A Twist of Fate Page 12

  Romy couldn’t think of anything worse than being match-made with one of Clark’s buddies. Affairs amongst the crew were rife and carried out in public, and Romy had managed to steer clear of becoming involved with anyone. Sure, there were nice enough guys, but Romy didn’t ever seem to fancy any of them. Not like Donna, who permanently had a crush on someone.

  ‘What about Dwight?’ Donna asked, widening her eyes. ‘He’s single now.’

  Romy laughed, thinking of the pimply bartender. ‘You think I’d go for Dwight?’

  ‘He’s a great guy, and he thinks you’re hot. He told me.’ She fixed Romy with a look. ‘Beggars can’t be choosers, you know.’

  ‘Who says I’m begging?’ Romy said, playfully punching her arm. Donna had no idea about the kind of man she secretly dreamt of ending up with. It would sound silly to say it out loud, but Romy had read too many novels to be swayed from the idea that one day she’d be swept off her feet. Instead she gave a practical reason for turning Dwight down. ‘Aren’t you forgetting the bunny-boiler?’

  Donna nodded, taking Romy’s point on board. Susie, Dwight’s ex-girlfriend, had got her nickname after Fatal Attraction – the favourite movie in the crew mess at the moment – when Susie had publicly shredded the teddy that Dwight had given her, in a fit of hysteria. Romy was happy to steer well clear.

  ‘Thank you. But no,’ she said firmly, closing the subject.

  ‘Aww, come on, Romy. You’re young and you’re OK-looking, for a Pom. If you can’t live a little now, when can you?’ Donna asked, and Romy laughed at her familiar refrain. ‘Pah, I’m wasting my breath. We’d better get back to work. Anyway, I forgot. You’re working the tables tonight, right?’

  ‘Yes, thanks to you,’ Romy said.

  Two of the American crew members had applied for immediate shore leave on compassionate grounds, meaning that Romy had temporarily been promoted to junior croupier, when Donna had grassed to Heston, the Casino Manager, about Romy’s card skills and her quick head for numbers. Tonight was her first night in the Monte Carlo casino.

  ‘Think of all the tips,’ Donna said. ‘You’ll be able to save them for the day when you finally decide to have fun.’

  That evening the casino was full and Romy couldn’t get enough of the atmosphere, the sheer noise and exhilaration of the room, the whirring roulette wheel and the clatter of chips. As well as the high-flying guests on the Norway, people came from Manhattan to sample the delights of the famous cruise ship, and Heston, the Manager, had already given her way more responsibility than she was expecting.

  ‘So far so good,’ Heston said, after she’d finished croupiering a long game of seven-card stud. He waved over to a man in a croupier’s jacket. ‘Meet Xavier,’ Heston shouted over the din, introducing the Spanish-looking man with a floppy fringe and brown eyes. ‘Lives here in New York. He’s helping us out for the night.’ He clapped Xavier on the shoulder. ‘Can’t we tempt you back to Norway, Xav?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Xavier said.

  Romy felt a wave of something so unexpectedly physical that she had to rip her eyes away from his to the floor. Who was this guy? Had the heat just turned up in the room? Why did she suddenly feel so hot?

  She felt tongue-tied and shy, as she and Xavier prepared the table. She couldn’t seem to stop looking at him and the way his strong, nimble fingers caressed and stacked the chips. Suddenly everything seemed heightened – Whitney Houston singing ‘I Wanna Dance With Somebody’ on the sound system, the smell of cigarette smoke and perfume, the bright-green baize, the heat of the room, the sweat on her glass of icy water.

  And then Xavier was talking to her, as if they’d known each other for ages. She couldn’t stop staring at his lips and his trendy goatee beard, as he told her about how he was once head croupier on the Norway and how he was starting his own bar in Brooklyn.

  Take me there, she found herself thinking. Yet she hardly knew the guy, she told herself, unnerved by the feeling that was growing inside her. So what if Xavier was cooler and more sophisticated than anyone she’d met on the Norway so far? She was here to work.

  But as the play began she couldn’t seem to stop looking at him and the easy way he charmed the guests. He was always professional, but he had a way of complimenting the women and congratulating the men, when they won a hand, that made everyone warm to him. No wonder Heston had been delighted to get Xavier back for an evening.

  ‘You’ll have to go to that table, Romy,’ Heston said, nodding over towards the table by the bar, where a group of guys was raucously drinking cocktails. ‘They’re up next.’

  Reluctantly Romy tore herself away and went to stand by the far table, smiling nervously as she sorted the stacks of cards and chips. These guys looked like city hotshots – yuppies, she’d read people called them now – with their slicked-back hair and sharp, shiny suits. She looked over at Xavier, who winked at her reassuringly, and she smiled back.

  ‘Is it a special occasion, gentlemen?’ she asked, quelling her nerves and taking Xavier’s confidence on board, as she dealt out the cards for the first round.

  ‘Sean here is getting hitched next weekend,’ one of the guys slurred, putting his arm drunkenly around his friend.

  They played badly, roaring loudly when they lost their hands against the house. But still they kept on playing, thanks to the beefy blond one, who got more chips from the cashier. He had a swagger about him, an arrogance, that was only backed up by the fact that all the other men looked up to him.

  Romy noticed him watching her as she handed out the chips. He was drunk too. A mean drunk. Not good-natured, like Sean, who could barely keep himself upright on his stool.

  ‘Have we met before?’ the blond one asked her, in a break between games, when the boys were getting their drinks from the hostess. ‘You seem familiar.’

  ‘No,’ she said, trying to smile. But something about his eyes unnerved her. They were cold and assessing. She’d seen eyes like that before.

  Fox’s.

  That never happened.

  But the buried memory had punctured through her wall of lies and she felt her heart thumping hard, as the blond guy continued to stare at her. She watched him taking out one of those brand-new mobile phones and pretending to make a call on it, before putting it back in his pocket, clearly assuming that she’d be impressed.

  In the next break, again when his friends were distracted, he grabbed her hand.

  ‘I’ll pay you five hundred dollars to come back to my apartment,’ he said in a low voice.

  Romy ripped her hand away, colour rising to her cheeks.

  At that moment Sean let out a whoop as he won the hand, his arm flailing out and catching the tray of drinks that the waitress was holding, sending shot glasses and a bottle of tequila flying.

  ‘OK, my friend. Time to go,’ Xavier said, twisting Sean round on the stool and letting him stumble off into his arms.

  ‘Come on, man. It was an accident,’ one of Sean’s friends protested.

  ‘Sorry. House rules. You gotta be able to sit upright to play. You better take your buddy somewhere else, boys.’

  He helped Sean to the door, the others around him protesting, but good-naturedly. The blond guy was last to leave.

  ‘If you change your mind, it’ll be a thousand,’ the guy added, leaning in close. She could smell whisky on his breath. ‘You are very beautiful.’

  He slid a card, with its embossed gold name, across the green baize towards her.

  When the shift was finished and the last gamblers had staggered to bed, Romy lingered so that she could walk out with Xavier. Tiredness pinched her eyes, as she watched the sun lightening the skyline of New York, glinting on the top of the Twin Towers.

  ‘You OK?’ Xavier asked, as she sighed, looking out at the city.

  ‘Sure,’ Romy smiled.

  ‘You did great tonight,’ he said, taking off his jacket. ‘It was tough – even for an old-timer like me.’ He held his jacket over his shoulder. She hadn’t noticed ho
w broad and strong his shoulders were, despite his slim frame. He obviously worked out.

  ‘Are you going back now?’

  He nodded. ‘I’ve got an apartment downtown.’

  The words sounded so impossibly glamorous. She trailed her hand along the wooden railing, noticing the way the sunlight was turning it gold.

  ‘So you wouldn’t consider signing back on with the Norway?’ she asked, hopefully.

  Xavier laughed. ‘There’s lots about it I miss. But you can’t stay too long. People go stir-crazy if they stay too long.’

  ‘Is that what happened to you?’

  ‘I got shacked up with a waitress. She was a nice girl, but it didn’t work on dry land. The ship gives you a warped perspective of what people are really like.’

  Is that what he thought she had? Romy wondered. A warped perspective? She hoped not. Because she couldn’t bear to take her eyes from his face.

  ‘You were great dealing with those guys earlier. Heston was impressed.’

  Romy picked out the card from her pocket and the cash that the blond guy had given her.

  ‘One of them even had the nerve to give me his card. To ask me back with him.’

  ‘People like that think they can get anything – and anyone.’

  ‘Yeah, well he was wrong,’ Romy said. ‘Brett Maddox,’ she read. ‘MD Media Division, Maddox Inc.’ She ripped it up into little pieces and let them go. They fluttered away like confetti on their long descent to the water.

  ‘He was right about one thing, though,’ Xavier said, as they stopped at the top of the staircase.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You are incredibly beautiful, Romy.’

  Romy stared at him. The way he’d said it, the hushed intimate tone of his voice, cut through all their chitchat. She saw in his eyes an attraction she couldn’t resist. She stepped forward and tiptoed up to kiss him.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, ‘I don’t know why I did that.’

  But he just smiled. Stroking her cheek, he leant forward and took her in his arms. Slowly and sensually he kissed her again.

  ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s go to my cabin.’

  They hardly spoke as Romy led him through the warren of corridors to the cabin. She felt caught up in something over which she had no control. Her mind was spinning with thoughts – what all this meant, and what he must think of her. Why this had happened so suddenly?

  She unlocked the door, relieved that Donna was out and that the tiny cabin was relatively tidy. She took two steps over to her bottom bunk, tidying up the stack of novels next to it, adding the Danielle Steel that lay open on the pillow to the top of it, and hurriedly smoothing down the blanket and pillow. She could feel herself trembling all over.

  ‘Come here,’ he said, coming up behind her. She felt his hardness against her thigh through his trousers as he started to kiss her neck. She turned around in his arms, kissing him back. Then they moved onto the small bunk and he lay on top of her, but he didn’t squash her, like Jimmy had. Instead he stroked the hair from her face, staring into her eyes, giving his mind to her.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he asked her.

  ‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘Yes.’

  It was five in the morning and Donna laughed outside the door, drunkenly trying to fit her key in the lock. She’d nipped out of the party in Clark’s room to come back for her secret bottle of vodka.

  She finally opened the door, fell into the small cabin and turned on the light.

  Romy was naked and asleep, a soft smile on her face, and she didn’t stir. Neither did the gorgeous naked hunk spooning her tightly.

  ‘Good on yer, girl,’ Donna whispered, grabbing the bottle and tiptoeing out backwards.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  August 1989

  ‘Thirty-love,’ Thea called with a grin, running back to the baseline, high-fiving Bridget on the way.

  Across from them, on the other side of the tennis court, Tom Lawson and his friend Finn made eyes at each other and then Tom threw his arms out wide, looking at the service line, from where Thea had just served her second ace of the match.

  ‘It’s not fair,’ he called over the net. ‘Tell her, Bridge.’

  ‘Stop being a bad sport,’ Bridget called back, before jogging over and picking up a bottle of water by the net and taking a swig.

  Thea looked up as she wiped away the sweat from below her visor and peered at the early-morning sun, which was already marinating the court, a shimmer of heat rising up from the baseline. She rolled her tennis-racket handle in her hands.

  ‘I thought we’d have beaten it, but it’s getting too hot already,’ Bridget panted, handing her the water bottle. ‘You’ll burn.’

  Thea smiled. ‘Just a few more games. We’ve got them licked,’ she said. She was enjoying herself far too much to stop now.

  ‘You know we can’t put it off any longer. It’s nearly time,’ Bridget said.

  ‘Put off what?’ Thea asked as she got ready to serve again.

  ‘Thea?’ Bridget squealed, exasperated. ‘The results. We’ve got to ring school.’

  ‘In a while,’ Thea said, bouncing the yellow ball on the hot court.

  The last thing she wanted to think about was school and telephoning the secretary for their A-level results. She wanted to put off reality as long as possible. Or thinking about the future and what that held.

  She wanted to enjoy this moment. Right now.

  The last few weeks had been magical. Sailing on the Lawsons’ family friend’s yacht, hopping around the ports of southern Italy. But the best part of all was that, now they were in the Hotel Amalfi, Bridget’s brother Tom and his friend, Finn, had joined them for the week and she was determined that this, their third game, should end in victory for her and Bridget.

  Thea glanced up at Tom now on the other side of the net, his tanned legs wide apart, crouched down, waiting for her serve. He had an incredibly athletic body, but it wasn’t just that. He radiated the kind of sexual charisma that made women notice him wherever he went. Bridget and Thea teased him about it, but whilst Bridget was genuinely annoyed by him, Thea couldn’t help but be secretly fascinated. It was as if he had a thirst for girls – all types of girls – that was insatiable. He noticed every single one of them, except Thea.

  Each night she went to bed, tossing and turning, going over every single tiny moment of private contact between them, and reading meaning into it. Did he like her? Didn’t he? But then she’d turn over, furious with herself for having fallen for his charms in the first place.

  But maybe she didn’t deserve Tom. She’d been so careful not to send out the wrong signals – Brett’s horrible words still preying on her mind. Just like she couldn’t shake the memory of Brett pressing against her in the kitchen, violating her as he had. She felt soiled. Unworthy of someone as wonderful as Tom.

  And yet at the same time, another thought persisted. It wouldn’t be like that with Tom . . . would it? He’d be sensitive, caring, if anything ever happened.

  If.

  She was crazy, she knew. She got plenty of attention from other men, or boys at least, so why was she so hung up on the one person she couldn’t have? But somehow that only made her secret obsession worse.

  She stretched up as the ball sailed over her head and smashed it, running forward. Tom desperately tried a passing shot. She watched in delight as it sailed harmlessly over the tramlines and landed out.

  ‘I give up,’ Tom said. ‘You’re just too good for me.’

  Thea beamed at him. If only that were really true.

  On the wrought-iron white swing chair on the terrace Shelley Lawson pretended to read the page proofs of her latest novel. But she couldn’t help staring through the door into the reception area, where Thea and Bridget were telephoning the school.

  She knew how much the exam results meant to both girls. She wasn’t worried so much about Bridget. Shelley knew that Bridget was as tough as she herself was. She had been since she was a bab
y. Apart from some of her bolshie behaviour in her early teens, she’d been a doddle.

  No, Shelley was more worried about Thea. There was something so fragile about her, and now Shelley felt the enormity of her responsibility. What if Thea didn’t get her results? What if she couldn’t fulfil her dreams? What if only one of the girls got into Oxford, and not both of them?

  Poor Thea. She didn’t have much of a home life to speak of. Shelley couldn’t help but feel it was somehow her own duty to fill the void. She owed it to Lis. Her dear old friend, Lis, who had loved this little girl. This little girl Thea, who was on the cusp of becoming a beautiful woman.

  Alyssa McAdams. Memories of her crashed into Shelley’s mind, making it impossible to concentrate. How strange that the past should come up after all these years. And how bloody infuriating that she’d been so unprepared to deal with it, Shelley thought. It seemed ironic that she spent her days writing novels about people’s pasts and their secrets, and yet she’d been totally shocked by Thea’s sudden arrival in her life. Because with her had come all those memories of Lis and everything that had happened.

  Poor old Alyssa. Looking back now, Shelley guessed she’d been a little bit in love with Lis McAdams from the start, in the way girls can be. So she’d totally understood that Bridget had fallen for Thea.

  But now Shelley remembered how Lis had turned to her in her hour of need, making her swear to keep her secret. And Shelley had. All these years. Even when Lis had gone to the States and left it all behind her.

  That had hurt, of course – especially when she hadn’t been invited to Lis’s wedding, but Shelley had understood her friend’s need to move on and forget.

  And Shelley had forgotten too. She’d never even told her husband, Duke, the thing she’d done for Lis all those years ago.

  But now she felt the weight of the secret, like some kind of test. But she wouldn’t break. She’d come so unthinkingly close to making a stupid blunder when she’d told Thea about her mother and Johnny. She hoped that Thea hadn’t understood or taken it to heart. But it wasn’t a mistake she would ever make again. She’d been lucky that Thea hadn’t asked her more about it. Perhaps she hadn’t heard what Shelley had said properly. Hopefully enough time had passed for Shelley to feign ignorance or forgetfulness about the slip entirely, if it ever came up again.