Kerry Packer had taken the seat to Jean-Pascal’s right, whether by virtue of a cut of the cards, or simply by choosing it, Conrad didn’t know; it had happened before he came back into the room. Lucan had taken the seat to Packer’s right, and to his right sat Ian Maxwell-Scott, with Susie hovering, drink in hand, behind him. Conrad took the seat to Ian’s right and placed his chips in front of him. Dominick Elwes finished a confidential conversation with John Aspinall at the door of the Blue Room, and sat down on Conrad’s right. Two men Conrad didn’t know, who had apparently hurried upstairs from the bar when the start of play had been announced, joined to complete the table.
‘The game is chemin de fer,’ Jean-Pascal announced. ‘The minimum stake is £100. Mr Packer has the bank.’
The ritual of shuffling and cutting the pack was carried out quickly.
‘The bank wagers £500,’ Packer called, his Australian accent a strange foil to Jean-Pascal’s Parisian French. The croupier reached out with his rake and pushed Packer’s chips on to the Banque.
Conrad took a deep breath. He was not ready to cover Packer’s bet in its entirety. He ventured £100. Lucan and Elwes quickly bet £200 each, and the bank was covered.
‘Rien ne vas plus,’ Jean-Pascal said briskly.
The cards were dealt, Lucan representing the players. Packer turned over his cards, a four and a three. Lucan turned over the players’ cards: a ten and a six.
‘The bank wins, seven to six’, Jean-Pascal announced.
Packer gave the table a huge smile.
‘It’s with me tonight, I can feel it. The bank wagers £1,000.’
Conrad felt the familiar churning in his stomach. This was the moment to test his luck. Packer was playing aggressively, setting out to intimidate the table. He felt instinctively that a response was called for. This had nothing to do with probability, he knew, but it might have a lot to do with the way the players bet as the game wore on. He glanced at Lucan and Maxwell-Scott. Neither seemed in a hurry to intervene.
‘Banco,’ he called out, as casually as he could. He felt, rather than saw, other players looking at him.
‘Easy there, big spender,’ a female voice behind him whispered softly. He turned. Susie was giving him a broad grin. ‘The night is young.’
He saw her glance at her husband, who grinned back at her mischievously.
The bank’s cards were a queen and a king. Packer cursed silently. The players had a three and an ace.
‘The players win, four to zero,’ Jean-Pascal confirmed. Suddenly Conrad was up £900. ‘Lord Lucan has the bank.’
‘The bank wagers £500,’ Lucan said quietly.
Ian Maxwell-Scott looked as if he would intervene, but Susie was standing with a hand on his shoulder behind him, as if saying ‘not yet’. He remained silent.
‘Banco,’ Conrad called.
‘Rien ne va plus,’ Jean-Pascal said.
Lucan flipped his cards over quickly: a two and a five.
With a smile, Conrad turned his over: an eight and a king.
‘The players win, La Petite to seven. Mr Maxwell-Scott has the bank.’
‘Up £1,400,’ Conrad said to himself.
Susie bent her head over and kissed Ian on the forehead.
‘The bank wagers £1,500.’
Jean-Pascal, sensing a shift in the mood of the table, glanced to his right. There was something troubling him, something in the atmosphere, but he couldn’t quite place what it was. John Aspinall was watching from across the room. He showed no sign of concern, so the croupier relaxed. He had seen the scale of wagers escalate quickly before. He had imagined it. There was nothing to worry about. He dismissed the thought from his mind.
‘Banco prime,’ Conrad pounced.
‘Rien ne va plus.’
The cards were turned over. The bank had seven. Conrad turned over a nine and a Queen. He was up £2,900. His luck had returned to him. It was working.
‘The players win, La Grande to seven,’ Jean-Pascal said. ‘Sir Conrad Rainer has the bank.’