The windows of the grand salon steamed with summer frost. Inside, the air was cool and it smelled of the fresh bouquets that were being placed by gloved shadows in their appropriate corners. As I ran up the spiral staircase that led to the conciergerie, I felt the crisp air envelop me. Looking up, I saw the guests that sauntered, at a summer’s pace, across the hall and towards the door that led to the promenade. There were grandes dames in their lush colored dresses and men of great renown walking confidently, sporting linen shirts and Vilbrequintrunks. Of course, there was Madame Olmann shuffling about with her dog, Milou, closely behind. Or even Monsieur Klipp, with his enormous glasses and golden tipped cane, who stood speaking to Giles as he leaned on the desk by the conciergerie. I weaved through the crowd, at a pace that seemed inappropriately purposeful and I could feel the grown-ups’ stares bearing down on me. My flip-flops slid along the marble floor and, back then, my hair was blonde and the loose ends were made even lighter by the shine that rained down from the chandeliers.

For those around me in the grand salon, it was just another morning in Baie des Anges – just another brief stop to leave their room key before they made their way down the promenade and towards the sea which that day was roaring in the wind of the mistral. Still, they basked in the purity of that room. The grand salon always felt like a freshly starched, crisp Oxford shirt.

But those around me didn’t understand. This was not just another summer day for me. No. Of course not. I was giddy and my palms were slick with sweat. For the first time in my life, Iwas nervous, scared, excited – all at once. Because I knew that very soon, I would learn to play chess.