Chapter Place Your Bets
Place Your Bets
There’s something rather thrilling about only spending one night in a foreign country. It feels spontaneous, impulsive, decadent almost.
Especially when that one night happens to be in Monte Carlo.
As dusk fell the legendary district began to work its magic.
The day-trippers and the shorts-and-T-shirts tourists disappeared, glittering lights illuminated the crescent-shaped harbour and an impossibly glamorous crowd began to appear.
Everything was bigger, bolder, brighter.
The warm evening air felt charged with excitement and, to the people having their photos taken on the steps of the casino or sipping cocktails on the terraces of Café de Paris, it felt like you were at the centre of the universe.
But Monte Carlo divides people: into those that love the thrill of it all, and those that see it as a symbol of everything that is wrong with the world.
Flick was most definitely of the second camp.
‘Honestly, this is why the world is in such a mess,’ she grumbled, as they made their way from their Airbnb towards the casino later that evening. ‘Too much bling and excess. Too many rich people. Too many cars—’
Her voice was drowned out by the loud roar of a bright green Lamborghini as it revved its engine – a deliberate move by the driver so that everyone would turn and stare.
‘And we wonder why the environment is in chaos and the planet is in freefall,’ she huffed, waving her arms around to no one in particular. ‘Do they even know what a carbon footprint is?’
Maggie walked beside her mutely, trying to make agreeable noises, while secretly being very much in the first camp.
She was entranced by Monte Carlo. As they made their way around Port de Fontvieille, lined with luxury yachts and super-sleek sailing boats, the marina felt almost like a fairyland of polished decks, white sails and exotic boat names.
‘I mean, look at that!’ said Flick, pointing at the giant cruise ship moored in the outer harbour of Port Hercule, the deep-water port that stood in the shadow of the Rock of Monaco.
‘Wow, yes,’ nodded Maggie. Rising out of the water with too many decks to count, the Galaxy Goddess was like a huge floating hotel. ‘That’s incredible.’
‘Incredible?’ snorted Flick. ‘It’s an environmental catastrophe. Did you know that going on a cruise is actually worse than flying?’
‘Says the woman who flew to Monte Carlo for the night,’ retorted Maggie. ‘How’s your carbon footprint?’
Which shut Flick up. ‘OK, point taken. I’m being a hypocrite.’
‘You said it.’ Maggie grinned, because at least she could admit it.
They’d got ready in their rather shabby Airbnb.
Taking quick showers before the hot water ran out.
Trying to do their hair when the plugs and mirrors were on opposite walls, so you had to be a contortionist. Now, dressed up in their outfits, Maggie felt a bit like Cinderella going to the ball.
It would be exciting if she didn’t have to keep remembering why they were here – then it became terrifying and she felt sick with nerves.
But for now, she was enjoying staring at all the bling and the excess and the ridiculously loud and expensive cars.
It was hard to compute that only a few hours ago she was in her wellies, in a muddy field, and now here she was, walking along the harbour front, in a sequinned halter dress. And with blisters.
‘I’m going to have to take these off,’ she winced – her heel was rubbed red raw.
They’d both bought new footwear. Maggie had gone for a nice pair of heels – a rather foolish choice, she realized now, for two reasons: firstly she was old enough to have bought, never worn and given away enough high heels to know that unless you spend an absolute fortune on a pair, they were always excruciatingly uncomfortable and impossible to walk in, and these were less than thirty euros; and, secondly, when on earth did she last wear a pair of heels? She couldn’t remember.
Whereas Flick had been a lot more sensible and gone for a pair of flat sandals after deciding that trying to hide her trainers under her dress probably wasn’t the wisest idea.
‘I told you to buy some of these flats,’ she was saying now, in that rather annoying way she had of I told you so.
‘I know, but I thought if I was going to see Him, I wanted to look my best.’
Flick looked at her like she’d gone a bit mad.
‘Heels make me look slimmer,’ she explained.
‘We’re going to confront him. You’re not trying to date him.’
Maggie felt her cheeks flush underneath her bronzer. Like she’d been caught. She doubled down.
‘It might be hard for you to imagine this, as you’re in a relationship. But imagine you were going to see your ex – how would you want to look?’
‘Strong. Confident. Like he was something I scraped off my shoe,’ replied Flick.
‘Well, that too,’ nodded Maggie. ‘But I also want to look slimmer.’
She caught Flick gaping at her with horror.
‘What? Why are you looking at me like that? Most women do, otherwise there wouldn’t be a multi-billion-pound industry in control pants.’
‘You’re not wearing . . .?’ Flick broke off.
‘Kill me now and nail me to your feminist Gen Z cross,’ snapped Maggie, who was growing sick of being lectured to.
‘Yes, I am wearing tummy-control pants. And, yes, I brought them with me.’ She glared at Flick, challenging her to say something.
‘Though they’re bloody uncomfortable in this heat,’ she added, fidgeting underneath her sequins.
‘Well, you look great anyway,’ said Flick, suitably reprimanded. She might have spent all her time projecting confidence about this evening but she was as nervous as Maggie. Even if for very different reasons.
‘So do you,’ said Maggie, returning the compliment.
They turned to look at each other, taking themselves in, then both smiled at their transformations. Not bad, considering.
‘OK, come on.’ Flick threw back her shoulders. ‘Let’s do this.’
On arriving at the casino, they discovered that, like the rest of Monte Carlo, it had transformed at night. Lit up against the night sky, it was flanked by a fleet of expensive cars and a flashy set of people were swirling around the bottom of the steps at the main entrance.
Joining them, Maggie scanned the crowds, a fluttering in her stomach at the possibility of seeing him again.
Was it nerves? Fear? Desire?
As the thought popped into her head, she almost tripped on the hem of her dress as she climbed the stairs and had to grab hold of Flick’s elbow.
‘Wait, are you OK?’ Flick glanced at her, concerned.
‘Yes, yes, fine . . . absolutely fine,’ she garbled. Fine being the universal language for absolutely not fine, not in the slightest.
Get a grip, she told herself firmly. Smoothing down her dress, Maggie tried slowing down her breathing.
At the entrance they were greeted by uniformed doormen and, after showing their passports and paying their admission, which Flick put on her credit card while trying not to think of the costs she was racking up, they were suddenly inside the famous casino.
And it was breathtaking.
A large atrium, flanked with marble pillars and ornate chandeliers, which spilled from the ceilings like crystal waterfalls, greeted them as they entered.
It was grandeur on a level that neither Flick nor Maggie had ever seen before.
Luxurious rooms with swagged red velvet curtains, huge floor-to-ceiling paintings and stained-glass windows gave way to rows of slot machines and gaming tables, their familiar green baize and polished mahogany appearing like islands, around which sat dozens of players with throngs of excited bystanders jostling behind the roped-off sections.
‘Wow, this place is really incredible,’ murmured Maggie, gazing up at the frescoed ceilings with awe. ‘Look at these paintings.’
‘Look at the bar with all the crystals,’ gasped Flick, who seemed to have left her soap box at the door and was momentarily stunned by the opulence. It was a world away from the bar she often pulled pints behind at home. ‘It’s so busy, there’s so many people.’
‘It’s probably full of rich playboys,’ whispered Maggie, gesturing towards the gaming tables, where the minimum bet was more money than she had in the bank.
‘Well, we only need to find one playboy,’ Flick reminded her, snapping back to the matter at hand.
They moved through the different gaming rooms, scanning the crowds, while trying to be discreet.
Maggie was focused on remaining calm, but she was a bag of nerves.
Adrenaline and anticipation, mixed with fear of the unknown and the casino’s highly charged atmosphere, made for a complicated cocktail of emotions.
Meanwhile, Flick was quickly swooped upon when she pulled out her phone – they were strictly prohibited in the casino – so she couldn’t check for updates on His social media.
Instead, they concentrated on scouting the different salons, including the bar where they traded in the two drinks vouchers, which had been included in the price of the admission, for one expensive cocktail. The minutes ticked by. Ten. Twenty. Half an hour. An hour.
He isn’t coming.
Doubts swirled in their minds. We’ve got it wrong.
What were we thinking? It was such a long shot.
But when they caught each other’s eye they’d stop chewing their lips and fiddling with their hair and instead swap reassuring smiles and I hadn’t noticed the time shrugs of unconcern.
Despite their differences, they had something in common: both were terrible actors and they saw right through each other.
‘Maybe we should get another drink,’ suggested Maggie.
‘At these prices?’ Flick blanched.
‘Isn’t the newspaper paying?’
Flick imagined Seymour getting a bill for two cocktails at a casino in Monte Carlo. The thought both terrified and amused her. It was a struggle to get him to pay parking, despite the local car park only charging two pounds a day. Can’t you park at Tesco’s? he would always grumble.
‘Um, yes, of course,’ she nodded, forcing a smile.
He isn’t coming.
And then suddenly, there he was.
Maggie sensed him before she saw him. Like you can sense the change in atmosphere just before there’s a thunderstorm.
The room felt electrically charged. A sudden whiff of his familiar scent.
A flash of him amongst the throngs of people.
Was he alone or with other people? She couldn’t tell.
It was so busy. Emerging briefly through the crowd, he strode through the salon as if he owned it, oozing confidence.
It was the first time she’d seen him since he walked out of her flat and her life and now here he was, in a casino in Monte Carlo.
The room blurred. The noise muted. Everything seemed to shift on its axis.
‘That’s Him.’
She said it under her breath, without barely moving her mouth. Flick saw the look on Maggie’s face, realized immediately and quickly turned. Until that moment she’d only ever seen a photograph, but there he was in the flesh. She recognized him instantly.
The two women stared, frozen, for a split second, before Flick sprang forward.
‘Excuse me!’
As Flick suddenly moved towards him, Maggie snapped to and tried to follow, but before they knew what was happening, he was being swept through mirrored panels, which made up a secret doorway, and had disappeared.
‘Excusez-moi,’ stammered Maggie. Two burly men in suits turned to her, blocking their way. Both said something in French that neither she nor Flick understood.
That was the problem trying to converse in a different language. Speaking it was one thing, understanding it was quite another.
‘I’m afraid I don’t understand—’ Maggie began apologizing, but Flick interrupted impatiently.
‘We need to speak to the man who just entered that room.’
One of the doormen shook his head. ‘This is for members and VIP players only,’ replied the other, his face expressionless.
‘It’s important,’ urged Flick.
‘Please,’ added Maggie. She smiled sweetly, teenage memories of trying to charm nightclub bouncers resurfacing, but the two men remained, sentry-like, in front of the concealed doorway.
Flick scowled furiously. ‘I can’t believe it. That’s ridiculous. They can’t just bar us from entering.’
‘They just did,’ said Maggie, as she led a furious Flick away before she caused a scene and they were thrown out.
‘But there must be a way in.’
‘There is if you’re a high roller.’
Flick gave her a blank look.
‘A person who spends a lot of money gambling,’ explained Maggie.
‘You mean a lot of other people’s money, in his case,’ snorted Flick furiously. ‘And your money, more to the point.’
Maggie didn’t reply. She was still reeling from seeing him. Still partly in shock. It hadn’t quite sunk in. He was here. He was actually here.
‘Well, at least your hunch was right,’ she said, after a moment. ‘At least that’s something.’
‘We’re not giving up,’ said Flick adamantly. ‘We know exactly where he is. If he’s gone in there, he’s going to have to come out.’
‘So we just wait?’
Flick nodded. ‘And when he finally does, we’ve got him.’