The Collected Short Stories - Jeffrey Archer [172]
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