Page 53 of Love Is A Draw
It wasn’t just the match. It was him.
After the spectators had left behind List, his baroness, and the officers, Gail joined the sitting room where the Pearlers had gathered, murmuring over brandy and teacups. Fave glanced at her but didn’t speak. Rachel offered a faint, strained smile. Victor sat in the farthest corner by the window, silhouetted in the silver wash of moonlight, as still as stone.
Gail crossed the room slowly. “Victor,” she said softly.
He turned. Not all the way, but enough that the light caught the exhaustion in his eyes.
She sat across from him. “You played well without the ledgers, see?”
“No, I played predictably. He knew every move I might make.”
Her throat tightened. “He read your ledgers.”
“He memorized them.”
“His wife did, too. She’s from Moscow, so she can likely read the Russian chess notation for him.”
Silence settled between them. She didn’t reach for his hand. Not yet.
Victor leaned back, head tilting toward the glass. “I’ve given him the chance to make it to the third ? round. This means, you’d surpassed me with yet another draw, but can you move into the final without a win in three rounds, only draws?”
“It maintains peace.”
“No, the status quo isn’t peace, Gail. We need a victory.” Victor raked both hands through his golden brown hair, adorably disheveled after a long and hard game.
“They won’t allow?—”
“You have to win whether it’s allowed or not.” His tone was hollow, not bitter. Just. “And it’s right. You should win the tournament. You should take the title. It was always meant for the best player. Man or woman, Jew or Gentile, the best player should win.”
“I haven’t lost the title yet.” Greg kept his eyes glued to the brandy he twirled in his crystal glass.
She stared at him, then Victor. “What are you saying?”
“I’m leaving.” Victor didn’t look at her. “Tomorrow. If I lose the last match, I have to go. If I stay, List will use me as leverage. Against you. Against Dmitry.”
Her breath caught. “No.”
“He’s right,” Fave said. “List will only be satisfied if he faces Greg. None of the Jews, none of us, deserve a chance to play for the title in his world.”
“But this is our world too. We exist, we have a right to be here,” Gail said.
“I agree. Many do.” Greg gave her a somber look. “But I’ve fought List long enough to know he’ll unleash everything in his power to show the world—even just this narrow piece of it here in London—that equality and meritocracy have no place here.”
Victor finally turned, his eyes finding hers. “They’ll try to frame me. They’ve already accused me of being an enemy of the Crown. The ledgers?—”
“I’ll testify. I’ll prove they’re not codes. I can read them. I can show them—” Gail lost her breath when she saw Lady Hermy’s gaze glued to her hands, picking at the hem of her laced sleeves.
Victor seemed to notice it, too.
Lady Hermy swallowed visibly. “I don’t even have a voice, dear, and I’m a Countess.”
“They won’t believe you.” Victor’s calmness cracked on the last word. “You’re a woman. A Jew. And List doesn’t care that you’re brilliant—he won’t make that matter.”
“So what?” Her voice rose. “We fight?”
But he only shook his head. “You have something to win. I don’t. Not anymore.”
She stood abruptly, the scrape of her chair too loud. “You said you came here for legacy.”
