‘Stay.’
‘Pardon me?’
‘Stay.’
‘Is that an order?’
‘A request. Please.’ He pulled out a chair.
She hesitated, then sat down on the edge of the seat.
He poured her a drink.
She took it, holding it, untouched, on her lap.
He sat down across from her. ‘I, umm . . . I wanted to talk you about . . .’
She crossed her legs, her stockings gleaming in the light, and suddenly he was unable to concentrate clearly.
‘Yes?’ she prompted.
‘Well, it seems to me,’ he tried again, ‘that we used to have a pretty good time playing cards.’
‘Yes, Mr Lambert.’
‘And that you had a great deal of talent. A talent one wouldn’t normally expect from a young . . .’ (he was going to say ‘girl’ but changed his mind) ‘a young woman. And well . . . there’s quite a number of ways to enterprise on a talent like that . . .’
She tilted her head to one side. ‘Are there?’
He felt his stomach tighten and his pulse quicken; he hadn’t anticipated this at all. Only a short time ago if he’d so much as looked in her direction, she blushed. Now she seemed almost bored by him.
‘Yes.’ He took another drink. ‘I know how to make the most of those skills.’
The darkness gathered softly around them.
‘Not many people can do what you do,’ he continued.
‘Can you, Mr Lambert?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Can you do what I can do?’
He blinked. The distance between them seemed to have shrunk though neither of them had moved.
‘No,’ he admitted, finally. ‘No, I can’t. I’ve met people who could count cards, who were fast and clever. But I’ve never met anyone who could see the game the way you do in your head.’
‘So,’ she put her drink down, ‘how can I help you?’
Just like that the entire conversation turned.
‘You don’t understand,’ he laughed awkwardly, ‘I know how to help you.’
‘I’m not sure I need help, Mr Lambert.’ She got up. ‘But thank you all the same.’
He stood too, cutting her off before she reached the door. ‘I’m offering you a chance out of here!’
‘Are you?’ She looked up at him with those strangely feline eyes. ‘As what?’
His face hardened. How did she get to be so unflappable? ‘Don’t play me, kid!’
‘Then don’t play me,’ she countered smoothly. ‘And I’m not a kid.’
‘Aren’t you?’
‘No. Not any more.’
He grabbed her by the wrist. She winced but didn’t pull away. He turned her arm over; there were three burn marks across her forearm, seared holes in the flesh, red raw, evenly spaced. He looked at her in horror. ‘What happened to you?’
‘What happens to everyone.’
‘Does it hurt?’
Her mouth softened into the ghost of a smile. ‘Only when you touch it.’
He let go.
She was right; she wasn’t a kid any more. Someone had stolen the last vestiges of innocence from her and replaced them with this unnerving self-possession instead.
‘If you want something, Mr Lambert, say it.’
He took a step closer. She smelled both coolly reserved and somehow earthy and narcotic. ‘Come with me.’
He saw her lips part slightly, her cheeks flush. ‘Why?’
‘I can teach you.’
She said nothing, leaned back against the door frame.
He came closer still. He could feel the warmth of her, the heat of her gently curving body; smell the musky sweetness of her hair. ‘We can make a lot of money.’
She laughed.
And suddenly he realized that he’d been ambushed, overthrown by this odd little creature with the thrilling mind, green eyes and shape-shifting body. She had an effect on him he’d never suspected; it was in motion, already under way, a dangerous, teasing undertow.
‘Come with me. So that I can finish teaching you what I began. So that we can make a great deal of money in beautiful cities all around the world. But most of all,’ he ran his finger along her cheek, ‘because I hate to drink alone.’
Paris, Spring, 1955
Madame Zed reached again for her glass of cognac but it was empty. Grace pushed the bottle across to her.
‘So Eva went with him? This Mr Lambert?’
She nodded.
Something inside Grace’s chest flared; a deep sense of indignation. ‘But she was just a child! You do realize that, don’t you? Whoever this man is, this Lambert, what he did was a crime.’
Madame merely looked at her, head tilted thoughtfully to one side. ‘One is never sure, in the end, of who seduces whom. A young woman on the cusp of her sexual awakening is a powerful creature. She’s often unused to, even unaware of, the tremendous power she holds and is easily intoxicated by it.’