The Sleep Room by F. R. Tallis Read Free Book Online Page B

Moreover, his understanding of queen’s pawn openings and the French defence is second to none.’
    ‘Mr Chapman,’ I said, making an appeasing gesture. ‘I fear that you have overestimated my knowledge of the game. I play very occasionally for pleasure – nothing more.’
    ‘So you say.’
    ‘So I say? What do you mean by that?’
    He pressed his lips together and his expression became defiant.
    ‘Mr Chapman?’
    ‘Did he send you?’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Botvinnik, of course.’
    ‘I’m afraid you are very much mistaken if you think that I am acquainted with the world chess champion.’
    ‘Tell him that I know what he’s up to.’
    ‘I’ll tell him nothing of the sort, Mr Chapman, because – as I have already made quite clear – we are not familiar with each other.’
    His expression changed in an instant from anger to confusion. ‘You don’t know him?’
    ‘No. I don’t know him.’
    ‘You are quite sure?’
    ‘Quite sure.’
    ‘He didn’t ask you to . . .’ The sentence trailed off and Chapman appeared disorientated. He scratched his head and blinked at the ceiling.
    ‘What?’ I enquired.
    Chapman shook his head, more an involuntary shudder than a controlled movement. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he muttered to himself, ‘a misunderstanding, that’s what we have here. A misunderstanding.’
    I raised my hand to remind him of my presence. ‘Shall we play then?’
    ‘All right – but you must not make any notes while we play.’
    ‘I give you my word, Mr Chapman. There will be no note-taking.’
    Together we walked down the corridor to the empty recreation room. Beneath the dado rail, the heavily embossed wallpaper was painted dark brown and above, bottle green. The effect was dismal and cheerless. A vase of dead flowers stood in the middle of a circular table and a late bluebottle bounced against one of the window-panes. I pulled out a chair for Chapman and he sat down, but he was still agitated and perspiring.
    The chess set was kept in a cabinet filled with other games such as Monopoly and snakes and ladders. Looking down the shelves I found a wooden box containing the pieces and a scuffed old board, and then I returned to the table where we prepared to play. It was decided, after tossing a coin, that I would go first. I pushed one of my pawns forward and Chapman gave my action unmerited consideration – rubbing his stubbly chin and emitting a continuous, low hum. Several minutes passed before he responded by doing exactly the same thing.
    Given his earlier comments about Botvinnik, I had assumed that Chapman would be an accomplished player. But in fact, he was rather poor. It saddened me to see a man once capable of solving the most abstruse problems struggling to anticipate my mediocre game. I let him take one of my bishops, then a knight, and was mildly amused when he leered at me, as if he had triumphed through the exercise of exceptional cunning.
    I looked around the room to alleviate my boredom. The fireplace was rather grand: a stone edifice with carved scrolls and decorative flowers. There was a teak radiogram, and beside it a stack of rarely touched long-playing records. The carpet was cratered with cigarette burns.
    When I returned my attention to the board, Chapman had placed his king behind a knight for protection. In doing so, he had made it possible for me to take an exposed rook, but I did not have the heart to do so. Instead, I reversed my queen diagonally with no particular purpose in mind.
    ‘Dr Richardson?’ Chapman was staring at me, his eyes wide open.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Why do you move my bed around at night?’
    ‘I don’t.’
    ‘Then the nurses. Why do they do it?’
    ‘They don’t, Mr Chapman.’
    ‘I tell them to stop but they never listen.’
    ‘Perhaps it is a dream, Mr Chapman. They would not move your bed while you are asleep.’
    ‘It is the movement of the bed that wakes me up.’
    I passed my hand over the chessboard. ‘Your turn, Mr Chapman.’
    He