Hidden Rapture Page 10

Robert looked bemusedly from her to his brother and exclaimed, ‘Hey, I’ve got my own nurse! Is that right, Trent? She’s going to keep me company until I can get downstairs?’

  ‘That’s what she wants,’ Trent said with his affectionate gleam.

  ‘Haroun can do the heavy work. Vivienne will keep you posted as to what’s going on in the rest of the house. I’ll drop in from time to time.’

  It was no easy task that Vivienne had set herself. Robert was very much dependent on help since his’ collapse and there were so many things to do to keep him happy and relaxed. She spent the mornings with him, left him for a couple of hours in the afternoon, when he had a nap, and read to him or played cards with him in the evening until Haroun settled him for the night. Sometimes she and Trent had dinner with him in his room. Momeen would come up and with great ceremony lay the long table under the window. Expensive linen, silver and crystalware were trundled up in the lift tod. Maurice the chef used his imagination, arranging tempting displays and scribbling little messages with his icing squeezer on the tops of Robert’s favourite delicacies.

  The table, softly lit with candelabra and overlooking the winking lights of the city, looked inviting indeed. There was nothing Trent wouldn’t do for his brother. Occasionally when they were dining like this Vivienne would glance at him, dressed for the casino, all ready to go and pick up the gamblers’ money, and she would wonder how it was possible for a man to have two such opposing sides to his character. Because of her thoughts she never had much to say to him.

  He in turn, when he wasn’t regarding her with that veiled scepticism, kept her at a cool distance. But they tried to give the impression of being smilingly in tune for Robert’s sake. He was the guest of honour, sitting in his wheelchair at the head of the table, and everything was done to keep the atmosphere light-hearted, but somehow their jokes didn’t quite come off.

  Robert was extremely sensitive to these things and Vivienne worried that he would notice the discord between her and Trent, yet she couldn’t help herself. More often than not her remarks to Trent would carry a touch of acid. One evening after dinner beside the window, Robert had been settled back against the pillows in bed and Trent was getting ready to leave for the casino. ‘Don’t sit up too late, old son.’ He gave his brother that special smile. ‘Lots of rest and you’ll be down at that pool again in no time.’

  ‘I’ll watch it, Trent,’ Robert said earnestly. ‘Just a couple of card games with Viv, then I’ll definitely hit the sack.’

  ‘Goodnight, Vivienne,’ Trent nodded her way as she set up the card table, and turning at the door he tacked on laconically, ‘Watch out for the chemin de fer and poker. I’d make it gin rummy if I were you.’

  ‘We play for fun, not for money,’ she retorted smoothly, and her carping smile was aimed his way as he went out. ‘Unlike your customers, we’ve nothing to lose.’

  The door closed and there was silence for a while. Then Robert said with a wan kind of humour from the pillows, ‘You don’t like Trent, do you, Viv?’

  ‘It isn’t a question of liking or disliking,’ she tried to inject lightness into her tones. ‘He’s your brother. I go along with that.’

  ‘I know what it is that rattles you. But you’re wrong about him, you know.’ Robert looked at her whimsically.

  Seeing that he was determined to pursue the matter, Vivienne said good-naturedly, ‘All right, you tell me what it is that rattles me.’

  ‘No, I think it’s a fair question—me asking you,’ he countered with a grin.

  ‘Very well.’ She took a breath. Her voice quivered slightly with feeling, though she had wanted to sound offhand. ‘Let’s say I don’t like the way he earns his money.’

  ‘That’s straight from the shoulder anyway.’ Robert’s grin was crooked.

  He patted the bed beside him. ‘Come and sit here by me.’

  She put the cards down and did as he asked, and when she was settled he spoke meditatively from the pillows. ‘I was two when our parents were slaughtered in a native uprising in what was then the Belgian Congo. Trent was sixteen. There was just about enough money for him to finish his schooling. After that he took charge of me. I don’t remember much about those early years except that he was always there when I needed him. Later when I was in my teens he encouraged me to do what I wanted with my life.’ Robert smiled absently. ‘He wasn’t too excited about rugby, thought it was a dead-end kind of profession. But once he knew it was in my blood he went all out to get me launched, and travelled when he couldn’t really spare the time, to see me play in important matches. Then this muscular bug hit me. You’d have thought Trent would have told me it was my own fault—all those heavy falls and rough tackles— but he didn’t. He took me to every doctor who knew about my disease in the hope of finding a cure. Pretty lost cause, but you couldn’t tell Trent that.’

  Vivienne squeezed his hand. Not for anything would she give any sign of the lump in her throat.

  ‘Then he heard of these two French doctors in Tangier,’ Robert went on, ‘who were specialising in this thing I’ve got, which has an unpronounceable name. Before you knew it Trent was over here looking for a house where we could stay. He bought Koudia as it stands, hired staff and got these rooms fixed up for me. What it costs him for my weekly trips to the hospital and the doctors’ services is anybody’s guess.’

  Vivienne was still holding his hand. Despite his illness he looked strikingly big and muscular set back among the pillows. His young handsome face was flushed with talk. She spoke feelingly. ‘It’s right that you should have all these things, Robert. You deserve the best— I know that. Just because it bothers me that all this,’ she waved an arm around the opulent furnishings—‘comes from the gamblers pockets it doesn’t mean -

  Robert shook his head and gave her a kind of pitying gleam. ‘That’s what I’ve been meaning to tell you. I guess I’m going the long way round about it.’ It was his turn to give her hand a squeeze as he went on, ‘Trent’s been a lot of things in his life … explorer, interpreter, prospector, soldier.’ He saw Vivienne’s look and grinned. ‘That surprises you, huh? Well, you have to remember that our parents were a little colourful that way. Dad was a trade development organiser for north and central Africa, and in the end that’s what Trent inherited, I suppose, his business sense. He saw the boom potential in the expanding cities, and ore and mineral development, and went ahead with his ideas. Now he’s rich. Through oil mainly, and copper.’

  ‘Oil?’ Vivienne looked blank. ‘But the casino …?’

  ‘Let me finish,’ Robert said gently. ‘We were in England, remember.

  Trent had sold all his business interests to devote his time to me. But you know,’ a low chuckle, ‘it was a bit like taking an old lady’s knitting away from her. He was lost. When we came to Tangier he looked around for something to do, but it had to be a business that would allow him plenty of free time. That’s why he bought the casino—so that he could work nights while I was in bed, and have the days free to spend with me. So you see,’ Robert concluded, ‘he hasn’t always been a casino mogul. That’s what you thought, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes … yes, it is,’ Vivienne replied in a fog, and as she made to mouth a question Robert laughed.

  ‘Oh, sure, he makes money. But that’s Trent.’ Talk had used up the time and he added drowsily, ‘Let’s skip the cards Viv. I’m ready for some shut-eye. And if I can show Trent that I’m okay in the wheelchair he’ll let me come down to the pool again.’

  She kissed him lightly and smoothed his covers as he settled down.

  On the way out she tapped on the door of Haroun’s room as a signal that she was leaving. She made her way to her own quarters still in a mist at what Robert had told her. And yet in a way didn’t it all add up? This house, with its ornate French furnishings and exquisite antique clutter—she had always felt that it didn’t somehow have Trent’s stamp of personality on it.

  It was rather odd now dining with Trent in the evenings. ‘ Vi
vienne found herself resenting what Robert had told her. She felt a kind of nakedness without her armour of distaste, and at moments she was inclined to flounder inwardly when she looked across the table at him, groomed and courteous, perhaps offering her more wine, or chatting to Momeen about the quality of the food.

  Another factor perhaps, to do with her vulnerability, was the strain of the past few days. Robert’s collapse had shocked her badly. He was so young, and one didn’t— couldn’t associate incurability with the husky handsome figure that he was. She had wanted to do all she could to get him back to his mobile self, and she had succeeded; at considerable cost to herself. She had become a little thinner. Her features were finely drawn and curiously enhanced by the lilac shadows under her eyes and loosely waving hair with its auburn lights.

  Trent’s gaze rested on her often. They seldom dined with Robert now because he was back to expending his energies at the pool and life around the house had returned to normal. One evening when she had eaten little at the dinner table the senior brother said, ‘You need a change. Rob’s sleeping better at nights, so he doesn’t need you twenty-four hours a day. Why don’t you take a break?’

  They had drifted to their usual spot at the window with its view of the shadowy-lit Casbah and beaded lights of the city. Vivienne was wearing a white sleeveless blouse with a crisp upstanding collar, and a neat black skirt. A tiny pearl in each ear was the only decoration she had allowed herself. After she had inhaled on the cigarette under which he held the flame of his lighter she enquired flippantly, ‘Where would you suggest? A run out to the Bubana country club, or a night at the bull ring?’

  Trent shrugged humorously. ‘You only have to say the word. You’ve got the car at your disposal. By the way,’ his eyes narrowed as he pulled on his cigarette, ‘Abdul tells me you haven’t requested his services for some time.’

  ‘There’s been nothing to see,’ she said quickly. And then casually, ‘Even Tangier has its limits to a sightseer.’

  ‘And you’re no sightseer, we both know that,’ he replied lazily.

  The trend of the conversation had the quality of quicksand. In an endeavour to return to solid ground she said lightly, ‘But as you’ve pointed out, even I need some diversion at times. The trouble is, in the more sophisticated types of entertainment Abdul would stand out like a sore finger -‘

  ‘And there’s no question of you going alone,’ he finished for her. He took a thoughtful tug on his cigarette and while he studied the view Vivienne traced his profile with her gaze. She had come to know that jawline well; the nose, lacking the straight youthful lines of Robert’s, yet it was a nose that gave strength to the rest of his features. She knew the way he flexed his shoulders, expensively clad now in the white dinner jacket, to illustrate a point; the odd habit he had of flicking his cigarette with an upward tap; how his smile could have a razor-edged coolness if he felt that way. He had, she decided, a kind of hard-bitten polish; a manner which commanded respect.

  He turned suddenly, upsetting her musings, and said, ‘I know somewhere where you would be free to wander alone and not be bothered by anyone.’

  ‘In Tangier?’ She tilted a disbelieving eyebrow.

  ‘That’s right.’ His grin was slightly ironic. ‘Why not drop in at the Cafe Anglais? You can have a drink and wander among the roulette tables and feel perfectly safe.’

  ‘The casino!’ She sounded shocked.

  ‘Where the witch herself holds her high court in the hall of the green tables,’ he drawled with a challenging gleam.

  The idea shook her a little. But was it such a bad one? Trent ran the casino as a pastime, she knew that now. And she needed a break from Koudia. She toyed with the notion. -‘Well … It would be an experience .. /

  ‘Get Abdul to drive you down about ten-thirty,’ said Trent, stubbing out his cigarette. ‘Business should be in full swing by then.’

  As he turned to go Vivienne asked a little breathlessly, ‘How do I dress?’

  ‘You’re okay as you are.’ His glance swept over her. ‘Bring a wrap. It might be late by the time you’re ready to leave.’

  She turned back to the window as he went out, her heart beating erratically. She never thought she would be joining Trent in an atmosphere she had once despised.

  She had an hour and a half to kill. The time dragged. Up in her room she applied a fresh touch of make-up and brushed her hair. She changed her shoes for a pair of black evening sandals and found a black velvet purse that matched, and a lacy wrap. At last it was time to go downstairs and Abdul was waiting as she had requested in the limousine out on the drive.

  It didn’t take them long to reach the city with its cosmopolitan crowds, and from there the narrow alley near the sea where Vivienne was reminded of her scuffle with the Moroccan youths and Trent’s appearance. Abdul parked the car and led the way through the gloom.

  The Cafe Anglais was a sea-front establishment and one saw nothing of its gaily-lit frontage until one turned the corner of the alley and met the bracing air of the Atlantic.

  Abdul escorted her inside, sweeping past the nods and bows of deference from the native staff, with true Arab disdain. Vivienne looked around her. She saw Robert’s description of the casino was fairly accurate. The cafe area was white stucco walls with elaborately styled Moorish archways showing views of the tables section where people chatted desultorily in an atmosphere wholly Moroccan. There were parrots on the wall in heavy wrought iron cages like lanterns, and low-slung lampshades, and ornately carved bar-type swing doors. Some of the men, Europeans, were playing chess. Turbaned and uniformed attendants moved back and forth.

  From a distant archway Trent came to meet them. ‘So you made it.’

  Vivienne felt unaccountably shy standing there beside Abdul. Trent was his usual suave self. ‘Don’t be nervous,’ he joked, putting a hand on her elbow. ‘I promise I won’t surrender you to the clutches of the riotous daughters of hell.’ And guiding her forward, ‘Come on, I’ll show you around.’

  Abdul left them and Trent escorted her to the far archway. Through here was a kind of mosaic-tiled interior with potted palms, and across more archways from which came the low buzz of conversation and the drift of cigarette smoke. Walking with him, offering a shy smile as he nodded to members of the staff posted at intervals beside the archways, Vivienne recalled that Trent had always been idly laconic with her and not a little amused at what she had considered his vices in running the casino. It irritated her to know that he had never felt it necessary to justify his actions to her.

  He led her across the mosaic-tiled space to the second line of archways and into an interior which had something of a low-key party atmosphere. Around the green baize tables was a motley collection of people—men in smart evening dress, Moroccan army officers wearing dashing turbanned headdress, young men and girls in hippy-type clothing, dazzling-gowned females, velvet-clad dowagers and tall Arabs in Western dress and brick-red tarboushes.

  Some sat at the tables, placing stakes and reacting to the calls of the croupiers with no noticeable change of expression. Others were mainly onlookers and gave tiny squeaks or groans according to how the numbers went.

  ‘Not exactly Monte Carlo,’ Trent quipped as he guided Vivienne around pointing out the various games in progress. ‘But it’s enough to keep those who like to flirt occasionally with Lady Luck amused.’ As she watched the croupiers with their wooden shovels and listened to the clicking of the ball that spun for roulette he told her, ‘Later I’ll arrange for you to be given a few chips and you can try your hand against the wheel or the cards, but right now it’s time we had that drink.’ He led her out through an archway and along the palm-lined vestibule to a door at the far end.

  Trent’s office was a long windowless room with black quilted walls decorated with gold studs and a huge desk to match. There were gold-threaded divans and the opposite wall was given over entirely to a glittering glassed-in bar. The decor was totally different from the rest of the casino and Vivi
enne guessed it was a legacy of the previous owner.

  Trent went to one of the glass-fronted shelves and brought a bottle and two glasses to the desk. He poured liberally and handing Vivienne her glass and leaning against the desk with his own asked with lazy humour, ‘How does it feel to be actually here in the Palace of Sin?’

  ‘You can tease if you like,’ she sipped at her drink and twinkled primly, ‘but I happen to think that gambling is a malaise.’

  ‘Like housewives losing all the housekeeping money at the local bingo?’ he said with a mocking gleam.

  ‘On a lesser scale, yes,’ she agreed lightly. Then nodding darkly in the direction of the gaming rooms, ‘I’ve a feeling that some of those out there have a lot more to worry about than the few pounds it takes to run a home for a week.’

  ‘You’re thinking of the old days when fortunes were made and lost overnight,’ Trent said easily. ‘It’s not like that now. Money’s a lot more evenly spent, for one thing. And those who have it generally know how to stick to it.’

  She twirled her glass in her hand and slanted him a quizzical look.

  ‘Are you telling me that no one these days— to use a gambling term, I think—loses his shirt?’

  ‘Of course, there are the compulsive gamblers,’ he admitted from his lounging position. ‘The ones who derive a kind of morbid satisfaction from losing. But if they didn’t come to the Cafe Anglais they’d find some other place to go and take a knock at chance because it’s in their blood, this urge to compete with life.’

  Vivienne looked at him with a frustrated gleam. ‘Men always have this knack of turning an argument to their own advantage.’

  ‘Naturally,’ he sloped a grin. ‘We train at it from birth.’

  A light tap on the door interrupted the chat. A stocky, elderly man wearing the royal blue evening dress of the casino staff came in.

  Trent said, ‘Andre, my chief croupier.’

  ‘Madame.’ Andre clicked his heels at Vivienne, then turned to say something in low tones to his chief. Trent nodded, walked, to the bar and to Vivienne’s inward surprise opened back a shelved compartment of bottles to reveal a very sturdy-looking safe. He opened the vault and counted out several thick wads of Moroccan currency. When the croupier had departed with the money he said in a dry voice, ‘That was for someone who broke the bank. So you see, the casino doesn’t win all the time.’ He looked at his watch and finished his drink. ‘Time I was circulating among the clientele.’ He wrote out a chit for her at the desk while she was finding somewhere to leave her glass and guiding her to the door he told her, ‘Take this to the cashier’s window and ask for whatever you want. When you’ve had enough give me the word and I’ll get Abdul to drive you home.’