A brick, a red shoe and a harmonica © October 2010 Elizabeth Mills

The door opened and the room fell into silence as those already present looked up to see who was arriving. An onlooker would have observed three men seated around a table, blinking in the sudden brightness as their small group was pierced by a shaft of sunlight lancing across the room from the doorway. Silhouetted against the glare stood a solitary figure, like a visitor from outer space.

He raised a hand in greeting, and the others called out a welcome. The silence broken, conversations restarted as the latecomer closed the door and took his place at the table. The soft sound of a harmonica resumed from the shadows.

On the table were a candle, casting its meagre glow upon the faces of the men, and a rough stack of paper, held down by a brick. The man who had just arrived added some more paper to the pile.

At this point, the casual onlooker would note that there remained one empty chair, and that the men kept glancing anxiously towards the closed door, as though expecting another arrival. The final guest, however, was already there, watching them, unseen, from the shadows.

After several tense minutes, the music stopped, and the harmonica player stepped into the faint circle of light from the candle. The men turned to look in surprise as the figure came into view. First a red shoe appeared, then the hem of a swirling black skirt, and finally a head of long, blonde hair.

She took her place at the table and collected the pile of paper from the centre, placing it into a bag she carried. Then, from the same bag, she took a wad of small cards, which she flexed as she looked around the table.

“Very well, gentlemen,” she smiled, “let's play poker.”