The Collected Short Stories (44 page)

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Authors: Jeffrey Archer

BOOK: The Collected Short Stories
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I explained to her that the duty orderly thought it might be a fracture and had suggested I report to the hospital immediately.
Caroline frowned, removed her skis, and went off to find a taxi to take us to the hospital. It wasn't a long journey but it was one the taxi driver had evidently done many times before from the way he took the slippery bends.
“I ought to be able to dine out on this for about a year,”
Caroline promised me as we entered the double doors of the hospital.
“Would you be kind enough to wait outside, madam?' asked a male orderly as I was ushered into the X-ray room.
“Yes, but will I ever see my poor husband again?” she mocked as the door was closed in front of her.
I entered a room full of sophisticated machinery presided over by an expensively dressed doctor. I told him what I thought was wrong with me and he lifted the offending fool gently up onto an X-ray machine. Moments later he was studying the large negative.
“There's no fracture there,” he assured me, pointing to the bone. “But if you are still in any pain it might be wise for me to bind the ankle up tightly.” He pinned my X ray next to five others hanging from a rail.
“Am I the sixth person already today?” I asked, looking up at the row of X rays.
“No, no,” he said, laughing. “The other five are all the same man. I think he must have tried to fly over the ravine. the fool.”
“Over the ravine?”
“Yes, showing off, I suspect,” he said as he began to bind my ankle. “We get one every year, but this poor fellow broke both his legs and an arm, and will have a nasty scar on his face to remind him of his stupidity. Lucky to be alive, in my opinion.”
“Lucky to be alive?” I repeated weakly.
“Yes, but only because he didn't know what he was doing. My fourteen-year-old skis over that ravine and can land like a seagull on water. He, on the other hand,” the doctor pointed to the X rays, “won't be skiing again this holiday. In fact, he won't be walking for at least six months.”
“Really?” I said.
“And as for you,” he added, after he finished binding me up, “just rest the ankle in ice every three hours and change the bandage once a day. You should be back on the slopes again in a couple of days, three at the most.”
“We're flying back this evening,” I told him as I gingerly got to my feet.
“Good timing,” he said, smiling.
I hobbled happily out of the X-ray room to find Caroline head down in
Elle.
“You look pleased with yourself,” she said, looking up.
“I am. It turns out to be nothing worse than two broken legs, a broken arm, and a scar on the face.”
“How stupid of me,” said Caroline, “I thought it was a simple sprain.”
“Not me,” I told her. “Travers—the accident this morning, you remember? The ambulance. Still, they assure me he'll live,” I added.
“Pity,” she said, linking her arm through mine. “After all the trouble you took, I was rather hoping you'd succeed.”
As she entered the room every eye turned toward her.
When admiring a girl some men start with her head and work down. I start with the ankles and work up.
She wore black high-heeled velvet shoes and a tight-fitting black dress that stopped high enough above the knees to reveal the most perfectly tapering legs. As my eyes continued their upward sweep they paused to take in her narrow waist and slim athletic figure. But it was the oval face that I found captivating, slightly pouting lips and the largest blue eyes I've ever seen, crowned with a head of thick, black, short-cut hair that literally shone with luster. Her entrance was all the more breathtaking because of the surroundings she had chosen. Heads would have turned at a diplomatic reception, a society cocktail party, even a charity ball, but at a chess tournament …
I followed her every movement, patronizingly unable to accept that she could be a player. She walked slowly over to the club secretary's table and signed in to prove me wrong. She was handed a number to indicate her challenger for the opening match. Anyone who had not yet been allocated an opponent waited to see if she would take her place opposite their side of the board.
The player checked the number she had been given and made her way toward an elderly man who was seated in the
far corner of the room, a former captain of the club now past his best.
As the club's new captain I had been responsible for instigating these round-robin matches. We meet on the last Friday of the month in a large clublike room on top of the Mason's Arms in the High Street. The landlord sees to it that thirty tables are set out for us and that food and drink are readily available. Three or four other clubs in the district send half a dozen opponents to play a couple of blitz games, giving us a chance to face rivals we would not normally play. The rules for the matches are simple enough—one minute on the clock is the maximum allowed for each move, so a game rarely lasts for more than an hour, and if a pawn hasn't been captured in thirty moves the game is automatically declared a draw. A short break for a drink between games, paid for by the loser, ensures that everyone has the chance to challenge two opponents during the evening.
A thin man wearing half-moon spectacles and a dark blue three-piece suit made his way over toward my board. We smiled and shook hands. My guess would have been a solicitor, but I was wrong as he turned out to be an accountant working for a stationery supplier in Woking.
I found it hard to concentrate on my opponent's well-rehearsed Moscow opening as my eyes kept leaving the board and wandering over to the girl in the black dress. On the one occasion our eyes did meet she gave me an enigmatic smile, but although I tried again I was unable to elicit the same response a second time. Despite being preoccupied I still managed to defeat the accountant, who seemed unaware that there were several ways out of a seven-pawn attack.
At the half-time break three other members of the club had offered her a drink before I even reached the bar. I knew I could not hope to play my second match against the girl as I would be expected to challenge one of the visiting team captains. In fact she ended up playing the accountant.
I defeated my new opponent in a little over forty minutes and, as a solicitous host, began to take an interest in the other matches that were still being played. I set out on a circuitous
route that ensured I ended up at her table. I could see that the accountant already had the better of her, and within moments of my arrival she had lost both her queen and the game.
I introduced myself and found that just shaking hands with her was a sexual experience. Weaving our way through the tables we strolled over to the bar together. Her name, she told me, was Amanda Curzon. I ordered Amanda the glass of red wine she requested and a half-pint of beer for myself. I began by commiserating with her over the defeat.
“How did you get on against him?” she asked.
“Just managed to beat whim,” I said. “But it was very close. How did your first game with our old captain turn out?”
“Stalemate,” said Amanda. “But I think he was just being courteous.”
“Last time I played him it ended up in stalemate,” I told her.
She smiled. “Perhaps we ought to have a game sometime?”
“I'll look forward to that,” I said, as she finished her drink.
“Well, I must be off,” she announced suddenly. “Have to catch the last train to Hounslow.”
“Allow me to drive you,” I said gallantly. “It's the least the host captain can be expected to do.”
“But surely it's miles out of your way?”
“Not at all,” I lied, Hounslow being about twenty minutes beyond my flat. I gulped down the last drop of my beer and helped Amanda on with her coat. Before leaving I thanked the pub owner for the efficient organization of the evening.
We then strolled into the parking lot. I opened the passenger door of my Scirocco to allow Amanda to climb in.
“A slight improvement on London Transport,” she said as I slid into my side of the car. I smiled and headed out on the road northward. That black dress that I described earlier goes even higher up the legs when a girl sits back in a Scirocco. It didn't seem to embarrass her.
“It's still very early,” I ventured after a few inconsequential remarks about the club evening. “Have you time to drop in for a drink?”
“It would have to be a quick one,” she replied, looking at her watch. “I've a busy day ahead of me tomorrow.”
“Of course,” I said, chatting on, hoping she wouldn't notice a detour that could hardly be described as on the way to Hounslow.
“Do you work in town?” I asked.
“Yes. I'm a receptionist for a firm of estate agents in Berkeley Square.”
“I'm surprised you're not a model.”
“I used to be,” she replied without further explanation. She seemed quite oblivious to the route I was taking as she chatted on. about her vacation plans for Ibiza. Once we had arrived at my place I parked the car and led Amanda through my front gate and up to the flat. In the hall I helped her off with her coat before taking her through to the front room.
“What would you like to drink?” I asked.
“I'll stick to wine, if you've a bottle already open,” she replied, as she walked slowly round, taking in the unusually tidy room. My mother must have dropped by during the morning, I thought gratefully.
“It's only a bachelor pad,” I said, emphasizing the word “bachelor” before going into the kitchen. To my relief I found there was an unopened bottle of wine in the larder. I joined Amanda with the bottle and two glasses a few moments later, to find her studying my chess board and fingering the delicate ivory pieces that were set out for a game I was playing by mail.
“What a beautiful set,” she volunteered as I handed her a glass of wine. “Where did you find it?”
“Mexico,” I told her, not explaining that I had won it in a tournament while on vacation there. “I was only sorry we didn't have the chance to have a game ourselves.”
She checked her watch. “Time for a quick one,” she said, taking a seat behind the little white pieces.
I quickly took my place opposite her. She smiled, picked up a white and a black bishop and hid them behind her back. Her dress became even tighter and emphasized the shape of
her breasts. She then placed both clenched fists in front of me. I touched her right hand and she turned it over and opened it to reveal a white bishop.
“Is there to be a wager of any kind?” I asked lightheartedly. She checked inside her evening bag.
“I only have a few pounds on me,” she said.
“I'd be willing to play for lower stakes.”
“What do you have in mind?” she asked.
“What can you offer?”
“What would you like?”
“Ten pounds if you win.”
“And if I lose?”
“You take something off.”
I regretted the words the moment I had said them and waited for her to slap my face and leave, but she said simply, “There's not much harm in that if we only play one gave.”
I nodded my agreement and stared down at the board.
She wasn't a bad player—what the pros call a
patzer
—though her Roux opening was somewhat orthodox. I managed to make the game last twenty minutes while sacrificing several pieces without making it look too obvious. When I said “Checkmate,” she kicked off both her shoes and laughed.
“Care for another drink?” I asked, not feeling too hopeful. “After all, it's not yet eleven.”
“All right. Just a small one, and then I must be off.”
I went to the kitchen, returned a moment later clutching the bottle, and refilled her glass.
“I only wanted half a glass,” she said, frowning.
“I was lucky to win,” I said, ignoring her remark, “after your bishop captured my knight. Extremely close-run thing.”
“Perhaps,” she replied.
“Care for another game?” I ventured.
She hesitated.
“Double or quits?”
“What do you mean?”
“Twenty pounds or another garment?”
“Neither of us is going to lose much tonight, are we?”
She pulled up her chair as I turned the board around and we both began to put the ivory pieces back in place.
The second game took a little longer as I made a silly mistake early on, castling on my queen's side, and it took several moves to recover. However, I still managed to finish the game off in under thirty minutes and even found time to refill Amanda's glass when she wasn't looking.
She smiled at me as she hitched her dress up high enough to allow me to see the tops of her stockings. She undid the garters and slowly peeled the stockings off before dropping them on my side of the table.
“I nearly beat you that time,” she said.
“Almost,” I replied. “Want another chance to get even? Let's say fifty pounds this time,” I suggested, trying to make the offer sound magnanimous.
“The stakes are getting higher for both of us,” she replied as she reset the board. I began to wonder what might be going through her mind. Whatever it was, she foolishly sacrificed both her rooks early on, and the game was over in a matter of minutes.
Once again she lifted her dress but this time well above her waist. My eyes were glued to her thighs as she undid the black garter belt and held it high above my head before letting it drop and join her stockings on my side of the table.
“Once I had lost the second rook,” she said, “I was never in with a chance.”
“I agree. It would therefore only be fair to allow you one more chance,” I said, quickly resetting the board. “After all,” I added, “you could win one hundred pounds this time.” She smiled.
“I really ought to be going home,” she said as she moved her queen's pawn two squares forward. She smiled that enigmatic smile again as I countered with my bishop's pawn.
It was the best game she had played all evening, and her use of the Warsaw gambit kept me at the board for over thirty minutes. In fact I damn nearly lost early on because I found it hard to concentrate properly on her defense strategy.
A couple of times Amanda chuckled when she thought she had got the better of me, but it became obvious she had not seen Karpov play the Sicilian defense and win from a seemingly impossible position.
“Checkmate,” I finally declared.
“Damn,” she said, and standing up turned her back on me. “You'll have to give me a hand.” Trembling, I leaned over and slowly pulled the zip down until it reached the small of her back. Once again I wanted to touch the smooth, creamy skin. She swung around to face me, shrugged gracefully, and the dress fell to the ground as if a statue were being unveiled. She leaned forward and brushed the side of my cheek with her hand, which had much the same effect as an electric shock. I emptied the last of the bottle of wine into her glass and left for the kitchen with the excuse of needing to refill my own. When I returned she hadn't moved. A gauzy black bra and pair of panties were now the only garments that I still hoped to see removed.
“I don't suppose you'd play one more game?” I asked, trying not to sound desperate.
“It's time you took me home,” she said with a giggle.
I passed her another glass of wine. “Just one more,” I begged. “But this time it must be for both garments.”
She laughed. “Certainly not,” she said. “I couldn't afford to lose.”
“It would have to be the last game,” I agreed. “But two hundred pounds this time and we play for both garments.” I waited, hoping the size of the wager would tempt her. “The odds must surely be on your side. After all, you've nearly won three times.”

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