The Open Window!

MY AUNT will be down presently, Mr Nuttel,’ said a self-possessed young lady of
fifteen. ‘In the meantime, you must put up with me.’
Framton Nuttel tried to make pleasant conversation while waiting for the Aunt.
Privately, he doubted more than ever whether these formal visits on total strangers
would help the nerve cure which he was supposed to be undergoing in this rural
retreat.
‘I’ll just give you letters to all the people I know there,’ his sister had said.
‘Otherwise you’ll bury yourself and not speak to a soul and your nerves will be worse
than ever from moping.’
‘Do you know many people around here?’ asked the niece.
‘Hardly a soul. My sister gave me letters of introduction to some people here.’
‘Then you know practically nothing about my Aunt?’ continued the self-possessed
young lady.
‘Only her name and address,’ admitted the caller.
‘Her great tragedy happened just three years ago,’ said the child.
‘Her tragedy?’ asked Framton. Somehow, in this restful spot, tragedies seemed
out of place.
‘You may wonder why we keep that window open so late in the year,’ said the
niece, indicating a large French window that opened on a lawn. ‘Out through that
window, three years ago to a day, her husband and her two young brothers went off for
their day’s shooting. In crossing the moor, they were engulfed in a treacherous bog.
Their bodies were never recovered.’
Here the child’s voice faltered. ‘Poor Aunt always thinks that they’ll come back
someday, they and the little brown spaniel that was lost with them, and walk in the
window. That is why it is kept open every evening till dusk. She has often told me how
they went out, her husband with his white waterproof coat over his arm. You know,
sometimes on still evenings like this I get a creepy feeling that they will all walk in
through that window —’
She broke off with a little shudder. It was a relief to Framton when the aunt
bustled into the room with a whirl of apologies for keeping him waiting.
‘I hope you don’t mind the open window,’ she said. ‘My husband and brothers will
be home directly from shooting and they always come in this way.’
She rattled on cheerfully about the prospects for duck shooting in the winter.
Framton made a desperate effort to turn the talk to a less ghastly topic, conscious that
his hostess was giving him only a fragment of her attention, and that her eyes were
constantly straying past him to the open window. It was certainly an unfortunate
coincidence that he should have paid his visit on this tragic anniversary.
‘The doctors ordered me a complete rest from mental excitement and physical
exercise,’ announced Framton, who imagined that everyone — even a complete
stranger — was interested in his illness.
‘Oh?’ said Mrs Sappleton, vaguely. Then she suddenly brightened into attention
— but not to what Framton was saying.
‘Here they are at last!’ she cried. ‘In time for tea, and muddy up to the eyes.’
Framton shivered slightly and turned towards the niece with a look intended to
convey sympathetic understanding. The child was staring through the open window
with dazed horror in her eyes. Framton swung round and looked in the same direction.
In the deepening twilight three figures were walking noiselessly across the lawn,
a tired brown spaniel close at their heels. They all carried guns, and one had a white
coat over his shoulders.
Framton grabbed his stick; the hall door and the gravel drive were dimly noted
stages in his headlong retreat.
‘Here we are, my dear,’ said the bearer of the white mackintosh. ‘Who was that
who bolted out as we came up?’
‘An extraordinary man, a Mr Nuttel,’ said Mrs Sappleton, ‘who could only talk
about his illness, and dashed off without a word of apology when you arrived. One
would think he had seen a ghost.’
‘I expect it was the spaniel,’ said the niece calmly. He told me he had a horror of
dogs. He was once hunted into a cemetery on the banks of the Ganges by a pack of stray dogs and had to spend the night in a newly-dug grave with the creatures snarling and foaming above him. Enough to make anyone lose his nerve.

Checkmate

As she entered the room every eye turned towards her.
When admiring a girl some men start with her head and work down. I start with the ankles and work up.
She wore black high-heeled velvet shoes and a tight-fitting black dress that stopped l enough above the
knees to reveal the most perfectly tapering legs. As my eyes continued their upward sweep they paused
to take in her narrow waist and slim athletic figure. But it was the oval face that I found captivating, slightly
pouting lips and the largest blue eyes I've ever seen, crowned with a head of thick, black, short-cut hair
that literally shone with lustre. Her entrance was all the more breathtaking because of the surroundings
she had chosen. Heads would have turned at a diplomatic reception, a society cocktail party, even a
charity ball, but at a chess tournament ...
I followed her every movement, patronisingly unable to accept she could be a player. She walked slowly
over to-the dub secretary's table and signed in to prove me wrong. :She was handed a number to indicate
her challenger for the opening match. Anyone who had not yet been allocated an opponent waited to see
if she would take her place opposite their side of the board.
The player checked the number she had been given and made her way towards an elderly man who was
seated in the far corner of the room, a former captain of the club now past his best.
As the club's new captain I had been responsible for instigating these round-robin matches. We meet on
the last Friday of the month in large club-like room on top of the Mason's Arms in the High Street. The
landlord sees to it that thirty tables are set out for us and that food and drink are readily available. Three or
four other clubs in the district send half a dozen opponents to play a couple of blitz games, giving us a
chance to face rivals we would not normally play. The rules for the matches are simple enough - one
minute on the clock is the maximum allowed for each move, so a game rarely last more than an hour, and￾if a pawn-hasn't been captured in thirty moves the game is automatically declared a draw. A short break
for a drink between games, paid for by the loser, ensures that everyone has the chance to challenge two
opponents during the evening.
A thin man wearing half-moon spectacles and a dark blue three-piece suit made his way over towards my
board. We smiled and shook hands. My guess would have been a solicitor, but I was wrong as he turned
out to be an accountant working for a stationery supplier in Woking.
I found it hard to concentrate on my opponent's well rehearsed Moscow opening as my eyes kept leaving
the board and wandering over to the girl in the black dress. On the one occasion our eyes did meet she
gave me an enigmatic smile, but although I tried again I was unable to elicit the same response a second
time. Despite being preoccupied I still managed to defeat the accountant, who seemed unaware that there
were several ways out of a seven-pawn attack.
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 him," 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 some time?"
"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 landlord for the efficient
organisation of the evening.
We then strolled into the car park. 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 northwards. 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 holiday 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, emphasising 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 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 have the chance 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 emphasised 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 light-heartedly. 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?" "Neither of us is going to lose much tonight, are we?"
She pulled up her chair as I turned the board round and we both began to put the ivory pieces back in
place.
The second game took a little longer as I made a silly mistake early on, castling on my queen's side, and it
took several moves to recover. However, I still managed to finish the game off in under thirty minutes and
even found time to refill Amanda's glass when she wasn't looking.
She smiled at me as she hitched her dress up high enough to allow me to see the tops of her stockings.
She undid the suspenders and slowly peeled the stockings off before dropping them on my side of the
table.
"I nearly beat you that time," she said.
"Almost," I replied "Want another chance to get even? Let's say fifty pounds this time," I suggested, trying
to make the offer sound magnanimous.
"The stakes are getting higher for both of us she replied as she reset the board. I began to wonder what
might be going through her mind. Whatever it was, she foolishly sacrificed both her rooks early on and the
game was over in a matter of minutes.