Chapter 14
CLARK
I finish the Scotch in my glass, and through the plume of cigar smoke that hangs in the air, I beckon the waiter.
He stands by the door in this secret poker room of the hotel where the industry conference is being held, always focussed on the table, waiting for the next order and the accompanying tip that’s probably as much as his weekly salary.
Just over an hour ago, I had a showdown in this same space with Dayna.
Which is, incidentally, the reason I’ve had a few more glasses of Scotch than I’d intended to have tonight.
I have no intention of getting pissed, not when there are so many crazy bastards who are shit at poker and willing to throw away pots of cash by the tens of thousands.
But I needed a couple of drinks to take the sting out of everything that’s going on at the moment.
Teddy’s been bleating on at me all day to withdraw from the tender process for the well. Honestly, I’m hearing him. I did want this well to prove something, but he’s right. If I win this well and it turns a loss, I’ll only prove that I can’t do a better job than my father.
The waiter takes my empty glass and breaks the silence of the room. ‘Another, sir?’
I nod. This will be my last one.
‘I’ll take another.’ A fellow player, the big blind, waves his empty brandy glass in the air, eyeing me as he does. Of the six suited men around the table, seven including the dealer, there are only three of us left in this hand, and we’re going down the river. Four cards out, one to come.
I know the big blind has a decent hand. He does this thing with his right thumb when he gets excited, flicks it through his index finger quickly like he’s sparking a lighter.
It’s not a bad tell; he can hide it behind his left hand.
But once you know he does it, like I know, you can see a subtle movement in his covering hand.
The other player still in is similarly a peer in oil and gas and he’s the small blind, a good-looking man in his early forties, nice tan, still hanging on to his dark hair, and generally in good shape.
It’s damn fortunate he’s got those things going for him, because his business skill is non-existent, and that’s only marginally below the standard of his poker bluff.
Right now, there’s eighty-five grand in the pot, and the cards on the table are four of clubs, ten of hearts, eight of spades and jack of diamonds.
I’d be willing to bet the small blind is praying for something to come down the river and the buffoon has come this far with nothing.
But who knows, maybe he’ll surprise me. The big blind, on the other hand, he’s exactly the opposite.
I’m nursing a pair of tens and a pair of jacks, which I got on the last card but he’s been smug from the off, so whatever hand he’s making, he got it in the first three table cards.
There’s no opportunity for a flush, not even with the fourth card.
It’s unlikely he would have been flicking that thumb after the first two cards thinking he had a straight.
He couldn’t have thought he had a full house.
So, my money is on three of a kind or two pairs.
Three of a kind would beat my two pairs but if he’s riding on two pairs, he couldn’t have anything higher than my tens and jacks.
I’m pretty sure he didn’t get anything on the last card.
‘Mr Layton?’ the dealer asks.
‘I’m in.’
The dealer turns the fifth card. Ten of diamonds. I keep my face straight, but the big blind smirks. He got something on the final card. My mind jumps quickly through his possible hands. Full house is my best bet, and there’s no chance it can beat mine if he’s using the four or the eight.
Small Blind turns first.
‘Two pair, fours and tens,’ the dealer announces.
Fucking muppet. He came all the way on a pair of fucking fours.
Big Blind turns his cards, slowly, one at a time. What a dick.
‘Full house, tens and fours,’ the dealer says.
I turn my cards together and push them along the green velvet to the dealer.
‘Full house, jack, ten. Mr Layton wins.’
Now I smile.
My buzz is cut short by the vibration of my phone in my pocket. The dealer is collecting cards and stacking chips – my chips – so I can look this time. Dayna’s name dances across the screen. It’s been four years since her name flashed up on my phone.
‘Deal me out,’ I say, throwing down the small blind and sliding a five-thousand-dollar chip to the dealer before pushing out from the table. The money will be wired electronically; nobody carries chips in or out of the room except the dealer, who does so in a discreet black case.
‘Sir, your drink.’ The waiter holds a tray with my Scotch on it in front of me.
‘He looks like he could use it,’ I say, inclining my head to Big Blind, whose eyes are so bulging with fury it amuses me.
I answer my phone as I close the door behind me. ‘Dayna?’
At first I think she sighs, then she sniffs, and I realise she’s crying. ‘Clark,’ she croaks.
‘Are you crying? What’s wrong? Where are you?’
‘I don’t know what to do. I’m scared. Can you come to my room?’
My heart rate doubles in an instant. ‘Yes. Yes, which one?’ I start running to the hotel lift.
‘Five-six-one.’
‘I’m on my way.’ I thump the call button continually as if it will bring the cart quicker. What the fuck has happened?
I can’t wait. I run to the stairwell and bound up the stairs, practically throwing myself out at the fifth floor. I stop in front of two arrows then run again towards 560-570.
Dayna yelps when I hammer on her door and I hear her fumble with the chain, until she finally opens the door.
‘Clark.’ My name is barely audible from her lips.
‘Jesus Christ, what’s wrong?’
For the briefest second, I take her in. Her hair is wet, and she’s in a robe. Her eyes are swollen and— ‘What is this?’ I reach out to her red, bruising cheek. She flinches. ‘Who did this?’
She drops her shoulders and starts sobbing again.
Inside, I’m frantic, my temper raging, my desperation almost overwhelming, but more than anything, I need to hold her.
I scoop up her slim body, and she wraps her arms around my neck, her fists gripping my dinner jacket.
She puts her head into my neck and cries as I kick the door shut and carry her to her bed.
I need to know no one has touched her like that.
I squeeze my eyes shut in relief when I see the bed is made – it’s something at least. Then I notice the curtain pulled down from the pole.
I sit on the bed with Dayna in my lap and lift her head so I can see her properly. ‘You need to tell me what happened. Who did this to you? Did they hit you? Did they… touch you?’
She shakes her head.
I’m so fucking relieved I pull her against my shoulder, kissing her temple.
Her cries come again. ‘Baby, I’m here. I’ve got you.
I’m going to take care of you.’ I hold her to me, rocking her until her breathing steadies, my chest feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck. ‘You’re shaking. Let’s get you dry.’
I’m raging, but I need to keep it together.
I need to look after her, and I need her to tell me who in their goddamned right mind would dare to touch her.
I lift her from my lap and place her down on the edge of the bed, then I go to the bathroom and find her hairdryer.
I kick off my shoes, take off my dinner jacket and sit behind her, sliding my legs either side of hers.
She watches me in the mirrored wardrobes, her fingers pressed gently to her marked cheek, as I dry her hair.
‘I’m sorry for calling you,’ she whispers when I’ve finished. ‘I didn’t know what else to do.’
I climb off the bed and kneel in front of her, lifting her chin until she looks at me.
‘I want you to call me. I want to be the first person you call. I want to be the person who looks after you.’ I lean up to kiss her brow, holding my lips against her soft skin.
‘Get under the covers. I’ll turn up the thermostat. ’
I get her a glass of water and sit on the bed next to her.
‘I need you to tell me what happened, Dayna.’
She turns on her side to face me and props herself up on her elbow, rubbing her nose with a tissue. ‘You were right.’
‘About what?’
‘It was a dangerous move, going to Bahrain.’
I feel my jaw tighten. ‘Hassan had something to do with this?’
She shakes her head. ‘Kahn. Hassan told Caspar about the alternative bid.’
‘Caspar? He did this to you?’ I swear it’s only her hand on my chest that keeps me calm enough not to walk right out of the room and smash his fucking skull.
‘I offered Hassan a 10 per cent stake in my profits.’
I try to focus on her and not the rage that’s blazing inside me.
‘It’s the only way. I can’t afford the well alone. I’m looking for other investors, but I’m not stupid; that well is barely profitable. There’s a real risk it won’t generate a return at all.’
‘I know. Teddy wants me to back out.’
She nods. ‘You probably should.’
‘But you won’t.’
She looks at me with eyes so mesmerising they draw me in.
I slide down the bed and mirror her position.
‘I can’t. I need the well, Clark.’
‘I’ve told you that there’s nothing to prove. And this…’ I reach out to her cheek, trying not to show the overwhelming anger that’s making my hands tremble. ‘This isn’t worth it.’
She watches her finger as she draws circles on the duvet. ‘It isn’t just about the well. It’s about the Persian Gulf. And it’s about beating Caspar.’
‘Christ, Dayna, it’s taking all my strength not to walk out of this room and break every bone in his body right now. Don’t tell me you’re encouraging the fight. Why do you want to rile him?’
She takes a deep breath. ‘Everyone thinks that my dad was shoddy. That he cut costs and that’s what led to Little Princess exploding and killing all those people. My dad thought it, and that’s why he killed himself. He couldn’t stand the thought of what he’d done.’
‘So you want the well to prove you can do it right?’
‘No. I want the well to piss off Caspar.’