Love Game - Season 2011 (46 page)

              Tom suddenly felt shaky. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. Yes. Yes, he wanted to see Ted. And no, no, no, he didn’t. Slowly, he walked back to his room. He didn’t feel fit to face Candice right now. What should he do? Closing the door he fell onto his bed and looked at the message again. The words were simple. They didn’t reveal any feelings. What was he supposed to make of that?

              But then he sat up and picked up his phone. Without hesitating he called and a smile flashed over his face when it was answered.

              “Mum, may I order your roast turkey for Christmas?” His smile grew even broader when he sensed his mother’s joyful disbelief.

              “Yes,” he confirmed it. “Yes, I’m coming home.”

***

It hadn’t been her best match, but Elise had won it 6-3 in the third set. And a hard-fought win was sometimes more useful than an easy straight-set victory. She felt ready now to win some more matches. She opened the door of her hotel room and stepped inside. Throwing her racquet bag next to the bed she turned around to close the door again when she noticed a brown envelope on the floor. She had almost missed it as it was the exact same color as the carpet.

              Elise picked it up and turned it around, but there was no writing on it. She looked at the door and shook her head. There was only a tiny clearance between the door and the floor and it must have taken the person who had slid the envelope under the door quite a while to squeeze it through. Why not leave it at the lobby desk for her? She sat on the bed and ripped open the envelope.

              It was flat and when she reached in she felt the glossy surface of a photo print. She smiled. Perhaps Tom had taken a really good picture of her yesterday in the porcelain factory and had gotten her a print. Pulling it out she expected herself to be smiling at the camera with one of the dishes, but instead she looked at a different scenario. This was not Luxembourg. This was not in a porcelain factory. Yes, there she was. But not with fine china.

              Elise stared at the picture. In the midst of the green hedges of Wimbledon Village Elise was standing in the early morning sun wearing a blue dress and kissing Amanda whose loose red hair glowed like magma in the sunshine.

              Elise gasped in shock. She couldn’t believe that someone had taken a picture of such an intimate moment. She couldn’t remember anyone being there. And hadn’t it been about six in the morning? It looked like someone had followed them. It was a scary thought. She took out her phone from her pocket and looked for Amanda’s number before realizing that it was the middle of the night in Moscow, where Amanda was playing her tournament. It would be reckless to wake the Australian and worry her before her match. Elise put down the phone. She would have to wait until after Amanda’s match. Who had taken the picture, she wondered again. Brushing over the soft photo material she took a closer look at herself and Amanda.

              It was a fabulous shot. Embracing each other and kissing with closed eyes, Amanda and Elise looked adorable together. Even though it felt awkward to think that someone had not only seen them but had taken advantage of the situation by taking photos, she had to admit that she liked the picture. She smiled. Only actors in romantic scenes had their picture taken in such a moment. And here they were in one of those classic happy ending movie stills. Looking gorgeous. Looking as if they were made for each other. She suddenly felt the need to send Amanda the picture. Not to worry her with the news that an anonymous stranger had taken pictures of them, but because they looked so beautiful together and she wanted Amanda to see it, too. In fact, she wanted everyone to see it. They really looked like two people in a movie. In the same moment she realized that only in her eyes did they look gorgeous. How many people would be appalled by the sight? How many would start calling her names?

              They would only ever kiss behind hedges or in hotel rooms hidden away from the world. No, they would never be like movie stars. They would never take centre stage together. A big disappointment rose in her. Why hide such a thing of beauty? She didn’t want to hide it. But as always when she had to face disappointment, her anger about it was even stronger. Elise clenched her fists, wrinkling the edges of the photo. Then she got up and left the room to go to the city and buy a frame.

Istanbul, Turkey

Somewhere outside a muezzin was calling for prayer as Sasha checked her watch. The singing had woken her up during the night and she hadn’t been able to go back to sleep again. It wasn’t the jetlag this time. She had started worrying again about the picture with herself and the Galloway twin and only three hours later had she fallen into a fitful sleep.

              While lying awake she had made a decision and after getting up in the morning had called Jaro. He was in training in Great Britain but had promised to call her back as soon as he got out of the shower. She checked her watch again. What time was it in Britain? She walked to the window and looked outside. The Bosporus looked like a wide grey ocean, bleak and cold. Sasha shivered. When her telephone rang she jumped, but picked it up immediately.

              “What took you so long?” she snapped, but then reminded herself that she needed Jaro. “Listen,” she purred. “I told you about this photo print I received. I think I know who took it.”

              Jaro was listening. When Sasha had first told him about the picture he had not taken it seriously but had understood that it could become an issue for himself, too. If Sasha’s gay rumors surfaced again, doubts about his own sexuality would be reinforced.

              “I’m not hundred percent sure, however,” Sasha continued. “We need to follow him and find out.”

              “We?” Sasha could hear Jaro smile.

              “Well, I have to play some tennis, of course,” she grinned. “But after that I will help you!”

              Over the last couple of months they had become good friends and confidants, respectful of each other’s efforts in their respective sports. The marriage proposal had put Sasha off in the beginning, but she was willing to reconsider it.

              “I’ll take the next flight to Istanbul,” Jaro offered. “Send me a picture of this guy, so I can study his face.”

              Sasha agreed and hung up. During the players’ party last night she had taken a picture of Tom Richardson with her cell phone which she now immediately forwarded to Jaro. She checked her watch again. Only thirty minutes until she would meet her team for the pre-match practice session. Her racquet bag was already packed but she checked it another time. Just when she was about to shoulder it, her phone rang again. It was Jaro.

              “I’ve met this guy,” he blurted out. “When I visited you in Rome I went to this gay bar. He was there. We had a little chat in the bathroom over some band aid?”

              “You had a chat over a band aid?” Sasha was confused. “Is that some code for something gay guys do in public bathrooms?”

              Jaro laughed.

              “No, he was actually being very nice,” he admitted thinking back to the encounter, but then he became serious. “He might have recognized me though.”

              “I dare say you are right,” Sasha nodded gravely. “He is one of the media guys and he must have seen us around the tournament site or taken pictures of us during the party. Also, he is British and probably knows a good deal about football. So when he saw you in the gay club he must have come to the conclusion that there was something false about our relationship.”

              She sighed. There was no use blaming Jaro for being incautious. Instead they had to do something.

              “Don’t come to the hotel,” she said. “Come to the courts. We’ll meet right after my match.”

              They hung up and Sasha stuffed the phone into her pocket. She was late already. Picking up her bags she remembered something. She went back to the bedside and opened her travel case that lay on the floor next to the night stand. On top of her laptop was the brown envelope that was causing so much disconcertment. She grabbed it and put it into her racquet bag to later show to Jaro.

***

“Lynn, wait!”

              Agnes, Monica and Candice Crantz were sprinting through the corridor waving at the umpire, who had turned around. When they reached Lynn Pebblestone Agnes motioned for her to come closer.

              “We just wanted to tell you the location of our party,” Agnes said in a low voice. “We will be at Club Zara tonight and will have one room to ourselves.”

              “Club Zara?” Lynn Pebblestone frowned. “Will there be dancers?”

              “Yes, of course” Monica said matter-of-factly. “It’s a dance club. Everybody will be dancing. Even chair umpires. But none of you is obliged to undress. We hired people to do that for us.”

              “Plus, there will be a little award ceremony for the winner of Love Game,” Agnes winked at Lynn.

              “Yes,” Monica purred. “A fantastic award. Hand-picked by the three of us!”

              “A potted plant no doubt?”

              “Yes, something useful for the British gardener,” Monica grinned at Lynn.

              “Sounds promising,” the chair umpire whispered. Candice laughed. It was no secret that Lynn would receive the award for winning the Love Game this year. She was the only one who had correctly picked Amanda and Elise as a couple.

              “We will also present a little treat to our couple of the year,” Agnes said.

              “I will tell the others,” Lynn winked, before walking down the hallway.

              Agnes turned around to Candice. “Who else is on the list?”

              Candice pulled out a notepad, checking the names. The list wasn’t very long as there were only a few players in Istanbul – the best eight singles players and the best four doubles teams. The party was invitation only and there would be players, umpires and other staff members Agnes, Monica and Candice called their friends present.

              “Antonia and Martina. I saw them on their way to the practice courts. And we still have to tell Natsumi. She must be at the courts as well.”

              “I tried to talk to Antonia and Martina yesterday,” Agnes said. “But they were all snappy and grumpy and left before I could tell them about the party.”

              Candice shrugged. “Girl drama?”

              “Looks like it. Maybe we should talk to them,” Agnes wondered.

              Monica rolled her eyes. She had set them up almost a year ago and in her opinion they made a lovely couple, but their quick-tempered natures certainly made for a bumpy ride sometimes.

              “They’ll get over it,” she said. “It’s probably just the long season and a vacation will do wonders.”

              “Guess you’re right,” Agnes replied to her doubles partner. “Well, let’s get the party started. I think I will take my laptop and convince the DJ to play some French music. I really have some good tunes on it.”

              Monica and Candice looked at each other in despair. The only good thing about the French chansons Agnes listened to was the fact, that neither Monica nor Candice understood a word of the lyrics.

***

She had been unable to concentrate. Her balls had gone wide or into the net. Once she shanked the ball into the packed stands much to the entertainment of the crowd. They had expected a different match and a different outcome. But after almost two hours there was only one winner and it wasn’t her.

              Sasha sighed and stepped into the shower for a quick refreshment. Amanda Auster would be pleased with herself as it was her second win against Sasha. She probably believed that now she had Sasha’s number. The loss hurt her but it didn’t surprise her. Her mind was somewhere else, sneaking around imaginary corners looking for Tom. She hadn’t seen him today and her plan was to wait with Jaro outside the staff entrance. Tom had to come out eventually.

              As soon as she had left the court she had called Jaro. He was on his way and would be ready to pick her up outside the arena in twenty minutes. They would follow Tom, corner him, and eventually make him admit that he was behind the picture. She also wanted to know what his plans were. If necessary Jaro would threaten Tom into giving them the files. Hopefully, by tomorrow morning the whole fuss would have gone up in smoke and she would be able concentrate on the tennis again.

              Sasha turned off the faucets and wrapped herself in the big towel, when all of a sudden someone banged loudly against the shower door.