Three notes on a silver trumpet called everyone to attention. The audience stopped moving about and looked expectantly from Joe to Edgar. The girls fell silent and held themselves in their positions as still as any chessmen, backs to their master, faces to the enemy, battle-ready.
Joe leaned to Vyvyan and said, ‘I don’t imagine, do I, that they are graded for height?’
‘Quite right,’ said Vyvyan. ‘Your pawns are the smallest and all the same size. All got up in red skirts. The blue girls, your main pieces, are in height order. You’ve got two small rooks on the outside, do you see? Larger knights next door, then bishops.’
‘Why do the bishops have elephants embroidered on their bodices?’ Joe asked.
‘Indian game, remember. Their armies were made up of four parts: foot soldiers – those are your pawns; chariots – that’s your rooks, the ones with the gold wheels on their backs; then cavalry – that’s your knights with the horse’s head embroidery; lastly, the elephants which are our bishops. In the centre, wearing crowns, you’ve got the two tallest ones, the king and queen.’
At that moment the blue queen, who was wearing a silver crown, turned her head to look at him and with a jolt Joe recognized Padmini.
The trumpet sounded again, a single note. Joe caught the eye of one of his red pawns. Did he have a feeling that she was expecting to be called on? He rather thought she did and he held up two fingers. The pawn duly advanced two squares and confronted Edgar’s front rank. Edgar sent forward one of his yellow-skirted pawns and the battle was engaged.
Joe surmised that no one would be entertained if the game dragged on and he decided to play with panache. He remembered a move he and a fellow officer had devised in the trenches in a despairing attempt to distract from the tedium and the terror of being pinned down by German artillery, unable to move forward or retreat. They’d called it ‘Haig’s Mate’ and if all went according to plan he should be able to close down the game in fifteen moves.
But Edgar was giving no quarter and was from the outset making clear his intention to win. He spent hardly any time considering his game, which seemed to be a style the audience and indeed the chess pieces appreciated. Joe noticed that on occasions when a player spent a little longer in thought, the piece herself, when finally called to action, was a fraction of a second ahead of the call, a slim foot edging forward in anticipation of the move.
Edgar soon extricated himself from Joe’s planned sequence and the advantage moved to and fro between the two well-matched players. One by one, pieces lost or sacrificed stamped off in a tinkle of bells to the edge of the board until only a handful were left on each side.
Joe hesitated before making the next move. He gratefully accepted a glass of pomegranate juice from a footman, using that as a respite from the remorseless speed of play. He noticed that Edgar was taking another whisky-soda from the tray. Edgar had wriggled out of all the traps Joe had set and gone on the attack with a flourish. Over the rim of his glass Joe suddenly noticed that the left foot of his blue queen was tapping out a pattern. Unlike the other pieces she was not wearing ankle bells and her movements were probably unnoticed by the crowd. He looked more carefully. Five taps. In the top left-hand corner of her square. Could she be giving him a signal? What would happen if he . . .? He ran his eye along the diagonals. Blast it! How could he not have noticed! The exhausting day, the champagne, the lateness of the hour – he could think of reasons enough, but Joe cursed himself for his lapse in attention.
He signalled to his queen that she should move five squares diagonally to the left. Unleashed at last, she swooped forward with the relish of an avenging Fury, dark skirts rustling, and rounded on Edgar’s king.
‘Check,’ announced Claude briskly.
This was Joe’s breakthrough and four decisive moves later Claude shouted, ‘Shah mat! The king is dead! Checkmate!’
Edgar stared at Joe across the courtyard, stiff with defiance and anger, but he bowed courteously. Joe returned the bow. To his alarm, the girls had fluttered back on to their squares and both armies now stood facing him, some looking modestly and evasively at their feet, others eyeing him with flirtatious speculation.
‘Time to bite the bullet, Sandilands. Don’t fuss!’ whispered Claude. ‘Just smile and pick a number.’
Joe caught the straight gaze of Padmini and without hesitation said, ‘If the blue queen would care to step forward . . .?’
Laughter and even a little discreet applause rippled round the square as she moved through the files to stand in front of him, still smiling.
The Dewan slapped him on the shoulder. ‘A good choice. And a fitting reward for a game well played. Edgar is not an easy opponent. You have had a long and exhausting day, Commander, and are probably looking forward to your bed. Padmini will escort you to your quarters. She too is a skilled performer. At chess. Perhaps you will keep each other awake practising your moves . . .’ He shook with laughter, involving everyone in his mischievous good humour. ‘Take care not to overtire yourself . . . tomorrow promises to be a busy day.’
‘Just go quietly, old man,’ advised Claude. ‘Autre pays, autres moeurs, don’t you know!’
‘If he reminds me I’m not in Knightsbridge now, I’ll hit him,’ Joe decided.
With as little ceremony as he could manage, he set off to follow the twinkling silver crown of Padmini who moved a few paces ahead of him, swaying through the thinning crowds and into the increasingly deserted corridors. They crossed courtyards silent but for a slight breeze stirring the leaves and the gentle splashing of fountains. In the distance Joe thought he caught sounds of distressed wailing and the low throb of a drum but all else was quiet.
At last, in the centre of a courtyard which he thought he recognized, Padmini paused and leaned over the basin of a fountain, dipping her arms in the cool water. Joe watched her playing with the drifting blossoms on the surface, deciding this was probably the time tactfully to tell her to return to her quarters rather than wait for the awkward moment when he would turn to face her on his doorstep. Did she speak any English? How on earth did you tell a girl in very rudimentary Hindi that, though you thought her the most arousing girl you had ever seen, her services were not required?
He joined her at the fountain, preparing his speech. But no words would come. He stared, overcome by the nearness of the girl, tongue-tied with awe for her beauty. In her clinging blue silk she was almost invisible in the dark courtyard but the moonlight caught the jewels of her crown and lit the smiling great eyes she turned to him. Joe was overcome. He was beginning to lose his struggle with the deeply primitive emotion that had him in its grip. With his last reserves of determination he cleared his throat and began to croak out his rejection speech.
‘Padmini? Have I got that right? Now, look here, Padmini, I’m most frightfully sorry but . . .’
The gazelle eyes flashed with comprehension then narrowed in disdain. Angrily, she leaned forward into the fountain and smacked the surface of the water hard, directing a spray of water straight at Joe’s face. With a peal of laughter to see his gasping astonishment, she turned and ran off leaving him dripping and cursing by the pool.
Bloody girl! But at least she’d taken the hint pretty quickly. With relief and disappointment in equal measure, he set off again, certain that he could find his own way back to his room from this spot. After a few paces he stopped and listened. Pattering feet were going ahead of him in the same direction.
He caught up with her at his door and rounded on her. Cool arms went up and locked with surprising strength behind his neck. He felt his shirt damp on his skin as she pressed herself to him and, standing on her toes, lifted her lips to kiss him. As their breath mingled he was enveloped by the sweet scent of the girl, attar of roses a seductive top-note to a surge of female warmth. His arms slipped of their own will around her waist. She was warm and scented and more than willing. She had attracted his attention, won the game for him and he would have said was claiming him as her prize. God! He needed this! And he’d earned it! ‘Another country, other customs,’ wasn’t that what Claude had said? Surrendering himself to the moment, Joe groaned and lowered his face to hers.
‘Aw, for God’s sake, Joe! They really stitched you up good, didn’t they!’
The door of his room had opened and lamplight from inside revealed the figure of Madeleine standing there, wearing a long white robe, a glass in her hand.
Joe couldn’t speak but anything he said would have been unheard as the two women faced each other. Padmini hissed something unintelligible in Hindi and Madeleine replied with matching scorn. ‘Same to you, sister! Now do us all a favour and beat it back to your lord and master!’ She grinned nastily. ‘And you can tell him you were outplayed. Victim of a discovered attack by the white queen!’
Padmini whirled around and moved away, a darker retreating shadow amongst the shadows of the courtyard.
‘Hell’s bells, Madeleine!’ Joe gasped. ‘What are you doing here?’
She pulled him inside, closed the door firmly and shot the bolt across.
‘Doing a bit of lonely drinking . . . Waiting for you to show up . . . Being your guardian angel . . .’
‘What do you mean? You’re not looking exactly angelic from where I’m standing!’
She eyed him critically. ‘You should get a look at yourself, mister! Now, you were billed as a clever feller. War hero . . . survivor. Didn’t they tell me you worked for Military Intelligence? Those are smart guys. And you fell for it! Feet – well, perhaps some other part of your anatomy – first! She’s a plant! She’s the Dewan’s trained pillow talker. Didn’t you guess?’
Joe could only stare in surprise and disgust.
‘This whole place,’ Madeleine waved her arms around, champagne slopping on to the carpet, ‘is an anthill. It’s all murmurings and gossip and plotting and all the information that’s going gets channelled right back to the Dewan. If you take a leak in the ghulskhana he’ll hear about it before you’ve flushed! He’s not sure why you’re here but he doesn’t trust the British. He knows you’re close to Sir George and that means you’re at the heart of the government so he wants to keep you under close surveillance. And you couldn’t have closer surveillance than the watch his pet trollop was about to keep on you! She’d have stuck closer than gum on your shoe!’
Joe’s feeling of foolish inadequacy was giving way to anger. ‘I don’t talk in my sleep, they tell me . . . I can’t see that there’s a problem. And,’ he added defiantly, ‘had it occurred to you that this particular surveillance might not have been unwelcome?’
Madeleine swept a knowing and cynical glance over Joe. ‘So I see. Well, you can always go take a cold shower. Another cold shower. That’s what you British do, isn’t it? Go ahead – I’ll look the other way.’
Joe swallowed and tried to keep his tone polite as he spoke. ‘Would you like me to ring for Govind and have you escorted back to your own rooms?’ He went to the bell pull and took hold of it.
To his dismay, the glass fell from her fingers and she put both hands over her face, silently sobbing.
‘Oh, Lord, Madeleine! Now what?’
‘Can’t you see it yet, you great lummox? I can’t go back there. I wouldn’t be safe. They hate me much more than they hated Prithvi. They blame me for everything! They probably think I killed him! They want me dead! And not just because I’m a white woman. Did you know all widows are unclean? If they can’t get rid of them on a funeral pyre they shut them up in a little room and never let them out. How long do you suppose I’d last out there? Without Prithvi to look out for me I’m just a target! This is the only place I feel safe. You have got a gun, haven’t you?’
Joe nodded. First Bahadur, now Madeleine, both seeing themselves as potential victims. And both were seeking help from an outsider who was himself insecure and exposed in alien territory.
‘You can’t stay here! Imagine the gossip! What about your reputation? What about my reputation . . . I mean – how do I explain this to your father-in-law?’ he heard himself spluttering like a maiden aunt. ‘Look, Madeleine, can’t you go to your brother for help until you can both get out of here?’
Madeleine gave him another of her long incredulous stares. ‘Stuart is . . . shall we say . . . otherwise engaged and would be very upset to receive a sisterly visit. He doesn’t even need to play chess to get the girls! And I notice you are admitting that this is a pretty hostile environment. Did you hear yourself say “get out of here” as in the sense of “escape from”? Well, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m getting out, Joe. If I have to fly one of Prithvi’s planes to Delhi to do it! But I’m not going empty-handed. I gave him two years of my life and someone’s going to pay for those two years. I need to stay alive long enough to talk to Udai Singh . . . come to some agreement . . . and I can tell you – I’ve got my ticket out of here! And if you’ve any sense, you’ll be in the passenger seat when I take off, Joe.’
‘You’d oblige me, Madeleine, if you and your brother would remain in Ranipur for a while. You yourself, if you remember, asked my opinion on the plane crash that killed your husband and the Resident also has asked me to investigate. You and your brother are vital to the investigation and you can’t leave until I’ve been able to gather evidence and statements.’
Madeleine gave a derisive laugh. ‘Oh, yeah? Didn’t they tell you in Simla that the British have no legal or criminal jurisdiction in the princely states? You can detect all you like, Joe, and, sure, it would be good to know who’s killing the heirs but there’s nowhere you can go with the information. There’s nothing you can do but report back when you get out . . . If they let you get out!’
Joe allowed himself a wry smile. ‘That’s an over-simple but – I have to say – incisive summary of my brief. Don’t tell me you’re on Sir George’s payroll too?’
‘Never met the guy.’
‘Anything left in that bottle?
Joe’s mood was becoming less buoyant by the minute. Excitement and anger were ebbing away leaving a wistful sympathy for the hopelessness of Madeleine’s situation. He watched her with pity as she found two glasses and filled them clumsily with champagne. With sinking heart he guessed that she needed to talk through her grief with someone and resentfully wondered why she couldn’t have taken up Lizzie Macarthur’s offer of a safe haven and a sympathetic ear. But of course, he had an obvious attraction that Lizzie didn’t possess: in a desperate corner, a revolver and a steady hand will always win out over a parasol and a sharp tongue.
He eyed her warily as she touched his glass with hers. ‘You’re a resourceful woman, Madeleine. But – tell me – what are your immediate plans?’
‘You mean how soon am I going to get out of your hair?’ She laughed. ‘Don’t concern yourself, Joe. Your virtue’s safe with me! I find dripping-wet, detumescent, disapproving cops totally resistible. I’m going to sleep there – on that couch. I’ve stolen a couple of your cushions. I’ve used your bathroom – brought my own toothbrush – so – it’s all yours!’
She put down her glass, kicked off her shoes and stumbled towards the couch. ‘See you in the morning, Joe. Sweet dreams!’
The champagne was still chilled, still fizzing and with a sharp edge that exactly reflected his mood. He took the bottle, surprised to find that it was only half empty. There seemed to be no good reason for not finishing it. He poured himself another glass and sipped quietly, sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting. After a few minutes of cushion pounding, wriggling and muffled oaths, his guest fell silent and still. When he was quite sure that Madeleine was asleep he went into his bathroom and spent long luxurious minutes under his lukewarm shower. Belatedly noticing that Madeleine had made off with his bathrobe he wandered naked out of the ghulskhana and crept silently around his room turning out lights, checking doors, windows, cupboards and even the space under his bed. Five minutes of reconnaissance in enemy territory could save your life and he was not going to let his guard slip now. He had learned on the North-West Frontier to be perpetually vigilant and though these silken, sophisticated surroundings in no way compared with that harsh hell-hole he thought they might in their own way prove even more lethal.
He quietly closed the last wardrobe door.
‘I already checked all those,’ said an amused voice from the couch. ‘And that’s not all I’ve checked . . . Charming derrière, Commander!’