Errors of Judgment(105)
Anthony hesitated. Twenty thousand was a ludicrously large amount to gamble, far more than he’d intended, but on the other hand, the higher the stakes, the higher the potential winnings. Apart from which, there was no way he was going to sidle out of this game because of lack of funds, with Piers and Julia looking on.
‘No, I’m in. But I’m only good for five thou in cash right now.’
‘Not to worry. The house will stake you the other fifteen. We know you’re good for it.’
Anthony considered briefly. If he came out even or on top, which he fully expected to, the Egans would have their money straight back. He nodded. ‘OK. Thanks.’
The game started, and the play for the first hour was uneventful. Anthony played cautiously at first, then as he loosened up and grew more confident, his betting did too. The Saudis were unexceptional players. Hakim played irrationally and sloppily, not much caring whether he won or lost, and kept calling for more drinks. Gabir’s play was temperamental, and he was prone to wild betting, but somehow his luck held. Farid was both a lazy and an unlucky player, and by half eleven he had dropped out of the game, having lost his entire stake. By this time, Anthony had amassed a comfortable pile of chips and was feeling buoyant. Those not involved in the game seemed content enough with the little party they had created for themselves in the sitting room; the players could hear muffled music and laughter, but it seemed to disturb no one’s concentration. Occasionally people wandering from the sitting room to get food and more drinks would drop in to watch the game for a short while, then drift away again.
After steady, successful play during the first hour, Anthony experienced a couple of disastrous hands. He bet too much on what he thought was a promising hand, only to have his two pairs beaten by Klaus’s three of a kind. In the next hand he rashly hoped his five of hearts, six of diamonds and seven of spades might turn into a straight, and again he overextended his bet. When the flop went down, the resulting Jack of diamonds, nine and ten of hearts gave Piers two pairs. As he watched Piers gather in the chips, Anthony suddenly began to feel panicky. His pile was dwindling rapidly. If he didn’t start winning, he would finish up like Farid, bowing out of the game with his entire twenty thousand stake gone, and owing the Egans fifteen thousand. He tried to calm his mind, and focus.
It seemed to work. He won three out of the following seven hands, but the betting was modest, and didn’t recoup him a great deal. Still, the tension began to ease. He told himself it was just a question of climbing back up again, and not betting over-optimistically on hands which could easily go wrong.
A quarter after midnight, Hakim had drunk himself out of the game, and went to the buffet to console himself with a large plate of asparagus and truffle risotto, and a few more glasses of champagne. He wandered into the sitting room and flopped down on one of the leather sofas next to Valeriya and Dina, slopping champagne over Dina’s skirt. He laughed and wiped his fat hand across her thigh, and she exclaimed, ‘Dura!’ and shoved his hand angrily away. Hakim stroked her thigh again, trying to push his hand between her legs, and she shouted at him again and got up and stalked away.
‘Only a pig does that kind of thing,’ snapped Valeriya.
‘Shut up, bitch,’ replied Hakim indifferently. His drunken attention shifted across the room, to a glass-topped table where Julia was cutting some lines of coke. His eyes lit up, and he got up and went over and sat down heavily on the sofa next to her, watching and waiting eagerly. Gabrielle, curled up in the corner of the sofa, watched the proceedings dispassionately, inching her feet away from Hakim’s fat thigh. She didn’t touch drugs, though she didn’t care if other people did.
There were now six players left in the poker game – Anthony, Markou, Gabir, Piers, Klaus and Finnegan. All eyes watched as the dealer flicked the cards across the baize. Anthony picked his up. The ace and two of spades. Promising, but everything depended on the flop, the three cards to be dealt next. More spades would be excellent for him, but just as good for any of the other players holding spades. Maybe the betting would throw up some clues. He watched the other players study their cards impassively. The betting opened. Anthony, Gabir and Piers made modest bids. Klaus gave a shrug and folded his hand. A couple of seconds later, Tom Finnegan and Markou did the same, leaving just three players in the game.
The dealer dealt the flop, and as the six of spades, the ten of diamonds, and the three of spades went down, Anthony’s pulse quickened. The ace, two and three of spades, and the six – a flush draw with the potential for a straight draw, if the next two cards were the four and five of spades. The rational part of his brain knew the unlikelihood of that, but the part that had driven him over the past few months to return, night after night, to the poker and roulette tables, had taken over. In his mind he could see the dealer turning those cards over, false certainty driving illusory hope.