Siobhan picked up the chess piece and let it dangle in front of me , she leaned forward across the board . So close that I could smell her skin and the faintest scent of Guerlain . She had the serenity of a Geisha and the air of a Borgia .
" Check " she whispered
" It appears so " I replied inhaling her provocation
" Are you hungry " she continued to whisper inches from my ear intoxicatingly close
" Ravenous "
Then slightly nearer she purred " What would you like to eat "
The reply 'you' was about to leave my mouth when The door rattled and opened , A military figure stood in the doorway
I looked at Siobhan who stood stroking her red talon like nails down my face . She whispered " Another time another place "
" It is time Mr Tutbury " The military figure announced . Siobhan gestured to the door .
I stood and hesitated , like the condemned man on the first step of the scaffold . Siobhan placed her hand on my back and slightly eased me forwards.
I turned to her and nodded " Thank you , we never quite finished the last game "
She didn't reply just smiled . A smile that opened doors and wallets . Boys learn to play football , some girls learn that smile.
I walked out of the room and found myself in the corridor I had walked along several hours earlier .
In front of me was a walkway , similar to a hotel landing . We walked in single file , I followed the military figure , Siobhan followed behind. Two young soldiers in dark blue combat trousers and the same colour T Shirts stepped quickly out of the way . Standing with their backs to the wall as we passed . I glanced at them but both deliberately turned their faces to avoid my gaze.
Where we still in that mountain. I had no idea. Time had no relevance I was no different to the Chess figure Siobhan had picked up . I was being moved and then moved again. But in chess you know the rules . I didn't even know my opponent . The France of my youth , Parisian beauty had been forever deleted from my memory and replaced by death camps and maniacs , experiments and final solutions . No longer that savoir faire and left bank chic and point of view , crazy nights around the Mont Martre , out of reach women and out of this world prices . It was now replaced by an Orwellian nightmare which I was not waking up from.
We shuffled further on.
At the end of the corridor we paused as a double door was pushed open. Everything looked so clinical and either white or blue. Two security guards held the doors open . We entered onto a concreted floor with a slight descent . Halogen wall lights spaced approximately two metres apart on the sparse walls lit the area , a faint aroma of oil drifted in the air. We reached another door and a burly security officer held his hand out insisting we stopped . A second guard took a machine gun off his shoulder and held it across his body , his finger poised over the trigger.
Our I.D was checked .
The first guard turned and lifted the receiver on the phone positioned on a wall mount to the left of the door .He mumbled something into it . I did make out Tutbury , but that was all.
He replaced the receiver and pressed the yellow button just below the phone mount . Almost immediately the sliding doors of a lift separated behind him. He walked to the left allowing us to enter.
The three of us walked in and stood at the rear of the lift facing the doors . This time Guerlain not oil drifted reassuringly across me. I scanned the ceiling for a camera lens. It was dark and the only light was from some faint ceiling lights . The only noise the rattle of a winch as we ascended slowly.
My heart started to race .
The lift slowly came to a shuddering stop . Within a few seconds the doors automatically opened.
We walked out together , leaving a sterile military world full of testosterone and locked doors onto a stone flagged hall way , perhaps fifteen feet wide and twenty yards long. Either side military colours adorned the walls . Ornate gold mirrors draped in silks lined the walls above Napoleonic chairs . The finest Sevre porcelain sat on superb chiffionaires , with scrolled supports and brass and gold handles .
Fine Persian rugs spaced over the flags . Large oil paintings to my left of military figures , men on horseback . Swords raised shouting encouragement to fellow cavalry as the horses reared trampling over fallen foe . The Tricolour being held as a group of men protected it .
Arrogance , victory and France swamped me as we walked further towards a magnificent oak double door covered in gold furniture , with a large gold knocker set into the middle about five feet high.
In front were two men in French military dress uniforms . As we approached both placed their hands on sword handles secured in scabbards hanging from red and blue silk belts low to their left.
We stood in front of them for maybe thirty seconds . In ritualistic pose they stood motionless . So did we .
The guard to the right of us turned and faced the door . He banged three times using the gold knocker on the great oak door .
The third echoed , then nothing .
We waited.