Katerina's Secret by Mary Jane Staples Page A

Rosamund, not Beck.’
    â€˜I’ll watch, if I may,’ said Rosamund.
    â€˜But do you play?’
    â€˜A little,’ she smiled. ‘My husband taught me.’
    â€˜Good,’ said Edward, ‘then you shall play the winner. Are you game?’
    Rosamund’s smile was a little wicked. She essayed a glance at Colonel Brecht. He was standing at attention, eyes fixed on the tip of his cue.
    â€˜If that’s agreeable to both of you, I accept,’ she said.
    The German took a silk handkerchief from the inside pocket of his dinner jacket and courteously dusted a chair for her close to the scoreboard. She murmured polite thanks, then sat with her eyes on the green baize of the table.
    Colonel Brecht broke off, leaving his white and the red in baulk, close together. Edward very neatly brought his ball back up the table, hit the red and gently kissed the white.
    â€˜Bravo,’ said Rosamund.
    Colonel Brecht coughed. Edward smiled. Rosamund, who knew gentlemen did not encourage comments from spectators, gazed innocently into nowhere. Edward made a break of nineteen. Rosamund rose and put up his score. Colonel Brecht retaliated with a break of twelve. Edward, pacing himself, chalked up a dawdling eleven. Colonel Brecht failed. Edward failed. The colonel, concentrating, put some neat cannons together, plus a couple of reds, and compiled a useful twenty-six. Rosamund kept the scoreboard moving. Edward executed a difficult in-off red that made Rosamund call bravo again. Colonel Brecht raised his eyebrows. Rosamund looked at her feet, and Edward suddenly realized that for all her Edwardian majesty she had an impish streak. She was teasing Franz Brecht, and Franz was shuffling his feet.
    Edward’s score advanced to ninety-three. Colonel Brecht, with a break of twenty-three, advanced to ninety-seven. Edward collected two cannons, fluffed a third and left the Germanwith an easy red to put down for the game. It lay only three inches from a corner pocket. But the colonel’s shot was a disaster. The red, limply struck, hit the corner of the pocket and gently rolled back in much the same position.
    Edward, left with three balls in line, tried a cannon off the cushion, striking the colonel’s ball first. It failed. Again Colonel Brecht was left with an easy red to pocket. Again he missed. Rosamund emitted a delicate cough. Colonel Brecht, slightly flushed, stood back. Edward smiled. He was on to the German now. Franz Brecht was backing away from the prospect of taking on the intimidating Rosamund. The retired soldier was actually shy. Edward felt he must tell Celeste. He and Celeste enjoyed a good gossip.
    He himself only needed to put the red down for the game. But his white was closed off from the red, as it had been before. He made his shot, striking the colonel’s ball just enough to send it so close to the red that it was simply not possible for the German to miss putting it down this time.
    â€˜
Himmel
,’ breathed the colonel, ‘was that a shot, my friend?’
    â€˜Yes, a badly played one,’ said Edward. ‘It’s left you with a sitter.’
    With an air of resignation, Colonel Brecht pocketed the red.
    â€˜Well played,’ said Rosamund. She rose coolly to her feet and selected a cue from the rack. ‘I now have the honour, sir?’ she said to the colonel.
    â€˜Ah – you need not feel you must,’ he said.
    â€˜In honour, sir, I’m committed,’ said Rosamund.
    Edward was fascinated. Damned if Celeste isn’t right, he thought, damned if these two aren’t actually taken with each other. The atmosphere between them was positively electric. Extraordinary.
    â€˜Well, it’s worked out well enough for me,’ he said. ‘I need a rest.’
    Colonel Brecht cleared his throat. Rosamund chalked her cue. Politely, the German offered her the choice of plain or spot white. Rosamund chose spot and broke off, handling her cue