Heads You Win

“Of course, sir.”

Within an hour, Sasha was stepping onto the platform at King’s Cross. When he arrived back at the little flat above the restaurant in Fulham, he found his mother more distressed than he’d seen her since his father’s death. She had taken the evening off, something he’d never known her to do before.

* * *

The large turnout for the funeral held at St. Mary’s, Fulham, the following week, bore testimony to just how popular Mr. Moretti was, far beyond the boundaries of the local community. Sasha’s moving eulogy led Mr. Quilter to remark, “As they say in Yorkshire, lad, you did him proud.”

After the ceremony was over and the coffin had been lowered into the ground, Sasha accompanied his mother back to the restaurant, where family, friends, and customers came to pay their respects. Many of them swapped stories of personal kindnesses they’d experienced, none more touching than Elena’s.

When the last guest had departed, Elena accompanied the grieving widow home.

“You must go back to work, Elena,” said Mrs. Moretti when the light began to fade. “Salvatore would have expected nothing less.”

Elena reluctantly rose from her chair and gave the old lady one last hug before putting her coat back on. She was just about to leave when Mrs. Moretti said, “Would you be kind enough to drop by sometime tomorrow, my dear? I think we ought to discuss what I have planned for the restaurant.”

* * *

Sasha didn’t return to Cambridge the following day, but headed in the opposite direction, arriving at Oxford well in time to join his teammates at Merton, who had all double-checked the date, time, and place.

But the Oxford team had licked their wounds, and were lying in wait for them. By the time Sasha had worked out what they were up to, it was too late, and Cambridge lost the match 4½ to 3½. Sasha explained to Dr. Streator on the journey back to the Fens how Jenkins had beaten them even before they made their opening moves.

“He did what?” said Streator.

“Mr. Jenkins broke with the convention of playing their best player against our best player. He put their weakest player up against me, clearly willing to sacrifice that game. So their strongest player played our second board, and they were at an advantage for the other seven games.”

“The Welsh bastard,” said Streator.

/> “Don’t worry, sir. They won’t get away with those tactics next year, because I’ll make sure it’s us who are lying in wait.”

“Good. And, Sasha, I intend to make you captain next year, so it will be your last chance for revenge. But I suspect that won’t be your biggest challenge, if you’re still planning to stand for president of the Union, and get a first.”

“I do sometimes wonder if I can do both,” said Sasha. “Charlie never says anything, but I know she’d prefer me to give up the Union and concentrate on my work.”

“I hear she’s given up the theater for the same reason,” said Streator. Sasha made no comment. “If you do stand for the presidency, who do you think will be your biggest rival?”

“Fiona Hunter, the current vice president.”

“If she’s her father’s daughter, she’ll be a formidable opponent.”

“You know Sir Max Hunter?”

“Knew would be more accurate. Max and I were contemporaries at Keble. I never liked him. He was always looking for a shortcut. A bent man, bent on politics.”

“He made it to the Cabinet.”

“Not for long,” said Streator. “He’d trampled on too many people on the way up, so when he finally fell from grace, none of them were there to support him on the way down. I can only repeat, if Fiona is her father’s daughter, keep your eyes wide open, because she’ll make Gareth Jenkins look like a gentleman.”

“I can’t believe she’s quite that bad,” said Sasha.

* * *

“Milk and sugar, my dear?”

“Thank you,” said Elena. “Just milk.”

“I wanted to see you because I had an unexpected call from my accountant last week,” said Mrs. Moretti. “He’s received an offer for the restaurant that he considers fair. More than fair, if I remember his exact words.”

Elena put down her cup and listened carefully.