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It
must
have
been
part
of
a
suite
because
what
she
saw
was
a
grand
parlor
with
a
crystal
chandelier
hanging
from
an
elaborately
molded
ceiling
,
a
pair
of
green
overstuffed
sofas
and
large
,
dark
oil
paintings
on
the
far
wall
,
where
an
open
door
led
to
a
bedroom
.
There
were
three
men
in
shirtsleeves
standing
around
a
table
that
sat
between
the
couches
.
On
the
table
was
a
crystal
decanter
and
three
shot
glasses
.
In
the
center
of
the
table
was
a
chessboard
;
two
of
the
men
were
watching
and
commenting
while
the
third
moved
pieces
around
speculatively
with
his
fingertips
.
The
two
men
watching
were
Tigran
Petrosian
and
Mikhail
Tal
.
The
one
moving
the
pieces
was
Vasily
Borgov
.
They
were
three
of
the
best
chess
players
in
the
world
,
and
they
were
analyzing
what
must
have
been
Borgov
’
s
adjourned
position
from
his
game
with
Duhamel
.
Once
as
a
child
she
had
been
on
her
way
down
the
hall
in
the
Administration
Building
and
had
stopped
for
a
moment
by
the
door
to
Mrs
.
Deardorff
’
s
office
,
which
was
uncharacteristically
open
.
Looking
furtively
inside
,
she
had
seen
Mrs
.
Deardorff
standing
there
in
the
outer
office
with
an
older
man
and
a
woman
,
involved
in
conversation
,
their
heads
together
in
an
intimacy
she
would
never
have
expected
Mrs
.
Deardorff
to
be
capable
of
.
It
had
been
a
shock
to
peer
into
this
adult
world
.
Mrs
.
Deardorff
held
her
index
finger
out
and
was
tapping
the
lapel
of
the
man
with
it
as
she
talked
,
eye
to
eye
,
with
him
.
Beth
never
saw
the
couple
again
and
had
no
idea
what
they
had
been
talking
about
,
but
she
never
forgot
the
scene
.
Seeing
Borgov
in
the
parlor
of
his
suite
,
planning
his
next
move
with
the
help
of
Tal
and
Petrosian
,
she
felt
the
same
thing
she
had
felt
then
.
She
felt
inconsequential
—
a
child
peering
into
the
adult
world
.
Who
was
she
to
presume
?
She
needed
help
.
She
hurried
past
the
room
and
to
the
elevator
,
feeling
awkward
and
terribly
alone
.
*
*
*
The
crowd
waiting
by
the
side
door
had
gotten
bigger
.
When
she
stepped
out
of
the
limousine
in
the
morning
they
began
shouting
,
“
Harmon
!
Harmon
!
”
in
unison
and
waving
and
smiling
.
A
few
reached
out
to
touch
her
as
she
went
by
,
and
she
pushed
past
them
nervously
,
trying
to
smile
back
.
She
had
slept
only
fitfully
the
night
before
,
getting
up
from
time
to
time
to
study
the
position
of
her
adjourned
game
with
Luchenko
or
to
pace
around
the
room
barefoot
,
thinking
of
Borgov
and
the
other
two
,
neckties
loosened
and
in
shirtsleeves
,
studying
the
board
as
though
they
were
Roosevelt
,
Churchill
and
Stalin
with
a
chart
of
the
final
campaign
of
World
War
II
.
No
matter
how
often
she
told
herself
she
was
as
good
as
any
of
them
,
she
felt
with
dismay
that
those
men
with
their
heavy
black
shoes
knew
something
she
did
not
know
and
never
would
know
.
She
tried
to
concentrate
on
her
own
career
,
her
quick
rise
to
the
top
of
American
chess
and
beyond
it
,
the
way
she
had
become
a
more
powerful
player
than
Benny
Watts
,
the
way
she
had
beaten
Laev
without
a
moment
of
doubt
in
her
moves
,
the
way
that
,
even
as
a
child
,
she
had
found
an
error
in
the
play
of
the
great
Morphy
.
But
all
of
it
was
meaningless
and
trivial
beside
her
glimpse
into
the
establishment
of
Russian
chess
,
into
the
room
where
the
men
conferred
in
deep
voices
and
studied
the
board
with
an
assurance
that
seemed
wholly
beyond
her
.
The
one
good
thing
was
that
her
opponent
was
Flento
,
the
weakest
player
in
the
tournament
.
He
was
already
out
of
the
running
,
with
a
clear
loss
and
two
draws
.
Only
Beth
,
Borgov
and
Luchenko
had
neither
lost
nor
drawn
a
game
.
She
had
a
cup
of
tea
before
playing
began
,
and
it
helped
her
a
little
.
More
important
,
just
being
in
this
room
with
the
other
players
dispelled
some
of
what
she
had
been
feeling
during
the
night
.
Borgov
was
drinking
tea
when
she
came
in
.
He
ignored
her
as
usual
,
and
she
ignored
him
,
but
he
was
not
as
frightening
with
a
teacup
in
his
hand
and
a
quietly
dull
look
on
his
heavy
face
as
he
had
been
in
her
imagination
the
night
before
.
When
the
director
came
to
escort
them
to
the
stage
,
Borgov
glanced
at
her
just
before
he
left
the
room
and
raised
his
eyebrows
slightly
as
if
to
say
,
“
Here
we
go
again
!
”
and
she
found
herself
smiling
faintly
at
him
.
She
set
down
her
cup
and
followed
.
She
knew
Flento
’
s
erratic
career
very
well
and
had
memorized
a
dozen
of
his
games
.
She
had
decided
even
before
leaving
Lexington
that
the
thing
to
play
against
him
,
if
she
had
the
white
pieces
,
would
be
the
English
Opening
.
She
started
it
now
,
pushing
the
queen
bishop
pawn
to
the
fourth
rank
.
It
was
like
the
Sicilian
in
reverse
.
She
felt
comfortable
with
it
.
She
won
,
but
it
took
four
and
a
half
hours
and
was
far
more
grueling
than
she
had
expected
.
He
put
up
a
fight
along
the
two
main
diagonals
and
played
the
four
-
knights
variation
with
a
sophistication
that
was
,
for
a
while
,
far
beyond
her
own
.
But
when
they
got
into
the
middle
game
,
she
saw
an
opportunity
to
trade
her
way
out
of
the
position
and
took
it
.
She
wound
up
doing
a
thing
she
had
seldom
done
:
nursing
a
pawn
across
the
board
until
it
arrived
at
the
seventh
rank
.
It
would
cost
Flento
his
only
remaining
piece
to
remove
it
.
He
resigned
.
The
applause
this
time
was
louder
than
ever
before
.
It
was
two
-
thirty
.
She
had
missed
breakfast
and
was
exhausted
.
She
needed
lunch
and
a
nap
.
She
needed
to
rest
before
the
adjournment
tonight
.
