Page 26 of The Oxford Guide to Scandal and Lies

Clipboard—or Hobbs as Ginevra later discovered was his name—cast a surreptitious glance at Neville, but the don still appeared impervious to the commotion. “Five quid,” he mumbled.

This drew a small flutter of gasps and chuckles, a hasty exchange of handshakes.

“Gentlemen,” Ginevra said, “a little quiet and space, if you please.”

Her opponent was an ex-serviceman who’d returned to his education after the war. Canfield played more slowly, more methodically than the younger men but was by far the most skillful player Ginevra had yet faced, and it required a great deal more concentration to ferret out what he might be thinking while planning her own moves. But after twenty minutes, Gin felt a stab of dread. She’d made a miscalculation somewhere, and the game would end in a stalemate.

Canfield realized it a moment after her, his face crinkling with disappointment. They finished the game in the swift moves they both knew were inevitable, and their audience heaved with shock and devilish mirth.

“Pay up, Hobbs,” someone ribbed the club’s leader. Hobbs shot daggers at Ginevra before scribbling down the game’s outcome on his clipboard as though it were her fault.

“What happens now?” Gin asked. “Who proceeds?”

Hobbs scowled. “Rematch.”

Canfield reset the pieces while Ginevra combated her irritation. She should have noticed sooner where the game was headed and tried to turn it around while there was a chance. Now Canfield might very well win, and she could be stuck at this limbo table for God knew how long.

A loud throat-clearing dispersed the whispered grumbles. “Bishop proceeds,” Dr. Neville said. The answering silence was more telling than a gasp.

“Dr. Neville,” Hobbs protested, “that’s not how it’s done—”

But the don only shrugged. “Canfield and I play regularly. I should like to play Miss Bishop.”

Hobbs waved the dratted clipboard, his face sour, and she progressed around the long table to the seat opposite Dr. Neville. It was not lost upon her that he had indeed been paying attention all this time. Anyone who could appear so absorbed in their own thoughts while remaining observant should be watched closely in turn themselves.

“Hello,” she said. “I don’t think we’ve met properly.”

Dr. Neville’s face had a slack quality, as though it had slightly melted in the hot sun, but his blue eyes bored into hers, contemplative and curious. “We haven’t, but I’ve heard the grumbling about your skill. You’re very talented, Miss Bishop.”

“Thank you; I hope I merit the grumbling today.” Gin smoothed her skirt under the table and studied the board, visualizing her first moves. Now that she was in the coveted chair, she had the double task of maximizing her time with Neville while still putting on a respectable show. She didn’t particularly care if she won or lost, but she refused to be humiliated.

“Your move, Miss Bishop,” Neville said, starting the clock.

Gin picked up a white pawn and began.

For the first few minutes, the game absorbed her concentration. It wasn’t until her fifth move that Ginevra noticed the rest of the club hadn’t dared to approach in the same way they’d circled her and Canfield, and she was grateful for the privacy. It gave her the space to make an opening gambit into conversation.

“You’re a Classics tutor, yes?” she asked quietly.

Neville hesitated, as though surprised she wished to chat, but then his face softened. “That’s right. What are you reading, Miss Bishop?”

“Modern Languages—German.”

Neville raised an eyebrow. “An interesting choice.”

Ginevra flashed her best disarming smile. “It’s an interesting language. I’d had quite enough of Latin, Greek, and French at finishing school, and the other Romantic languages seemed too easy. German is different enough that it challenges me.” She paused, considering her next words in light of Braithwaite’s caution about direct lines of questioning. Surely a conversation about languages was an innocent route toward her real goal. “Next year, I think I’d like to add Russian.”

“You’ve given this some thought.” The corner of Neville’s mouth twitched as he moved a knight. “Yes, I can see how those are quite interesting to a linguist like yourself.”

“Do you speak either?”

“I understand more than I can say. I think everyone picked up a little German during the war.” He hesitated before moving a pawn. “And I’ve had a few Russian chess partners over the years.”

Gin tried to keep her face neutral as she captured the pawn. A chess partner could very well be an excellent cover for a Kremlin contact. “I would love to see a tournament in Moscow one day. Have you ever attended?”

Dr. Neville’s face brightened. “I had the pleasure of watching Botvinnik in ’48.”

So, the don had traveled to the Soviet Union. Gin kept a tight rein on her excitement as she slid her namesake across the board. “Were the Russians friendly? I’ve heard they’re quite hostile to tourists.”