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The first time she attended a match, Anatoly abandoned her to pursue a match with a Frenchman. Pregnant, miserable, her feet swollen and belly bruised, she thought about crying but didn't want to draw attention to herself. She was just beginning to realize how cold a crowd could be when a strange man in white gloves paused in passing.
"You are Sergievsky's wife," he said. "Svetlana. Yes?"
She couldn't pick up on his accent. She nodded.
"He is playing Sebag. Follow."
And that strange man led her right to Anatoly's match. He looked up at her and seemed surprised to see her with the man.
"That is the Arbiter!" he hissed when they reunited. "You shouldn't bother him. He is important."
"I wasn't bothering him," she said, but Anatoly didn't hear.
Years later, when Anatoly defected, she saw that man again. He looked unchanged, his white gloves still pristine.
"Congratulations," he said.
"What?"
"Sergievsky is gone, yes? You are free of that obligation."
She laughed out loud. "My husband!"
"Yes," he agreed. "You have not looked happy these past few years. But now you look... free, I think."
That was an unexpected idea. It gave her much to think about.