A Twist in the Tale

“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 two glasses a few moments later to find her studying my chessboard and fingering the delicate ivory pieces that were set out for a game I was playing by post.

“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 holiday there. “I was only sorry we didn’t find the time 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 game.”

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?”