being ushered to a seat at the table by a tall sallow-faced young man, who in his evening dress looked like an undertaker.
'i have asked simon to place him so that you may watch his face as he plays.' they were intent now, leaning forward slightly, scrutinizing the man as he arranged the plaques that simon had stacked at his elbow.
doctor manfred steyner began to play. his face was completely devoid of expression, but the pallor was startling.
every few seconds the pink tip of his tongue slipped out between his lips, then disappeared again. in the intervals between each coup, there was a reptilian stillness about him, the stillness of a lizard or an iguana. only a pulse beat steadily in his throat and his spectacles glittered like a snake's eyes.
'may i direct your attention to his right hand during the play of this coup,' the host murmured, and all their eyes flicked downwards.
manfred's right hand lay open beside the pile of his chips, but as his card was laid before him so his fingers closed.
'carte.' soundlessly he mouthed the word, and now his hand was a fist, the knuckles whitened, the tension was so fierce that his fist trembled. yet, still his face was neutral.
the banker flipped his card.
'sept!' the croupier's mouth formed the number. he faced manfred's card, then he swept manfred's stake away.
manfred's hand flopped open and lay soft and hairless as a dead fish on the green baize.
'let us leave him to his pleasures,' suggested the host and drew the curtains across the window. they returned to their chairs, and they were strangely subdued.
'jesus,' muttered one of the guests. 'that was ugly. i felt like a peeping tom, like watching someone, you know, pulling his pudding.'
the host glanced at him quickly, surprised at his perception.
'in effect, that is exactly what you were watching,' he told him.
'you will excuse me playing the role of lecturer, but i know a little about this man. it cost me nearly four hundred rand for an analytic report on him by one of our leading psychiatrists.' the -host pause , assuring himself of their complete attention.
'the reasons are obscure, probably arising from an event or series of events during the period in which doctor steyner was an orphan wandering through the smoking ruins- of war- torn europe.' the host coughed, deprecating his own flight of oratory. 'be that as it may. the results are there for all to see. doctor manfred kurt steyner's intelligence quotient is a genius rating of 158. he neither smokes nor drinks. he has no hobbies, plays no sport, has never made so much as an improper remark to any woman other than his wife, and there is some doubt as to just how often or to what extent she is favoured by his attentions.' the host sipped his drink conscious of their intense interest. 'mechanically, if that is the correct term, doctor steyner is neither impotent nor deficient in his manhood. however, he finds all bodily contact, and especially the secretions that may arise from such contact, to be utterly loathsome. for arousal he relies on the baccarat cards, for release he might endure a brief contact with a member of the opposite sex, but more likely he would oh, what was' the expression you used, robert?' they absorbed this in silence.
'he is, to be precise, a compulsive gambler. he is also a compulsive loser.' they stirred with disbelief.
'you mean he triv to lose?' demanded robert incredulously.
'no.' the host shook his head. 'not on the conscious level. he believes he is trying to win, but he lays bets against odds that, with his magnificent brain, he must realize are suicidal. it is a deep-seated subconscious need to lose, to be humiliated. a form of masochism.' the host opened a black leather notebook and checked its contents.
'during the period from 1958 to 1963 doctor steyner lost the total sum of r227,000 at this table. in 1964 he was able to arrive at an arrangement with his sole creditor to discharge the debt plus the accumulated interest.' you could see the faces change as they rapidly searched their memories for a set of circumstances which would fit the dates and principals. robert reached the correct deduction first. in 1964 their host had sold his majority holdings in the north maun copper co. to crc at a price that could only be considered advantageous. just prior to this doctor steyner had been made head of finance and planning at crc.
'north maun copper,' said robert with admiration.
that is how he had done it, the cunning old fox! he had forced steyner to buy well above market value.
the host smiled softly, deferentially, neither confirming nor denying.
'since 1964 to the present doctor steyner has continued to patronize this establishment. his gambling losses for this further period amount to-'
he consulted his notebook again, pretending surprise at the figure, 'to a touch over r300,000.' they sighed and moved restlessly.
even to these men it was a very large sum of money.
'i think we can rely on him.' the host closed his notebook with a snap, and smiled around at them.
theresa lay in the dark. the night was warm, the stillness spoiled only by the kroaking of a frog down at the fishpond. the moonlight came in through the window, playing shadow pictures through the branches of the pride of india tree onto the wall of her bedroom.
she threw back the single sheet, and swung her legs off the bed.
she could not sleep, it was too warm, her nightdress kept binding under her armpits. she stood up and on a sudden reckless impulse she drew the nightdress off over her head and tossed it through the open door of her dressing-room, then, naked, she walked out onto the wide veranda.
into the moonlight, with the cool stone flags under her bare feet, and the warm night air moving like the touch of fairy hands on her skin.
she felt suddenly devilish and daring, she wanted to run down across the lawns and to have someone catch her doing it. she giggled, uncertain of this mood. it was so far removed from manfred's conception of a good german hausfrau's behaviour.
'he'd be furious,' she whispered with wicked delight, and then she heard the motor of the car.
she froze with horror, the headlights flicked through the trees as the car came up the driveway and she darted back into her room; in panic she dropped to her knees and searched for her nightgown, found it and ran to the bed as she dragged it on over her head.
she lay in the darkness and listened to the car door slam. there was silence-until she heard him pass her door.
his heels cracked on the yellow wood floor, he was almost running.
theresa knew the symptoms, the late night return, the suppressed urgency, and she lay rigid in her bed, waiting.
the minutes passed slowly, and then the inter leading door from manfred's suite swung open silently.
'manfred, is that you?' she sat up and reached for the switch of the bedside lamp.
'don't put the light on.' his voice was breathless, slurred as though he had been drinking but there was no trace of liquor on his breath as he stooped over her and kissed her.
his lips were dry and tightly closed, as he slipped off his dressing- gown.
two and a half minutes later he stood up from the bed turning his back to theresa as he quickly shrugged into the silk dressing-gown.
'excuse me a minute, theresa.' the breathlessness was gone from his voice. he went through the door of his own suite, and seconds later she heard the hiss of the shower and the tinkling splash of water.
she lay on her back and her fingernails cut into the palms of her hands. her body was trembling with a mixture of revulsion and desire, it had been so fleeting a contact enough to stir her, but so swift as to leave her with a feeling of having been used and sullied. she knew that the rest of the night would pass infinitely slowly, with restless burning tension, remorse and self-pity alternating with wild elation and half-crazed erotic fantasy.
'damn him,' she screamed silently within her skull.
'damn him! damn him!' she heard the shower stop, and then manfred returned to her room. he smelt of 4711 eau de cologne, and he sat down carefully on the end of the bed.
'you may turn on the light, theresa.' it required a conscious effort for her to unclench her hand and reach out for the lamp switch.
manfred blinked behind his spectacles at the flood of light. his hair was damp and freshly combed, his cheeks shone like ripe apples.
'i hope you had an enjoyable day?' he asked, and listened seriously to her reply. despite her tension, theresa found herself falling under the almost hypnotic influence he wielded over her. his voice precise, almost monotonous.
the glitter of his spectacles, the reptilian stillness of his body and features.
as she had so many times before, she thought of herself as a warm fluffy rabbit sitting tense and fascinated before the cobra.
'it is late,' he said at last and he stood up.
looking down at her as she lay cuddled into the white silk sheets, he asked with as little emphasis as if he were requesting her to pass the sugar. 'theresa, could you raise three hundred thousand rand without your grandfather knowing?'
