‘Ah, yes, now I remember,’ Henri says. ‘There was a celebration – a party – that night.’
‘Yes. It was my father’s fiftieth birthday party.’ Jenny Li smiles warmly at Henri.
I quickly realise that the ‘fifty’ stamped on the chip might not represent its worth after all.
‘It was a great night. I do hope your father is in good health?’ Henri enquires.
‘Yes. Indeed. He’s now enjoying his retirement. Please, allow me to escort you up to the second-floor lounge.’ She clicks her fingers and issues an inaudible instruction to the clerk in the cash chamber. Henri glances at me and gives me what I can only describe as a confident wink. He obviously thinks he’s going to win our bet.
The wink gives me a ridiculous fluttering of butterflies in my stomach.
We’re shown to an elevator and taken up to a much more distinguished room than the gambling area downstairs. The VIP gambling room. It looks more like the glimpse into Macau’s history that Henri had promised me. This was a mausoleum to gambling. There are lots of faded photos on the walls and a huge, ancient-looking roulette table in the centre of the room.
The same roulette table where Jon and Henri sat on that fateful night in 1997?
I can imagine them sitting here, in the midst of a gritty but glamourous crowd gathered under the shiny brass downlighter mesmerised by the sound of the clack-clack-clacking roulette ball as it bounced around the wheel of fortune, the crowd roaring as they placed their golden chips.
What was it Jenny Li had said about the chip while we were downstairs?
This one is quite special.
I’m now convinced I’ve lost our bet and this chip is of far more value than I’d first thought.
I’m also convinced I might have just agreed to sleep with Henri tonight.
The thought makes my knees weaken just as we are offered a seat in a velvet-upholstered private booth close to the cocktail bar. A waiter offers us drinks. I ask for a vodka martini because right in that moment I feel like a glamourous Bond girl living by high stakes. Henri, looking a worthy 007 in his tux, orders a bourbon whisky.
A moment later we’re joined by Jenny Li, who is carrying a small briefcase. Goodness, this is so very James Bond!
I’m nervous and excited as the briefcase is put down in front of us in the booth and, following a discreet nod from Jenny Li, I click it open. My jaw drops in shock to see that inside the case there are neatly stacked piles of cash – all in USD.
‘I trust you’ll find this a fair exchange for the golden chip. Ten thousand US dollars.’
I gasp. Henri swears and then rubs his chin in astonishment.
There’s no hiding our mutual shock and disbelief.
‘I had no idea it was worth this much,’ Henri stutters as he turns to me.
‘Can I assume you’ll give us the chance to win some of it back on the tables?’ Jenny Li enquires of us.
Henri turns to me. ‘Maya? This is your money. What’s your game?’
‘Roulette,’ I say clearly.
‘Ah … the devil’s wheel,’ Jenny Li remarks with a wry smile.
‘Yes. And I’d like to put it all on divine number nine,’ I say with a wry smile of my own.
Chapter 17
The Lotus Casino, Macau
Jenny Li escorts us over to the grand old roulette table and arranges for us to be seated. We murmur our hellos and our thanks to those who make space for us around the table. I’m already impressed with how exceptionally well dressed everyone looks here. The men in dinner suits, the women draped in couture and expensive jewellery.
‘Ladies and gentlemen. Place your bets.’ The croupier instructs.
All attention is immediately piqued when Jenny announces to the croupier that, ‘The lady would like to put one thousand dollars straight onto number nine.’
The chips are quickly counted and dropped as a stack on the nine.
A murmur rises and other chips slide onto number nine to join mine.
The wheel begins to spin.
‘Ladies and gentlemen. No more bets.’
I watch the wheel and the numbers blur in front of my eyes as my heart pounds and I try to keep track of the ball as it rolls and bounces, hitting and missing various numbers, teasing those who had picked them as their wagers. The wheel slows and shouts begin in various languages from those who thought such encouragement might win them favour. Under my breath I chant ‘divine number nine’ as my mantra.
I draw my breath and then hold it as the ball pops into the slot marked with the number twenty-eight.
I groan, unable to hide my disappointment. I’d felt so sure we would win by fate alone and we had been so close because number twenty-eight was right next to number nine. In less than a minute, I’d lost all that money. How irresponsible of me!
But then, as the wheel slows to a stop, the ball jerks, jumps and lands straight on number nine!
My eyes almost pop out of my head in astonishment as the whole table erupts into cheers and I blink to make sure I haven’t imagined this win.
I look to Henri. He’s throwing his hands into the air and yelling, ‘Thank you, Jon!’
Then he’s turning to me and clasping his hands either side of my face, planting a firm kiss directly onto my slightly parted lips. Despite the surprise and pressure of the kiss, I find Henri’s lips to be soft, warm, and flavoured with bourbon. They don’t linger on mine for more than a moment but the effect and the outcome of our bet has sent my head spinning.
I steady myself and turn my attention to Jenny to see that her face is a picture of devastation before she quickly manages to regain her composure. Then she makes a great show of clicking her fingers in the air and ordering a bottle of Champagne to be brought over to us.
‘How much have we won?’ I ask Henri in a fervent whisper.
‘The odds on a straight are 35:1. Plus our original bet. So, we win $36,000,’ he explains.
I feel my legs wobble beneath me once again. I had no clue the odds were so high.
‘What do we do now?’ I ask.
‘We drink the Champagne and then we book the best rooms they have available.’
What we actually do next is drink the Champagne and then immediately lose six thousand dollars. Jenny looks a little relieved when she comes over to tell us she has made the penthouse suite available with the compliments of the house.
Henri thanks her and sounds pleased. ‘Really? Wow! The penthouse!’
I’m just about to ask for another room for myself when Jenny announces that we are indeed on a roll of luck tonight, because the hotel is full and the penthouse was the only room available. ‘So, please do enjoy your stay with us at The Lotus!’
I console my nervousness by assuming a penthouse will have more than one bedroom.
* * *
In winning so much money (and then going on to lose half of it) Henri and I have lots of fun that night. Fuelled by Champagne, we take a taxi along the Cotai Strip and go out on the town, exploring more of the fabulous casinos and all the extravagant and luxurious hotels.
We take a gondola ride inside The Venetian, an operatic boatman singing to us as we glide along the Grand Canal. Then we go outside again and I spot the sky gondola ride I’d seen earlier outside The Wynn. We rush over to sit side by side in the small cab, with the disturbing heat of our thighs touching on the narrow seat, as we glide high over the lake as the water fountain dances below. It’s all incredibly exciting and, dare I say it, very … romantic.
As we gaze over the sights and the lights, my mind keeps flitting back to the memory of that kiss in the casino and I feel terribly confused and horribly guilty about how much I enjoyed it. I’m also now extremely anxious about our accommodation tonight and the possibility of Henri and I having no choice but to share a room.
My nerves and my imagination are suddenly running away with me.
Had I realised we were having to stay over tonight, I wouldn’t have asked him to come along. Did he think
I’d invited him for more than just a night on the town? We both had separate and pressing plans for tomorrow and yet he’s suggested we stay over. Had we been giving each other mixed messages?
Is that why he’d been so keen to race through his schedule today and meet me tonight?
I’m extremely flattered if that is the case, but I’m also concerned he might have totally the wrong impression of me. We eventually find ourselves at the Eiffel Tower at The Parisian just as a ‘musical legends’ tribute show is about to start. Watching the show seems like a good way for us to reset the evening and rest our legs while being entertained for an hour.
We’re given a comfortable booth in the theatre and the slick and professional quality of the performances would have had you believing that it was actually Prince, Michael Jackson, Adele, Cher, Dolly Parton, and other stars of past and present up there on the stage.
The atmosphere in the theatre is lively and soon everyone in the audience is up dancing to the classic beats. Henri pulls me to my feet – so this respite ended up not quite as restful as I had imagined – and we dance in the aisle together. He’s a fine dancer, moving confidently and taking the lead spinning me around before pulling me closer to his hot and incredibly taut body for our own rock and roll version of a waltz.
It’s all so much fun and I’m soon hot, breathless and really enjoying myself.
After the show, Henri grabs my hand once more and we spill back out onto The Strip to wave down a taxi. I’m getting used to him holding my hand now and I find I welcome his strong hand folding around mine. It feels safe, like he’s taking care of me. ‘Come on, Maya, there’s somewhere special I need to show you.’
I know it’s getting late but just when I think our evening might be drawing to an end, it seems that Macau – and Henri – are just getting started. The taxi whisks us off The Strip, down into the old part of Macau, where in total contrast to its neon-lit, high-tech, western-influenced, concrete jungle, we enter the historic centre with its cobbled streets, ancient pastel-coloured buildings and colonial architecture.
‘This old part of town is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site.’ Henri tells me as we climb out of the taxi to find ourselves in a narrow warren of back streets near a ruined neo-classical church lit by yellow streetlights.
It’s all breathtakingly beautiful and there’s hardly anyone else around. Just us and one or two other couples strolling hand in hand in the golden hue of the old fortified walls. The narrow streets, with signs in both Portuguese and Cantonese, soon lead us into a paved square. ‘Come on, let’s go and get a drink and a bite to eat?’ Henri suggested.
We find ourselves outside a gorgeous little Portuguese restaurant called Alfonzo’s.
Inside, it’s like stepping through a portal in time into a rustic little restaurante in the Portuguese countryside. We order a bottle of red wine and chat over the glow of a candle flame and I watch as the flickering shadows highlight Henri’s handsome face, emphasising his chiselled features and the cupid’s curve of his lips as he smiles.
It’s so intimate and, dare I say it yet again, incredibly romantic.
In fact, I have to remind myself once again that this is not a date.
I need to tell myself that despite all the excitement of our time together these last two nights, Henri and I aren’t supposed to be getting lovey-dovey and cosy together.
Have I somehow managed to lose sight of my mission to honour Jon?
Just because Henri is handsome, charming, and wonderful company, and it has been an exhilarating, memorable night, it doesn’t mean I should be lustfully lingering over this candle and our time here together.
Just because Henri is, in many ways, very similar to Jon doesn’t make it right.
Early tomorrow morning, we’ll be heading back to Hong Kong, where we will say goodbye. Henri has his boat race across the China Sea and I have a flight to Singapore to catch.
Thinking about his boat race, I tell him I hope the sea will be calmer for him tomorrow.
‘For a while it was actually touch and go as to whether the race would run after all. We had high winds tonight as a result of a tropical storm out at sea and forecasters thought there could be a possibility of it tracking across our race route. But the good news is that it’s expected to dissipate tonight and so we’re all clear to set off tomorrow afternoon as planned.’
‘Gosh, are you sure it’s safe to sail?’
‘Yeah. Of course. It will be a challenge but that’s what sailing is all about. I have a highly experienced crew and we expect to have a strong jet current and surface winds in our favour.’
His eyes shine with excitement in anticipation of the task that lies ahead of him.
My heart flutters with excitement on his behalf. Clearly, Henri is a bold and brave man.
‘How long do you expect it to take you to reach Singapore?’ I ask, while considering my own travel plans. I know I have to leave for the airport around 2pm tomorrow afternoon.
‘We sail at 4pm,’ Henri says. ‘It’s a race over six hundred nautical miles and we need to complete it in under forty hours to be in with a chance of a placing, so I’m hoping we’ll arrive in Singapore around 8am on Monday morning.’
I’ll admit I’m disappointed. It would have been nice to have waved him off at the harbour.
‘Wow. That’s a long time at sea. Did you compete in the race last year too?’
‘Yeah. Last year was a big learning curve. We came sixth after sailing for forty-nine hours. This time, I’m racing to win. I really think we’ve got a strong chance of victory.’
He takes my hand across the table and gently rubs it with his thumb.
‘Maya, I’m also really hoping that you’ll be there to see us arrive in Singapore.’
I slowly shake my head. ‘I’m really sorry, Henri. But I’ll have already left for KL.’
I watch his facial expression drop in disappointment and my own heartbeat dips.
‘That’s a shame. I thought you said you were still in Singapore on Monday?’
‘I leave on Monday to spend a couple of days in KL before heading to Penang.’
‘Ah, right. Yes. I remember now. You’re off to Jon’s favourite foodie island in Malaysia.’
‘Yes. It’s the final stop on my itinerary before I fly home to London.’
The warm atmosphere between us has cooled so I quickly change the subject, telling him about how I’d been able to find my old family home in Happy Valley.
‘I’d been hoping to see the house again after all these years and it was amazing to find it. Especially as it was hidden amongst all those new high-rises. And, of course, it was surprising to find that it’s been a horse racing museum for the past couple of decades!’
‘Oh, then I know it. It’s that impressive pink place just across from the jockey club!’
‘Yes. Incredibly, it’s still pink and my mother’s rose garden is also still there to this day.’
I bite my lower lip while I mull over whether to mention that it’s currently being cleared, and I’ve been offered the possibility of renting the place and staying on in Hong Kong for six months or more. But I decide there’s no point in telling him all of that when I’ve already decided to be sensible and not pursue it. I’d concluded that it was totally unrealistic to think I could make a new – albeit temporary – life here in Hong Kong.
I’d just be setting myself up for a lot of upset and disappointment later, even if I could afford it. Because what if I’d wanted to stay longer and then couldn’t?
After a few moments of silence between us where it seemed like everything had been said except goodnight and goodbye, Henri takes my hand again and we lock eyes over the now dwindling candle flame. He speaks with what sounds like heartfelt sincerity.
‘Maya, I want you to know this has been more than great. Meeting you has been wonderful. It’s been such a pleasure. Having a casino buddy again has been a lot of fun and I want you to promise me that if you are ever back here in Asia again,
you’ll look me up. Doesn’t matter where in Asia because I can sail to wherever it is and meet you there. Promise me?’
I sigh with pleasure and squeeze his hand. ‘Of course. I promise. It’s been an amazing few days and I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you, Henri. Thanks for everything. For teaching me Tai Chi and for taking me out on your boat last night to see the light show and especially for our adventures in Macau tonight. I’ve honestly never had so much fun and I’ve certainly never won so much money!’
He nods and smiles but also looks a little sad. ‘Sure, anytime.’
‘So, in the meantime, let’s keep in touch,’ I suggest. ‘Are you on Facebook?’
He laughs. ‘No. But I’m on Instagram. I like pictures of boats and nautical hashtags.’
I silently thank Pia for explaining Instagram just before I left for India.
* * *
It’s well after midnight when Henri and I finally take a taxi back to The Lotus and step into the private executive guest lift to our suite on the top floor. We stand silently side by side in the lift with our eyes transfixed by the escalating floor-level display until we reached the forty-eighth floor. With every passing floor, I feel increasingly sober and more nervous about arriving at our sumptuous accommodation and finding either separate bedrooms or cause for an anxious scene.
The lift door swooshes open at a carpeted entrance hallway to the penthouse suite, where the first thing I see is an enormous vase of fresh flowers on a circular table under a magnificent chandelier. Henri and I step out of the lift and part ways to explore the vast space in different directions. I find several interconnecting rooms, a small but well-equipped kitchen, a lounge with an array of vast, squashy sofas facing a massive flat screen TV, and a dining room with what looks to be acres of polished wood table and dozens of chairs. I continue until I find two mirrored dressing rooms off two magnificent bathrooms … and just one large bedroom with one extra-large bed.
I re-join Henri in the lounge where he’s removed his bow tie and found a fully stocked bar. He’s opening a bottle of cognac. ‘All this space and furniture but only one bed,’ I note.
The Backpacking Bride (The Backpacking Housewife, Book 3) Page 19
