schoolgirl.

  Henri links his arm in mine to guide me out to the helipad, where a big noisy whirling beast awaits. My anxiety and fear have now been replaced by a new and vibrant enthusiasm and even with my hair flying in the air and my dress being whipped against my legs in the wind, I’m suddenly utterly fearless.

  I scramble into the back seat of the chopper to be buckled in by Henri who then secures my side door and climbs into the seat next to our pilot. Soon we’re lifting off, and for some unknown reason I can’t help but shout out ‘Thunderbirds Are Go!’ in great excitement.

  In the backseat of my brain, I do realise that I’m not actually feeling my normal self. I feel like I’ve drunk a whole bottle of Champagne rather than one glass of water.

  In the very back of my mind – the bit that still seems to be thinking sensibly – I’m wondering how long the pills will take to go through my system and for me to feel normal again. Whatever normal is … Then the front of my mind – the bit that’s quite stoned at present – tells me that if normal means formal and stuffy, then maybe I’d rather be high and squiffy and maybe I don’t want to be normal anymore. Oops! I realise I’m feeling rebellious and naughty again! But this time, not out of bitterness and anger, but because I want to have lots of fun. I do need some excitement in my life. I want to enjoy myself. Oh, I do feel a bit strange!

  We swoop forward and fly across the harbour and I press my nose against the window.

  I notice Henri also has his head turned and his eyes fixed out on the cityscape.

  Below us the sea looks innocently calm as we climb higher into the sky.

  ‘Up up and away in a beautiful balloooooon!’ I sing at the top of my voice.

  Henri and our pilot are both wearing headsets. The noise from the engine and the rotor blades are so loud that I feel I can sing as much as I like because no one would mind and nobody can hear me anyway. Although, I did see the pilot glancing back at me and then laughing in amusement, as if I was a subject of their conversation.

  I wonder what Henri is saying about me now? Something along the lines of ‘Oh, don’t mind her, she’s as high as a kite’?

  Not that I care. I’m not in the mood for caring. I just feel ridiculously excited and happy.

  * * *

  After landing at the heliport on Macau, we take a car over to the glamourous bit of reclaimed land that’s known as The Cotai Strip. Henri told me this was where Macao’s best hotels, gourmet restaurants, high-end boutiques and cocktail bars could be found. They were all laid out like they were on a Monopoly board amongst the famous-name casinos such as The Venetian, The City of Dreams, The Wynn Palace, The MGM, just to name a few.

  ‘Oh look! There’s The Sands!’ I exclaim with great enthusiasm.

  ‘Yeah, The Sands was the first of the Las Vegas style hotels to arrive here.’

  ‘Oh wow – look there’s The Eiffel Tower and The Parisian!’

  ‘You’d be hard pressed to know once you’re inside these hotels that you aren’t in Las Vegas.’

  I’m about to tell him I’ve never been to Las Vegas, when he asks if I’m hungry.

  ‘
Starving,’ I admit.

  Henri checks his watch. ‘Good. Because I know the perfect place for dinner.’

  The Wynn Palace is an extravagant modern hotel with a vast lake in front of it complete with dancing fountains. Gliding slowly over this lake and between impressive giant effigies of Chinese dragons, are cable car gondolas.

  ‘Oh look!’ I yell with my head tilted and my eyes rolling. ‘Gondolas!’

  Henri takes my hand again as we climb out of the taxi and head into the hotel through its huge glass doors. ‘Can we go and ride on the gondola later? Pleeeeease?’ I beg of him.

  Inside, The Wynn Palace is a bright, no-expense-spared den of luxury and modern excess. The vast lobby features breathtakingly colourful and decorative floral displays, including a life-sized carousel with prancing horses and a Ferris wheel made entirely from exotic flowers. There’s also Chinese dynasty art featuring giant vases and marble statues.

  Through an atrium, there’s a vast, brightly lit shiny shopping mall full of top name designers.

  ‘Handbags and shoooooeeessss!’ I gasp, pulling on Henri’s arm like a puppy straining on a leash. The lobby is extremely busy with lots of well-dressed and elegant people checking in but Henri leads me determinedly through the crowds in the direction of all the restaurants. He marches me past cocktail bars, a steakhouse, an Asian restaurant, a fragrant flower shop, and an enticing macaron shop (macarons are my favourite sweet things!) in order to reach the main restaurant. Henri tells me that the Hong Kong Times had recommended dinner at The Wynn as the best five-star meal in Macau.

  The main restaurant here is spacious, with an array of tables and seating arrangements on two levels, offering a theatre-style view through a wall of windows to the outside performance on the lake, where the fountains are dancing in sync with the music playing inside the restaurant.

  We are swiftly offered a table for two at the window and I’m immediately mesmerised.

  Dragging my eyes away from the view, I look around us to see the room is sparkling and designed with influences from an ancient Chinese dynasty, richly adorned with warm hues of orange, red, and gold. The tall windows are framed with exquisite, russet-red velvet drapes which are held back with gold-coloured rope sashes. Interestingly, the walls feature a stunning and unique collection of mirrors.

  ‘Look! All the mirrors are decorated with golden dragons!’

  I count over a dozen gold jewel-encrusted dragon mirrors of various shapes and sizes with their claws clutching onto the frames and their elaborate tails coiling around the glass. They are incredibly beautiful; I’ve never seen anything quite as ornate in my whole life.

  As a collection, I’d guess they were worth an absolute fortune.

  A waiter appears and I encourage him to tell me more about the dragon mirrors.

  ‘Ah, madam. They really are quite something, aren’t they? They were created by a French designer in the Chinese style over a hundred years ago,’ he enthused.

  I look to Henri with an enraptured gaze. ‘Just like you, Henri … part French and part Chinese!’ Henri laughed and shook his head in amusement.

  The waiter continued. ‘It took five years of sleuthing to track them all down and to bring them together in this collection that you see here before you today. Many were purchased from private sources from all over the world and some were bought at the famous auction house in London.’

  I could see Henri listening politely, but I also saw him keenly eyeing the incredible feast laid out on the buffet tables around us. Like most men, he was more interested in food than conversations about decorative art.

  As promised, it was a dining extravaganza. There were many dedicated food stations offering a selection of everything you could ever dream of eating: fresh seafood, sushi, salads, soups, a selection of charcuterie, rich casserole, roasted meats and poultry, seasonal vegetables. There were also desserts galore – fruits, cheeses, and chocolates.

  Before we went over to see everything up close, the sommelier appeared to take our drinks order. I enthusiastically browse the wine list but to my disappointment – in that Henri being half French was sure to be both knowledgeable and enthusiastic about drinking wine – he dismisses the waiter and suggests we both stick to plain water. He reminds me that we should keep our heads clear and our wits about us in order to focus on our mission tonight at the casino. I’m sure he’s also worried that I’m still under the influence of the seasickness pills.

  I was having such a lovely time that I’d quite forgotten the reason we came here was to cash in Jon’s chip and play the tables. Thankfully, Henri hadn’t, and under his watchful green eyes and his encouragement to drink lots of water, by the time we’ve worked our way through the buffet and reached the desserts, I’ve sobered up and am fully compos mentis. ‘Thank you for looking out for me. I feel much better.’

  ‘You’re very welcome. I’m relieved you’re feeling better.’

  I ask Henri why, when he’d lived so close to this absolute mecca of adult entertainment for so long, he hadn’t been tempted to come back to The Lotus to cash in the chip for himself.

  ‘Oh, I’ve been back a few times. But not to The Lotus and I’ve never felt comfortable claiming the chip as my own. Not after Jon insisted this chip was his and mine was in the harbour.’

  ‘That’s very noble of you,’ I say, admiring how he adheres to a gentleman’s code of honour.

  He shakes his head. ‘No. Not noble. It’s a matter of principle. It’s actually really bad chi to cash in a gambling chip that’s not your own. It’s akin to trading your soul with the devil.’

  ‘What? So, you’re giving it to me to cash instead! What about my soul?’ I protest.

  ‘Ah, but you have his note. It’s his written instruction and that makes you Jon’s representative in the casino. You’re actually doing me a great service in taking it off my hands.’

  He laughs and wiggles his eyebrows at me devilishly.

  ‘Well, it sounds to me like you and Jon were quite the players back then. I can imagine you were a formidable team. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid or Smith and Jones or Batman and Robin!’ I laugh, imagining their fun-filled capers together.

  ‘Or perhaps Tom and Jerry?’ Henri quips. ‘I never did find another sidekick after Jon.’

  ‘What about the wife you mentioned?’ I query, surprised at my own boldness.

  ‘Ex-wife,’ he tensely corrects me without elaborating.

  With our meal over, we quickly settle the bill and head a short distance across town to The Lotus in a taxi. Along the way, he tells me with great enthusiasm about the legendary old casino. ‘The Lotus is nothing like any of these new mega casinos. It’s Macau’s original gambling establishment. It gives us a unique glimpse into Macau’s history with its bohemian gaming rooms and its psychedelic exterior. It’s really something!’

  I can hardly wait. I’m so happy now that I’ve dressed for the occasion in my new outfit.

  As Henri promised, The Lotus Casino really is something. The outside looks like a giant golden lotus flower, all lit up with twinkling neon lights. I stand on the pavement staring up at the emblem that I’ve somehow adopted as part of my fate on this magical mystery tour.

  Inside the old casino it’s small, dimly lit, and very crowded. The décor looks a little sinister in ebony and red with bold crystal chandeliers.

  I see Henri looking around us with the expression of a little boy in a sweet shop.

  ‘Last time I was here, the croupiers were still shaking the dice in their hands!’ he tells me.

  Taking my hand, he guides me through the room towards the cashier’s cage. Along the way, we stop so he can pop a few coins into the slot machines. He calls them ‘hungry dragons’ and they soon take all our change without paying out.

  Then we pass the crowded roulette table and I notice a sign above it that states:

  No Guns Allowed

  Minimum Bet $50

  The entire room is noisy, hot, and sour with exhaled air and wh
isky.

  Finally, we approach the young cashier clerk who is wearing a red silk cheongsam-style dress and sitting prettily behind the golden bars of the most secure section of the casino.

  ‘Hello. I’d like to speak with the manager please,’ Henri says.

  She looks at him curiously. ‘I’m afraid she’s unavailable. Can I help you, sir?’

  ‘Perhaps. Can you tell me the current value of an old chip?’

  He places the golden coin onto the cash desk for her inspection and I watch with interest as the clerk’s face immediately registers a look of surprise. She picks it up and politely asks us to wait for a moment.

  Henri looks at me and grins. ‘Any final bets on the value at today’s exchange rate?’

  ‘Sure.’ I offer, getting into the gambling spirit of the evening. ‘I’ll wager the chip is still worth exactly fifty Hong Kong dollars. And look, it’s the minimum bet on the roulette table!’

  Henri laughs. ‘Okay. I believe the chip is worth a lot more than fifty dollars considering inflation and the associated golden bonus. And I propose that if I’m the winner of our little wager, we get a fancy room here at The Lotus and stay the night.’

  I’m a bit shocked at this bold presumption. Is he inviting me to sleep with him?

  The thought of spending the night with him makes me blush uncontrollably.

  ‘I believe you mean two fancy rooms, do you not?’ I clarify.

  Before he can answer, the clerk returns with the manager, who introduces herself as Jenny Li and smiles at us through the security bars.

  Glancing down at the chip in her hand, she caresses it with her manicured fingers then flips it over to examine both sides carefully. ‘Sir, may I ask you where you got this chip?’

  ‘I can tell you where and when,’ Henri says confidently. ‘It was won at the roulette table in this very casino back in 1997. I’m assuming you’ll honour your chips. Am I correct?’

  ‘Yes, of course, we always honour our chips. It’s just that this one is quite … special.’

  I hold my breath. The way Jenny Li is looking at the chip has my heart racing.

  ‘It’s from a limited edition issued on the night of the twentieth of October in 1997.’