21

Eddy fiddled with the small black box.

‘Do you like it?’ Charlotte asked anxiously.

He nodded wordlessly, hating himself. It wasn’t long before she launched into a complaint about being on her own so much of the time.

‘It’s not as if dad was here all day,’ he replied. ‘You must be used to spending time by yourself.’

Not wanting to annoy his stepmother when he had come to ask a favour, he did his best to hide his irritation. He hadn’t yet given up all hope of a handout.

‘So are you pleased with the hall?’ he asked, building gradually to his question.

‘Pleased? How can I be pleased when that’s where your father…’ she broke off in tears.

Cursing under his breath, Eddy waited for her to calm down before continuing.

‘I meant are you pleased with what I did, the decorating? Bloody hell, mum, I worked like a slave on that, because you wanted it done straight away. I nearly broke my back getting it done for you.’

Smiling through her tears, she patted his hand. This was more like it.

‘It looks lovely,’ she said.

‘The thing is –’ he hesitated. ‘The paint came to a lot more than I originally estimated.’

She laughed. ‘You sound like a real tradesman.’

‘I was happy to do it for you, mum, you know that, but I didn’t think you’d want me to be out of pocket over it.’

‘Out of pocket? What are you talking about?’

It was an awkward conversation, especially when his request for reimbursement led on to a suggestion that she advance him some of the inheritance he would come into on her death.

‘For goodness sake, Eddy,’ she remonstrated. ‘We’ve only just buried your father and now you want to talk about what’s going to happen when I die. I’m fifty-six! I intend to be around for a good many years yet.’

‘And I hope you are,’ he answered lamely.

But he did get some cash from her for the paint, which was something. By itself it wasn’t much, but it could lead to something a whole lot better, because Eddy had a feeling this was going to be his night. His run of bad luck couldn’t continue indefinitely. If he hadn’t been convinced of that, he would never have stepped inside a bookies again. That was what Luciana failed to grasp. He wasn’t about to throw good money away. He was no fool. It was insulting that she would think that of him. No, he was there to recoup his losses and make sure he ended up quids in, overall. It was just going to take time. He wasn’t addicted to gambling, not in the true sense of the word, because that would mean he was incapable of stopping. In fact, he could walk away at any time. But there was no sense in quitting when he was losing. Once he bagged a sizeable win, he would walk out of the bookies, head held high, and never return.

Even his fantastically successful father had encountered setbacks in the course of his career.

‘But I never gave up,’ he had told Eddy. ‘Whatever you do in life, stick with it. That’s what gets you through in the end.’

Perseverance was going to solve all of Eddy’s problems and make him every bit as successful as his father had been. Temporarily broke, he wasn’t going to settle for being a failure. By refusing to give up until he was back on top, before long he would be able to offer Luciana the life he had promised her. It was no more than she deserved. Although she pretended not to care, he knew how hurt she still was by the way her own family had abandoned her after the death of her parents. He was going to right that wrong and give her a life more luxurious than she could ever have hoped to enjoy with her own family. Admittedly he was betting again, having solemnly promised her he was done with gambling, but he wasn’t one of those idiots who would keep going regardless of circumstances. He wasn’t there for the thrill of the game, he was there to win, and that made all the difference.

He had seen too many guys make a packet only to lose it all because they kept going long after any sensible person would have stopped. He had done that himself in the past. But having learned his lesson the hard way, he was wiser now, and ready to walk away with his pockets stuffed full of cash. But before he could finish with the bookies for good, he had to bag that win. Although it was proving elusive right now, he refused to be put off. The whole venture had always been a test of nerve. Not everyone understood that. Like most people, Luciana lacked the grit to keep going when things went against her. If only she wasn’t so impatient, she would appreciate that he wasn’t a fool frittering away his hard-earned cash. But she steadfastly refused to acknowledge the sense behind his strategy. In the end he had caved in to her demands, and promised to stop gambling.

For a while, he had kept his word. But the lure of winning was too powerful, even for someone as strong-willed as him. He knew Luciana would accuse him of being weak if she found out he had relapsed, but the reality was very different. He was a man of vision, and he knew that if he was tenacious enough, he was bound to win eventually. Given enough chances, he really couldn’t lose, and this time he would be clever enough to leave at the right time, when he was ahead, not like the other losers he saw placing their bets with no hope of ever coming out on top. In any case, he had now lost so much he really no longer had any choice. He had to recoup his debt or Luciana might never forgive his deception.

He could imagine her endlessly haranguing him. ‘We’re ruined!’ and ‘How can I ever trust you again? It’s not just that you’re gambling again, but you lied to me.’

In a way she would be right, but it was her intransigence that had driven him to be so secretive. He would have been happy to share his plans and dreams with her if she had been open-minded. Donning the cap he wore at such times as a kind of rough disguise, he pushed the door open and slipped into a different world where no one judged him, and no one even cared whether he won or lost. Sometimes he exchanged a brief glance with someone else placing a bet, their eyes sliding rapidly away from one another with a faint smile of complicity. Occasionally, they might wish each other good luck but mostly they went about their affairs in silence, each engrossed in their own private rituals that would bring good fortune.

He felt both tension and a sense of liberation as he placed his bet, because this was the only place where he felt no guilt. The secret he was compelled to conceal was out in the open here, and no one condemned or criticised him, or even noticed what he was doing. In this place, gambling was not merely acceptable, it was the norm. He took a deep breath, considering the horses listed for the next race. When he was a teenager, long before he met Luciana, his father used to take him to the races at The Knavesmire. Closing his eyes, he tried to recall every detail of the experience: bookies shouting out the odds, horses stamping past, jockeys flying by, women in fancy frocks, their companions drinking and smoking and laughing, everyone joyous on their day out. He had never seen his father look so happy as when they were at the races together, just the two of them.

‘This one’s for you, dad,’ he whispered as he placed his bet, adding as an afterthought, ‘and I hope you rot in hell.’

If his father had left him even a quarter of his estate, Eddy’s life would be so different now. It was no matter. He didn’t need anyone else bailing him out. He would sort out his problems himself. With a sudden rush of confidence, he increased his bet. He was one of life’s winners and soon everyone would know about it.