Free States

10. LOS BELLES DU CANADA

‘I TASTED A thousand scales to reach this place.’ Mrs von Bek had been joined at her table by Sister Honesty Marvell, Mrs O’Dowd and Rodrigo Heat, but she kept a seat beside her empty and this she now offered to Mr Oakenhurst who bowed, brushed back his tails and wished her good morning as he sat down beside her. He wondered why she seemed familiar. At close quarters the greenish blush of her hands, the pink-gold of her cheeks had a quality which made all other flesh seem unnatural. He had never before felt such strong emotion in the presence of beauty.

In amused recognition of his admiration, she smiled. Clearly, she was also curious about him. ‘You are of the jugadiste persuasion, Mr Oakenhurst?’

‘I make a small living from my good fortune, ma’am.’ Had he ever felt as he did now, at the centre of a concert while the music achieved some ecstatic moment? Was he looking on the true face of his lady, his luck? Where would she take him? Home?

He realized to his alarm that he was on the verge of weeping.

‘Well, Mr Oakenhurst,’ Mrs von Bek continued, ‘you would know a flat game, I hope, if one turned up for you. And Granny’s Claw? Is that still played in these parts?’

‘Not to my knowledge, ma’am.’

I need an ally, she said in an urgent signal, which marked her as his peer. Paul Minct is my mortal enemy and will destroy me if he recognizes me. Will you help?

He returned her signal. At your service, Mrs von Bek.

No sworn jugador could have refused her. Their mutual code demanded instant compliance. Only in extreme need did one of his kind thus address a peer. But he would have helped her anyway. He was entirely infatuated with her. He began to wonder what other allies, and of what calibre, he might find here. Did fear or some profound sense of loyalty bind Rodrigo Heat to Paul Minct? Carly O’Dowd, given to sudden swings of affection, would be unreliable at best. Roy Ornate was also Paul Minct’s man. Sister Honesty Marvell might side with them, if only out of an habitual need to destroy potential rivals. Meanwhile, Mr Oakenhurst would have to follow Mrs von Bek’s lead until she told him to do otherwise.

Her fingers dropped from the grey-green pearls and coral at her throat while his own hands lost interest in his links. Their secret exchange was for a moment at an end.

It had been seven years - twenty-eight seasons by current reckoning - since Mr Oakenhurst had been in a similar situation and that had been the start of his friendship with Jack Karaquazian. On this occasion, however, the intellectual thrill, the thrill of the big risk, was coupled with his overwhelming desire for her given extra edge by his own anxious guess that perhaps she was at least a little attracted to him. Even the chemistry with Serdia had not been so strong. The sensation attacked his mind as well as his flesh while the cool part of him, the trained jugador, was taking account of this wonderful return of feelings he had thought lost for ever, and considering new odds.

‘Do you think it will be long before we reach the Frees, Mr Ornate?’ She looked up as the skipper returned with a tray on which stood an oak cafetière and some delicate rosewood cups. ‘Here you go, ma’am, here you go. I fixed it myself. You can’t trust these blankeys to fix good coffee.’ The man was blushing like a rat on a hot spot, oblivious of the open derision on Rodrigo Heat’s old-fashioned head.

Mr Oakenhurst relaxed his body and settled into his chair. Paul Minct would make his entrance at any moment.