The Wind Off the Sea Read online

  The game was held in Mr Bottros’s suite of rooms at the top of the Dorchester Hotel in Park Lane. Waldo and Lionel ate a light meal of chicken and salad in the restaurant downstairs before proceeding up to the arena, where Waldo formally introduced Lionel to their opponents since they had not met or played against each other during the previous evening’s entertainment. A number of spectators were present, including James Banks, the British film star, and two members of the Shadow Cabinet. Lionel, having already been lectured by Waldo about distraction, to his surprise found the strength not to be overawed by the distinguished audience nor sidelined by any small talk. Instead – again as advised – he kept himself to himself and remained very much on the sidelines, drinking fresh fruit juice and eating small pieces of dark chocolate from his pocket in order to keep up his energy while Waldo, as ever apparently at his ease, coped with the social niceties until it was time to play.

  For the first two rubbers the cards simply ran against them. In fact as Lionel found himself with the third hand in succession in which he held less than six points and was thus unable to respond to Waldo’s opening bid he got that feeling familiar to any bridge player that it was going to be one of those nights when he would never be dealt a decent hand.

  To compound his growing anxiety Waldo began to bid against his opponents’ obviously strong hands, trying to force them into a higher contract than they wanted, but Bottros and the beautiful Mrs Van der Beek were not to be bullied and twice left Waldo doubled in contracts he had no possible chance of making.

  At first Lionel believed this to be part of Waldo’s tactics, but when he found himself and his partner three rubbers down without a point on their score-cards, he realised it was not part of any game plan and that they were, in fact, in serious trouble. Their opponents only needed one more rubber to win the challenge and the purse, the current rubber standing at one game each with their opponents sixty points below the line and now looking the odds on favourites. Lionel tried to catch Waldo’s eye just for some sign of encouragement, but Waldo refused to look up from the hand of cards that had been freshly dealt to him. Worse, for the first time since Lionel had known him he saw him scowling, his mouth turned deeply down at the corners, his forehead lined with concern and his normally big bright eyes small and darkly glittering. If the cards at which Waldo was staring were as bad as the temper shown on his face, then Lionel thought all chance was gone.

  Except he had been dealt eight hearts headed by the ace and knave, the singleton ace of clubs, the queen, knave, ten and seven of spades and a void in diamonds, eighteen points if he allowed three for the void and certainly a hand both of strength and of peculiar enough distribution to more than justify an opening bid. But it wasn’t him to open. It was the person on his right, East, Peter Bottros, who opened Two Diamonds, a bid given the conventions being employed that demanded a response from his partner, however weak her hand. Lionel’s logical bid should have been to open Two Hearts, to show his long suit and sufficiency of points to overcall such a big opener, but, knowing that if he did so Mrs Van der Beek would be excused a response, in a moment of what was to turn out to be inspiration he passed. He passed on what was undoubtedly an extremely strong hand, one strong enough to go to game and secure the vital rubber.

  ‘No bid,’ he said.

  Mrs Van der Beek playing West now had to respond, even though she held a hand containing precisely five points, the queen of diamonds and a void in hearts, her only possible bid being the minimum raise.

  ‘Three Diamonds,’ she called, which could be taken to show minimum support in her partner’s suit, or absolutely nothing. It would all depend on Waldo’s bid. Should he have enough points to open then Bottros could read his partner’s call as zero support and either back out, or bid on, depending entirely on the strength of his own call and the meaning of any opening bid by North.

  But Waldo, sitting North, also in a moment of sheer inspiration – or perhaps simply of genius – passed.

  ‘No bid,’ he said evenly – and the trap was sprung.

  Unable to resist the plunge with three rubbers in the bag and more than halfway to the winning game, Bottros reviewed his hand, a hand that contained eight diamonds to the ace, king, knave and ten, the king and queen of clubs, the queen and ten of hearts and the singleton king of spades – and gambled. After all, in a way, he had nothing to lose if they went down on this contract since they were so far ahead, and since his opponents obviously had nothing, to judge from their lack of bids, then his partner’s bid was perhaps intended to show him support in his chosen suit. Ideally he knew she should have bid another suit if her hand was strong enough to encourage him to go to game, or jump to Three Diamonds, but instead of reading the bid correctly he allowed for an error, thus forcing himself into one – and a far greater one than his partner’s simple minimum raise.

  ‘Five Diamonds,’ he called, reckoning on finding at least the queen of trumps in his partner’s hand plus either the ace of spades, or failing that a void in the suit.

  Now it was Lionel’s turn, and of course everyone watching as well as his two opponents expected Lionel to pass, but he didn’t. This was the moment to strike, and strike he did with a deadly precision, a move and a bid that was to remain with him for the rest of his days.

  ‘Five Hearts,’ he called, his eyes correctly fixed on his cards so that he could not catch sight of either his partner’s reaction or that of his opponents, even though he knew it was a bid to drive the opposition to distraction. They must either call what they must perceive as his bluff or raise their level to a Small Slam, a contract Lionel knew to be outside their reach.

  Mrs Van der Beek did not bid because she could not, but she most certainly did call and not unnaturally she doubled.

  Waldo passed.

  On the strength of the double and the belief that Lionel’s bid was motivated by desperation, Bottros went to Six Diamonds.

  Whereupon Lionel calmly proceeded to bid a Grand Slam.

  ‘Seven Hearts,’ he called, hoping against hope that his so far silent partner could fill the dangerously glaring gaps in his hand. Their opponents obviously had possibly every Diamond between them, and – Lionel imagined given the odd distribution – one of them must have a void in another suit, the odds being that the suit in which they would be critically short would be hearts. So Seven Hearts it was, and if they were to go down then it would be with all guns blazing.

  ‘Double,’ said Mrs Van der Beek, again not unnaturally.

  ‘Redouble,’ said Waldo, much to Lionel’s private and utter delight, because he knew at such a crucial stage in the game Waldo would not risk the chance of such an expensive calamity unless he had realised that his own hand must contain the ingredients missing in his partner’s.

  Now their opponents had no place to go. Seven Spades was clearly impossible, seeing Lionel had four spades headed by the queen and the jack and a singleton ace of clubs which surely must score since the odds were one thousand to one against either of their opponents having a void in clubs, and Seven No Trumps on the strength of Lionel’s ace of clubs alone was a non-starter.

  So the contract was Seven Hearts doubled and redoubled by South, a contract that had been greeted with the odd not so quiet gasp from certain members of the distinguished audience. Mrs Van der Beek quite correctly led a diamond to her partner’s as yet undisclosed but obviously held ace, Waldo as Dummy placed his hand down on the table, and the other three players studied it. Waldo quietly asked if he might be excused, his opponents agreed, and he left the room, leaving behind him face up on the table the king of hearts and two low ones, five low clubs to the knave, the ace of spades heading three lower spades and a singleton diamond.

  As soon as dummy was disclosed Lionel knew he would need a finesse to win – he would need to bluff out the king of spades. The queen of trumps was bound to fall, even if Bottros held both the outstanding trump cards, since ace, king of trumps played would bring about her demise. But while the queen of
hearts presented no problem, the king of spades did if it lay to the right of Dummy’s Ace. Should it do so he would go down by one trick which while not being a disaster would not constitute a victory either – and at this point of the match a victory was the only thing of any use to them. Should they lose this hand, and the next, then the match was gone.

  So Lionel had to gamble, but instead of playing for a finesse he took a major risk. From the distribution of the cards that were visible to him, Lionel knew his only chance of real salvation lay in assuming that Bottros was holding the king of spades as a singleton. So having drawn trumps he played the ace of spades from dummy and to his well concealed delight saw the singleton king fall to it. The rest of the hand was a lay-down, a concession he now politely requested and which was immediately granted.

  Against all odds the crucial rubber was won and not only were Waldo and Lionel back in the game, they were back in the money, to the tune of four and a half thousand points.

  ‘Top of the world,’ he muttered to himself as he marked up the scorecard. ‘Top of the world – top of the world, and if that’s not, what is?’

  Which indeed at that moment he truly was.

  ‘That indeed was the turning point, my dear chap,’ Waldo told Lionel as they were reviewing the evening’s play on their way back to Waldo’s borrowed apartment. ‘A truly inspired passage of play, of which I have to say I knew you to be capable.’

  ‘I have to confess I didn’t,’ Lionel replied, filling his pipe carefully, anxious not to spill any of his precious tobacco, an accident that had every likelihood of happening due to the speed at which the cabbie was driving. ‘And I forgot to mention your particular notable act – your moment of true sangfroid. Getting up from the table when you had laid down Dummy and asking to be excused. That I have to say showed real aplomb.’

  ‘Aplomb,’ Waldo mused. ‘I like the word aplomb. And I like to think that’s what you thought I was showing. Actually I was so nervous I had to remove myself to the gentlemen’s to be quietly sick.’

  Lionel turned to look at his friend in amazement.

  ‘You? Sick?’ he asked, noticing of a sudden that Waldo did have dark shadows under his eyes. ‘I never would have thought it of you, my dear fellow, not ever.’

  ‘Sick with nerves. I don’t think I have ever been so near the brink before. You completely wrong-footed me with your eleventh-hour bid – and then when I looked at my hand and realised we might have a perfect fit suddenly I found my stomach rushing upwards to my throat.’ Waldo gave a laugh of great enjoyment then relit his cigar. ‘It was a shoo-in from then, old chap, wouldn’t you say?’ he continued. ‘Took the wind completely out of their sails.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say a four-three victory which was finally achieved after one game all in the final rubber was exactly what you call a shoo-in, Waldo.’

  ‘We were never under pressure from the moment of that slam, dear fellow. We had them on the back foot, rocked by indecision, with their confidence completely evaporated. We could have won when we liked, as we liked.’

  ‘You do have to have the cards, Waldo.’

  ‘You have to have some cards – but more than anything, my dear fellow, you have to have great skill – in bidding, in defence, and in attack. They were all over the shop after your magnificent coup – while we were invincible in every sphere. We could have picked them off when we liked – and in fact if you remember how the play went, that is exactly what we did.’

  While Waldo sat back and enjoyed the rest of his cigar, Lionel reviewed the last hands and realised his friend was absolutely right. They had been sitting in what Waldo described as the Catbird seat, a term derived it appeared from baseball, which meant that they were in total control of every aspect of the game from that historic and dramatic moment – and the more he thought about it the more Lionel glowed with pride. In all his life he had never been as excited as he was now. In his heightened state of euphoria he saw that his life had been dull and orderly not by accident but by design, and with the advent of Waldo with his insistence of dropping Lionel right in the deep end of the bridge world, he had at last come of age. He had ceased to be the little grey man that since Gloria Bishop’s youthful rejection of him he felt he had become. The only thing that made him sad at this moment of triumph was that his wife Maude was not there to share his excitement and pride.

  If only things had been different, he thought to himself as he puffed at his pipe, if only he had appreciated his wife more and allowed her the proper room in his life, if he had created a proper marriage for them both instead of excluding her, she might not have been compelled to take an active part in the wretched war, might not have got herself killed and might this very moment be waiting at home for his return. They would celebrate together, raiding his cellar for a bottle of the champagnes he kept but never drank, and then they would dance. They would dance just as they used to when they first met. They might even dance Maude’s favourite – what was it? Yes. The Black Bottom. Dee dum dee dee. Whatever that meant.

  Waldo was talking.

  ‘By the way, old chap, what about your new admirer? Mrs Estelle Van der Beek? My – after the game she could hardly keep her eyes off you, let alone those diamond-studded hands.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Lionel reddened. ‘She was simply being polite. Sociable. Good-looking woman, though,’ he added, half to himself and half to Waldo.

  Waldo laughed.

  ‘Now, don’t be shy. She has fallen for you hook, line and sinker, Lionel, believe you me. I saw it for myself. You have quite won the heart of one of South Africa’s richest widows. Just you wait and see – she will be driving down to Bexham to take tea with you at any moment, I predict it.’

  ‘I hardly think so,’ Lionel retorted. ‘Most particularly not when she finds out that I have a daughter and grandson living at home with me. Enough to put off any rich widow for life, I should imagine.’

  Of course he had indeed found himself flattered by the close attention Mrs Van der Beek had paid him over the buffet supper after the titanic card game, but pleased as he was by the compliments she had paid him about his card play in front of the most distinguished members of their enthralled audience, Lionel considered her flirtation to be a will-o’-the-wisp. To his mind Mrs Van der Beek was simply going through the social motions, something at which she was undoubtedly expert coming from a background such as hers. And Lionel was too much of a realist not to know that by the next morning the memory of Lionel Eastcott would be consigned to oblivion as Mrs Van der Beek returned to her personal circle. Nevertheless, Lionel was flattered, and excited. He was, after all, still a man.

  ‘Penny for them,’ Waldo said, as the taxi drew up outside their destination. ‘Or might I guess?’

  ‘It really is none of your business,’ Lionel replied, preparing to alight. ‘You may read my thoughts at the bridge table as much as you like – but what goes on in my head at all other times is strictly out of bounds.’

  Again Waldo laughed, and leaned forward to pay off the cabbie.

  At Waldo’s suggestion they returned home to Bexham a little later in the day than Lionel would have wished, eventually driven there at great speed by Waldo in his magnificent Jaguar.

  In contrast to his high spirits of the night before, Lionel found his companion for once oddly silent, and wondered whether this might be due to the telephone call he knew Waldo had received earlier that day. He didn’t wish to pry since he felt he didn’t know his friend quite well enough to enquire after what Lionel always called private grief, so he puffed away at his new pipe and watched the last of the summer landscape flash by his window in a blur of soft early autumn pastels.

  Finally, as they motored across the Downs just to the north of Churchester, Waldo apologised for his silence and explained to Lionel that he was a little preoccupied with personal matters, which although nothing of a serious nature had given him cause for concern. The now seemingly permanently affable Lionel assured him that, as well as understanding, afte
r the high excitement of the previous evening he himself was only too happy to enjoy the drive in relative quiet. Waldo thanked him for his forbearance, and lapsed once more into silence, only to break it moments later with a friendly slap on Lionel’s right knee.

  ‘I nearly forgot, old chap,’ he said. ‘There was a call for you as well – but you were still sound out, so I took the message. Mrs Van der Beek would be very grateful if you would telephone her at the Dorchester on your arrival home the first moment you find you have free.’

  He glanced round at Lionel, raised his eyebrows, and then returned his concentration to his driving, leaving Lionel to pretend to frown out of the window as if he was shocked and displeased.

  Loopy paced the carpet in the drawing room, walking up and down the same line in its pattern as she waited for the doctor to finish his examination of her husband and descend with his opinion.

  She had gone home the previous evening to hear that although Hugh had taken to his bed feeling unwell he hadn’t called the doctor. It was typical of him and very worrying.

  ‘No need to call the doctor. It’s sure to be just indigestion,’ Hugh moaned, facing the bedroom wall, and looking of a sudden, to Loopy anyway, about ten years old.

  ‘What nonsense. If you have pains in your chest for God’s sake, Hugh, it could be something serious!’

  ‘They’re not really pains as such. Not any more. Please – you know me. I’d rather not make a fuss if it weren’t necessary. So why not wait until morning?’

  Loopy nearly told Hugh that if there really was something wrong with him he could be dead by the morning, but the look in her husband’s eyes prevented her. It wasn’t a look of illness or fear, but rather one of fleeting guilt.

  First thing in the morning, when she’d hardly had time to get herself properly dressed, a sudden urgent call from Hugh’s bedroom summoned her back to his bedside, where she found him lying propped up on his pillows with a frown on his face and a hand on his chest. Naturally she went straight to the telephone, only to be told by Dr Farnsworth that he had many other more serious calls to make.