She scanned the room, looking for Johnny. Had he come in yet? A waiter stopped in front of her and she swapped her empty glass for a fresh one. It was beginning to feel stuffy in here. Her eyes fell to the terrace beyond the glass doors and she was tempted to step outside for a moment, but she knew even one moment would be all it took to remind her of just how cold it could be in a silk dress, beside a lake in the Austrian Alps, in December.

There would be nothing to see anyway. The lake was like a pool of ink, the mountains sleeping under their white cloaks. She went to turn back into the room, her eyes catching on its reflection in the windows. Someone was watching her. Instinctively, she knew who. She stared back at him in the glass, feeling suddenly lost. The world felt like it was pulling inside out again, like an old sock that she couldn’t get comfortable with.

She turned. Kit was sitting at the poker table, looking down again, considering the deck.

Clover watched him, reading the body language at the table and sensing the tension between the players. Her eyes fell to the thick pile of chips in the middle of the table. Even a quick scan told her it was several hundred thousand euros. It showed up her own efforts as scant and paltry; then again, he liked taking risks. He had built his life around it.

She moved closer, feeling her own heart rate accelerate at the thought of playing for that much money. A woman in a rose-printed satin cocktail dress made space for her. She said something, which Clover didn’t understand.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t speak German,’ Clover apologized. Kit glanced up at the sound of her voice, seeing that she’d come closer and was now watching.

‘He’s just gone all in. Three hundred thousand. He’s going to give it to the charity, if he wins,’ the woman whispered in flawless English, jerking her chin lightly in Kit’s direction, opposite. ‘He’s on quite a streak.’

Clover watched Kit closely as his fingers pressed down on his cards. She saw the corner of his jaw ball, eyes moving as the hand was dealt. He glanced at her again.

‘Fold.’ The man beside him threw down his cards, pushing them into the muck.

Kit didn’t stir. Clover watched him breathe. It seemed like every set of eyes in the room was on him. ‘I’ll raise twenty.’ He pushed a chip into the pile; his eyes rose to Clover again.

Twenty? Did that mean twenty thousand?

She looked at the man on the other side of the table. He was watching her too. Or specifically, he was watching Kit watching her.

Clover stiffened, suddenly aware of her every blink. What did any of it mean?