Free The Balkan Trilogy by Olivia Manning Page B

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    ‘Scarcely know how to play,’ said Yakimov.
    ‘To learn is the matter of a moment.’
    Sighing, Yakimov gave a farewell glance at the buffet and, for the first time, noticed it was overhung by a portrait of an old boyar – no doubt some member of the great Teodorescu family. The boyar wore a fur turban of enormous size and a brocaded tunic beneath a mantle of fur. A pair of hands, white and delicate, rested on an embroidered cummerband, one thumb curled round the hilt of a heavily bejewelled dagger.
    Yakimov was abashed, not by these accoutrements of wealth but by the face they surrounded – the long, corpse-pale nose and cheeks, the lips with their tattered fringe of beard, the heavy eyelids beneath which a thread of iris peered malevolently.
    He let himself be led away.
    The lights had been switched on over two oval tables. A servant was shuffling the packs. A dozen or so people sat at one table and a few others stood about behind the chairs. Yakimov could see no rush to join in the play. The Princess and the red-haired ‘Foxy’ Leverett remained in an embrace on the sofa. Other couples were lying about in shadowed corners. The Baron, still grinning, stood at the table, but at such a distance that it was clear he did not intend to be drawn in.
    Hadjimoscos, who had made another trip over to the Princess, returned with a bundle of notes. Their hostess, he announced, had a headache, so he would take the bank on her behalf. The bank was for 200,000 lei . He gave Yakimov a smile: ‘You see, mon cher , our game is modest. You cannot lose much. How many counters will you take?’
    Yakimov, knowing the croupier received five per cent on the bank, made a wild bid to escape: ‘You’ll need a croupier, dear boy. Why not let your poor old Yaki …’
    ‘I am croupier,’ said Hadjimoscos. ‘It is the tradition here. Come now, how many chips?’
    Resignedly Yakimov replied: ‘Give me a couple of thou.’
    Hadjimoscos laughed: ‘Each piece is for five thousand. We do not play for less.’
    Yakimov accepted five counters and handed over his receipt for twenty-five thousand lei . Hadjimoscos took his place before the shoe. As soon as he had drawn the cards, he became serious and businesslike. At first the game went much as Yakimov had expected, with the bank increasing steadily and an occasional win for the player on the right. Yakimov, on the left, frequently let his right to play pass on his neighbour. Despite this, he had lost twenty thousand lei in ten minutes. He was resigned to losing all his chips, but with his last five thousand he turned over a seven and a two. At the next coup , Hadjimoscos said: ‘I give.’ The player on the right held a king and a queen: Yakimov held a six and a two. When his next hand proved to be a nine and a ten, the punters began to bet on the left and Yakimov began to regain himself. He was even winning at baccarat: something he had never done before. He used his winnings to increase his bets.
    As Yakimov’s pile of chips grew, Hadjimoscos’s manner became increasingly sharp and cold. He dealt with great speed and he brushed Yakimov’s gains towards him in a disapproving way. Hadjimoscos’s face, that ordinarily was as round as the face of a Japanese doll, lengthened and thinned until it might have been the face of the boyar portrayed above the supper buffet. Suddenly, he lifted the shoe and slapped it down again.With no trace of his usual lisp, he announced the bank was broken.
    ‘I’ll have to see the Princess,’ he said and hurried away. He returned to say the Princess had refused to replenish the bank. He went to the Baron’s elbow and said: ‘ Mon cher Baron , I appeal to you.’
    With an affable flash of teeth, the Baron replied: ‘Surely you know I never lend money.’ ‘No wonder,’ thought Yakimov, the Baron was ‘ complètement “outsider”.’
    Hadjimoscos began to appeal elsewhere, while Yakimov, his chips on the table, wished only that he could change