Sidney Sheldon - If Tomorrow Comes

“I've never heard of anything so — so —” Negutesco sputtered, at a loss for words. “The arrogance! Who is she that she thinks she can defeat the two top chess masters in the world? She must have escaped from some lunatic asylum.”

“She's a little erratic,” Jeff confessed, “but her money is good. All cash.”

“You said ten thousand dollars for defeating her?”

“That's right.”

“And Boris Meinikov gets the same amount?”

“If he defeats her.”

Pietr Negulesco grinned. “Oh, he will defeat her. And so will I.”

“Just between us, I wouldn't be a bit surprised.”

“Who will hold the stakes?”

“The ship's purser.”

Why should Melnikov be the only one to take money from this woman? thought Pietr Negutesco.

“My friend, you have a deal. Where and when?”

“Friday night. Ten o'clock. The Queen's Room.”

Pietr Negulesco smiled wolfishly. “I will be there.”

“You mean they agreed?” Tracy cried.

“That's right.”

“I'm going to be sick.”

“I'll get you a cold towel.”

Jeff hurried into the bathroom of Tracy's suite, ran cold water on a towel, and brought it back to her. She was lying on the chaise longue. He placed the towel on her forehead. “How does that feel?”

“Terrible. I think I have a migraine.”

“Have you ever had a migraine before?”

“No.”

“Then you don't have one now. Listen to me, Tracy, it's perfectly natural to be nervous before something like this.”

She leapt up and flung down the towel. “Something like this? There's never been anything like this! I'm playing two international master chess players with one chess lesson from you and —”

“Two,” Jeff corrected her. “You have a natural talent for chess.”

“My God, why did I ever let you talk me into this?”

“Because we're going to make a lot of money.”

“I don't want to make a lot of money,” Tracy wailed. “I want this boat to sink. Why couldn't this be the Titanic?”

“Now, just stay calm,” Jeff said soothingly. “It's going to be —”

“It's going to be a disaster! Everyone on this ship is going to be watching.”

“That's exactly the point, isn't it?” Jeff beamed.

Jeff had made all the arrangements with the ship's purser. He had given the purser the stakes to hold — $20,000 in traveler's checks — and asked him to set up two chess tables for Friday evening. The word spread rapidly throughout the ship, and passengers kept approaching Jeff to ask if the matches were actually going to take place.

“Absolutely,” Jeff assured all who inquired. “It's incredible. Poor Miss Whitney believes she can win. In fact, she's betting on it.”

“I wonder,” a passenger asked, “If I might place a small bet?”

“Certainly. As much money as you like. Miss Whitney is asking only ten-to-one odds.”

A million-to-one odds would have made more sense. From the moment the first bet was accepted, the floodgates opened. It seemed that everyone on board, including the engine-room crew and the ship's officers, wanted to place bets on the game. The amounts varied from five dollars to five thousand dollars and every single bet was on the Russian and the Romanian.

The suspicious purser reported to the captain. “I've never seen anything like it, sir. It's a stampede. Nearly all the passengers have placed wagers. I must be holding two hundred thousand dollars in bets.”

The captain studied him thoughtfully. “You say Miss Whitney is going to play Melnikov and Negulesco at the same time?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Have you verified that the two men are really Pietr Negulesco and Boris Melnikov?”

“Oh, yes, of course, sir.”

“There's no chance they would deliberately throw the chess game, is there?”

“Not with their egos. I think they'd rather die first. And if they lost to this woman, that's probably exactly what would happen to them when they got home.”

The captain ran his fingers through his hair, a puzzled frown on his face. “Do you know anything about Miss Whitney or this Mr. Stevens?”

“Not a thing, sir. As far as I can determine, they're traveling separately.”

The captain made his decision. “It smells like some kind of con game, and ordinarily I would put a stop to it. However, I happen to be a bit of an expert myself, and if there was one thing I'd stake my life on, it's the fact that there is no way to cheat at chess. Let the match go on.” He walked over to his desk and withdrew a black leather wallet. “Put down fifty pounds for me. On the masters.”

By 9:00 Friday evening the Queen's Room was packed with passengers from first class, those who had sneaked in from second and third class, and the ship's officers and members of the crew who were off duty. At Jeff Stevens's request, two rooms had been set up for the tournament. One table was in the center of the Queen's Room, and the other table was in the adjoining salon. Curtains had been drawn to separate the two rooms.

“So that the players aren't distracted by each other,” Jeff explained. “And we would like the spectators to remain in whichever room they choose.”

Velvet ropes had been placed around the two tables to keep the crowds back. The spectators were about to witness something they were sure they would never see again. They knew nothing about the beautiful young American woman, except that it would be impossible for her — or anyone else — to play the great Negulesco and Melnikov simultaneously and obtain a draw with either of them.

Jeff introduced Tracy to the two grand masters shortly before the game was to begin. Tracy looked like a Grecian painting in a muted green chiffon Galanos gown which left one shoulder bare. Her eyes seemed tremendous in her pale face.

Pietr Negulesco looked her over carefully. “Have you won all the national tournaments you have played in?” he asked.

“Yes,” Tracy replied truthfully.

He shrugged. “I have never heard of you.”

Boris Melnikov was equally rude. “You Americans do not know what to do with your money,” he said. “I wish to thank you in advance. My winnings will make my family very happy.”

Tracy's eyes were green jade. “You haven't won, yet, Mr. Melnikov.”

Melnikov's laugh boomed out through the room. “My dear lady, I don't know who you are, but I know who I am. I am the great Boris Melnikov.”

It was 10:00. Jeff looked around and saw that both salons had filled up with spectators. “It's time for the match to start.”

Tracy sat down across the table from Melnikov and wondered for the hundredth time how she had gotten herself into this.

“There's nothing to it,” Jeff had assured her. “Trust me.”

And like a fool she had trusted him. I must have been out of my mind, Tracy thought. She was playing the two greatest chess players in the world, and she knew nothing about the same, except what Jeff had spent four hours teaching her.

The big moment had arrived. Tracy felt her legs trembling. Melnikov turned to the expectant crowd and grinned. He made a hissing noise at a steward. “Bring me a brandy. Napoleon.”

“In order to be fair to everyone,” Jeff had said to Melnikov, “I suggest that you play the white so that you go first, and in the game with Mr. Negulesco, Miss Whitney will play the white and she will go first.”

Both grand masters agreed.

While the audience stood hushed, Boris Melnikov reached across the board and played the queen's gambit decline opening, moving his queen pawn two squares. I'm not simply going to beat this woman. I'm going to crush her.

He glanced up at Tracy. She studied the board, nodded, and stood up, without moving a piece. A steward cleared the way through the crowd as Tracy walked into the second salon, where Pietr Negulesco was seated at a table waiting for her. There were at least a hundred people crowding the room as Tracy took her seat opposite Negulesco.