Close to Death

Adam Strauss had joined Andrew Pennington, who was examining one of the chessboards, cradling a G&T in his other hand.

‘This one is my favourite,’ Strauss said, moving down the table. He delicately picked up a bishop kneeling with his hands clasped in prayer and held it in the light. The set it had come from was inspired by The Lord of the Rings. Sauron and Saruman ruled over the black side, facing Gandalf and Galadriel in white. Orcs fought it out against hobbits. Frodo and Sam Gamgee were knights. ‘It was handmade in Prague and there are only half a dozen of them in the world,’ he explained. ‘It’s very valuable – but that’s not the reason why it’s so precious to me. It was given to me as a fortieth-birthday present by Sheikh Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum, the ruler of Dubai.’

Andrew couldn’t help smiling. Adam Strauss was a terrible name-dropper . . . it was something of a joke in Riverview Close. The chess grandmaster was not an imposing man, with his black-framed glasses and a triangle of beard that sat rather too precisely on his chin. He dressed neatly and expensively. Appearances evidently mattered to him, from his well-oiled hair to his shoes, both of which gleamed. Everyone knew that he had been rather humiliated by having to move out of the Lodge. Now on the wrong side of fifty, he was a man of diminished stature in every sense, and the name-dropping, the endless anecdotes about famous people he had met, was obviously his way of asserting himself.

‘I was invited to a chess tournament over there,’ Strauss went on. ‘The Sheikh took a liking to me, and as a matter of fact, I gave one of his sons a few lessons. A very handsome lad and quite adept at the game.’ He handed the bishop over to the barrister. ‘I didn’t really know the books at the time, but I read them afterwards. I rather liked them. Tolkien played chess, you know. I think he would have approved.’

‘This looks just like Orlando Bloom,’ Andrew said.

‘There is a resemblance.’

‘Is it ivory?’

Strauss shook his head. ‘No. Porcelain. I do have one set made of ivory.’ He pointed. ‘That one over there. Of course, you’re not meant to have anything made of ivory any more, but I won that one when I was just twenty-one – my first major tournament – so I suppose it’s all right to hang on to it.’

He took back the bishop and delicately placed it in its correct position.

A few steps away, in the kitchen, Teri Strauss was holding out a plate of cheese straws for May Winslow and Phyllis Moore. The elderly ladies had managed to squeeze themselves onto two of the high stools next to the central island. They both had fruit cocktails laced with vodka. It was well known that they would never say no to a good slug of alcohol, possibly making up for years of abstinence at the Convent of St Clare.

‘Not for me, thank you.’ Phyllis held up two hands in a gesture of surrender, refusing the cheese straws. ‘We ate before we came out. But this cocktail is very nice. What’s in it?’

‘Mangosteen,’ Teri said.

‘Oh.’ Phyllis smiled, none the wiser. She drained her glass. ‘Can I have another?’

‘Perhaps not, Phyllis,’ May suggested. She looked at her watch. ‘I wonder what’s happened to Mr and Mrs Kenworthy?’

It was so typical of her to use surnames. Both women seemed to have modelled themselves on the Jane Marple novels they sold in their bookshop. It was as if the last six decades had never happened.

‘I’m sure they’re on their way,’ Teri said.

‘It’s not very far to drive!’ This was a penitent Phyllis, nursing her empty glass, trying her hand at a joke.

‘Let’s give them the benefit of the doubt.’ Andrew Pennington had overheard the conversation and joined them. ‘I knew a barrister who always insisted on arriving late in court. He said it made more of an impression.’

‘I’ll have one of those, if you don’t mind.’ Gemma Beresford leaned over and lazily plucked out a cheese straw.

‘We were just wondering if the Kenworthys were going to grace us with their presence,’ May remarked. There was an edge of sarcasm in her voice.

‘I do hope so.’ Gemma glanced briefly at her husband, who was pouring himself a second whisky. ‘Tom is very much hoping to meet them.’

‘Well, I’m glad to have you all here, anyway,’ Teri said. ‘We don’t get together half as often as we used to. It’s important we stay close.’

Teri was Hong Kong Chinese, a very striking, elegant woman. Her parents – who ran a successful clothing business – had predicted what would happen to the city they had always loved when the Chinese authorities took control of it and had emigrated to the UK before the handover in 1997. They now lived in Manchester. The fact that both of Adam Strauss’s wives shared the same ethnicity had, of course, been noted in Riverview Close. He was attracted to Asian women, but this was entirely a matter of personal taste and something that none of them would have dreamed of mentioning.

Gemma took her cheese straw and went over to her husband. ‘Are you all right, darling?’ she asked.