The Dewan addressed the company again in his booming master of ceremonies voice. ‘When this game was invented by the Emperor Akbar, the chess pieces were slave girls and the winner of the round was permitted to take the whole lot away with him as his own. But we live in more civilized times. The winner of this game will not, of course, make off with the beauties you see before you. But he will have his prize.’ He paused theatrically, looking first at Joe then at Edgar. ‘He will have his choice of one of the girls for one night.’

Under cover of the chatter and laughter which broke out, Joe spluttered his disgust to Claude. With a fixed smile Claude replied, ‘When in Rome, Joe! Come on, it’s not the end of the world! It’s an honour you’ve been accorded. Try to look as though you appreciate it. For God’s sake, you can always plead a headache at the last moment!’ And then he added ominously, ‘If it should come to that. Look at the opposition, will you!’

They both looked towards Edgar, heavy, unattractive, the worse for alcohol but smugly confident and already running a lecherous eye over the girls.

‘La chevalerie oblige, Sandilands! Don’t you agree?’

‘See what you mean, sir. There are fates worse than losing at chess! And winning a night with Edgar must rank high on the list!’

Chapter Nine

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.