“It’s not that difficult if you’ve got a hundred pounds to throw away.”
“He plays for money?”
“No, for amusement.”
“But the hundred pounds?”
“It’s an admission fee that you donate to his favorite charity.”
“Any tips?”
“Yes, sir, you’d be better off giving me fifty quid and going home.”
“But what if I beat him?”
“Then I’ll give you fifty quid and I’ll go home. Mind you, you’ll enjoy his company for the few minutes the game lasts. And if you were to win, he’ll donate a thousand pounds to the charity of your choice. He’s a real gentleman.”
Despite appearances, thought Seb as he ordered a second drink. He occasionally glanced
around at the backgammon table, but it was another twenty minutes before the barman whispered, “He’s free now, sir, waiting for his next victim.”
Seb swung around to see the stout man heave himself out of his chair and begin to walk away with the young woman on his arm.
“But I thought…” He looked more closely at the lamb that had devoured the python. He could hear Cedric saying, “What did you learn from that, young man?” Bishara looked around forty, perhaps a little older, but his tanned good looks and athletic build suggested that he wouldn’t have to continually empty his wallet to attract a beautiful woman. He had thick, wavy black hair and dark penetrating eyes. Had he been penniless, you might have thought he was an out-of-work actor.
Seb slipped off the stool and walked slowly toward him, hoping he looked relaxed and in control, because he wasn’t.
“Good evening, Mr. Bishara, I wondered if you were free for a game?”
“Not free,” he said, giving Seb a warm smile. “In fact, rather expensive.”
“Yes, the barman warned me about your terms. But I still want to play you.”
“Good, then have a seat.” Bishara rolled one die out onto the board.
Seb was painfully aware after the first half a dozen moves that this man was quite simply in another class. It only took a few minutes before Bishara began removing his counters from the board.
“Tell me, Mr.…”
“Clifton, Sebastian Clifton.”
Bishara reset the board. “As you are clearly not even a respectable pub player, you must have had a good reason for wanting to give away a hundred pounds.”
“Yes, I did,” said Seb, taking out his check book. “I needed an excuse to meet you.”
“And why, may I ask?”
“Because we have several things in common, one in particular.”
“Clearly not backgammon.”
“True,” said Seb. “Who should I make the check out to?”
“The Polio Society. You haven’t answered my question.”
“I thought we might trade information.”
“What makes you think you have any information I might be interested in?”