Those looks across crowded rooms are starting to drive him insane. As is the idea of waiting another few spins of this damn wheel before going to meet her. But, rules are rules - her world, and if he wants her to respect his when she comes out, he'd better behave himself now.

So he wanders back over after getting one more drink, and gives one of the blokes a black look because he dares to look at him as though something was just going on.

'Quite a livewire, that boss of yours.'

'She's a bloody pain in the arse,' he grumbles, managing to look sour, and promptly loses three bets on the trot. The gents at the table commiserate disingenuously, but he couldn't care less. He just wants one win, as it gives him an excuse to get out.

And on the fifth try, there it is. OK, so he spread five bucks about to win on that one number, and it barely covers his stake, but so what?

'Tha's me, gents. Have a good night.'

Two minutes later, he's strolling down the side of the stock pens, smoking his cigar, looking all the world like a bloke out for an evening walk back from the pub.