Love-40 (32 page)

Suzi grabbed Josh's business card that was still sitting on the counter, and shoved it in the pocket of her jeans. She was looking pretty forceful.

‘Suzi?'

‘Gotta go.' And she strode out of the door.

Mrs Barnaby smiled at Estelle, as though quite aware of what was going on. ‘They're opening a bric-à-brac shop called Cheap and Cheerful,' she said. ‘In Brighton, I believe.'

‘Good.' Estelle felt the warm flood of relief. For the first time in ages she was calm. ‘I'm glad they're not staying in Pridehaven. This town's not big enough for the both of us.' She tried a nervous laugh. It was OK. It was going to be OK. She had no doubts left in her mind. And the furniture? He must have sorted that too – a payment to compensate for those scare tactics and all that harassment. There was more to that man, she realised, than met the eye. Did Suzi realise it too?

Mrs Barnaby was at the door. ‘But by all accounts that nice Mr Willis contacted the police as well,' she said darkly. ‘So, I don't know about Brighton. They might not be going quite as far as they think…'

Chapter 24

He might be an OK sort of a bloke, Liam thought grudgingly, as he and his second partner of the afternoon – Amanda – met up with their opponents – Nick Rossi and Estelle. (Liam couldn't believe it when the names came out of the baseball cap. But in the American tournament, any partnership was possible.) So yes, Nick Rossi was OK, but he was also a prat. For starters, he was wearing wrap-around mirrored blue sunglasses with full tennis whites, though the sun had disappeared behind a cloud half an hour ago, and on top of that, he was now poncing about with the Ralgex spray.

‘Problem?' Estelle asked him.

‘A touch of tendonitis.'

Liam turned away to hide his impatience. Tendonitis … Jesus wept. He bounced a ball against his racket. Estelle, of course, looked great. He sneaked another glance at her. She had this way of throwing things on carelessly – as though she hadn't really made an effort at all – achieving an individual, casual look that he loved. This afternoon she was wearing a figure-hugging white tennis dress, but with crimson shorts just visible underneath (though Liam hardly dared look) and she had tied a crimson and blue strip of silk jauntily around her head to keep the mass of auburn hair out of her eyes.

‘Maybe you should strap it up,' she said now to her partner.

Amanda looked at her tiny gold watch and then – like daggers – at Estelle. ‘We don't have all day,' she snapped. ‘Perhaps you should let us go through on default.'

No way, thought Liam, remembering what he'd said to Nick after the under-15s tournament. ‘We'll wait,' he declared.

He surveyed the courts around them, everyone playing mixed doubles. Beryl and Simon were on the adjacent court playing one of Nick's clones from the under-15s tournament, who was partnering Diana. As he watched, the sun emerged from behind a cloud. It was an idyllic scene, the players framed by the view beyond, more people clustered in the conservatory and on the clubhouse patio in front of the honey-stoned building, drinking Deirdre's home-made lemonade or Pimms, eating strawberries, ginger snaps and pavlova. The buzz of conversation filled the air, the thwack of ball on racket could be heard from all directions at once, mixed with the crisper smack of the balls on the hard courts. Laughter, sunshine, tennis. He'd hate to lose all this. And the season wasn't even over, Liam reminded himself.

Nick strapped up his elbow – with some help from Estelle, though Liam tried not to watch – and proceeded to do enough stretching exercises to satisfy a ballet dancer.

Liam and Amanda began warming up, though in truth Liam was warm already from his last match with a girl called Sarah, whose huge blue-veined thighs sprouting from under her white tennis skirt soon alerted him to the fact that she would be unable to run for the ball. He'd ended up taking most of her shots as well as his own. But they had lost and so now he was playing with a winning female – Amanda – because that was the way the tournament operated. Nick, on the other hand, was a winning male, and so he had been put with Estelle, who had suffered defeat in the previous round with Timmy Rogers, acknowledged to be the weakest of the men. The winning players were those with the most wins on their belt at the end; it was at least, Liam thought, a tournament that could be called fair.

Meanwhile, Nick was swinging his arm in preparation for his serve, wincing as he did so. ‘I knew I shouldn't have played last night,' he said to Estelle, but loud enough for Liam, who was close to the net, to hear.

Wimp, thought Liam. He'd give him Ralgex spray …

*   *   *

This was supposed to be fun, Estelle thought, dodging instinctively as Amanda slammed another forehand volley her way. It was turning into a sweltering day and she wiped the sweat from her brow with her wrist band.

‘Sorry!' Amanda called.

Like hell she was. She'd heard of going for the body, but most players varied their shots and tried not to injure their opponent. Estelle tossed a stray ball to Nick, who was serving, making the most of his dodgy elbow (tennis elbow?) for the benefit of Amanda, she was sure. Unlike the weather, the atmosphere was distinctly frosty between them, and as for Amanda's attitude to Estelle … She'd be lucky to get off the court alive.

Liam sank Nick's next serve into the net. Estelle noted Amanda's pout of irritation and smiled to herself. The girl liked to win. Liam was not going to be flavour of the month if he carried on like this.

‘Who are you bringing to the dance tonight?' she asked Nick as they sent the balls up the other end of the court for Liam's service game.

‘Mother.' He sounded a little embarrassed. ‘She's got it into her head to come, so I thought…' He glanced across at the immaculate Amanda. ‘Why not?'

‘You care about Amanda, don't you?' Estelle knew it was probably the wrong moment to bring the subject up, but what the heck. Liam and Amanda were involved in some sort of tactical discussion (at least she supposed it was that) at the far end of the court – what a pair, Amanda in a pure white tennis dress, Liam in a T-shirt that declared that
GANDALF RULED OK
with a picture of the wizard underneath, and red and white seaside shorts patterned with ice cream cornets and images of Punch and Judy. Heavens. She remembered those shorts and she was sure Liam had sworn never to wear them again after that holiday in Penzance …

‘Is it that obvious?' Nick looked so desolate – at least what she could see of him that wasn't covered up by the blue wrap-around mirrored shades looked desolate – that she put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

‘Ready?' Liam yelled.

Estelle jumped. ‘Hang on.' She got into position to receive.

Liam – who was by now sweating heavily – hit a wild serve that didn't even make the tram lines.

The next one was in, but weak, and Estelle swept her forehand across court. Amanda – still looking cool as ice – intercepted it, whacking it back at her with considerable force, but Estelle managed to swerve to one side and hook it back, determined to give as good as she got, and not to die in the process.

‘Yours, darling!' Amanda called to Liam.

Darling ran, but didn't make it. He began to sweat even more. Love fifteen.

Estelle smiled as Liam growled, ‘shot', followed by ‘fuck it', followed by the banging of his racket on the net tape. There was nothing like a good loser. And Liam was nothing like one either, she thought.

As Liam served to Nick, Estelle found her mind wandering from the game. If Nick still cared about Amanda, then where did that leave Liam? Did
he
care for her too? She scrutinised him as he tossed the ball too high and too far forward and had to catch it again. She couldn't tell. He just looked bad-tempered, sweaty and sweet.

‘Fuck it,' he said again as he smashed the serve into the net. Sweet? Who was she kidding?

As the game went on, and Liam became more and more uptight, so Estelle was able to relax and enjoy herself, playing with the strongest guy on the circuit. What she liked about Nick was that he didn't spend too much time congratulating her on a shot well played or apologising for his own mistakes. Not that there were too many of those. He didn't encroach on her side of the net either, basically just got on with it. She felt better too about the shop, now that she was free of Stan and Terry. Somehow, she thought, driving the winning backhand down the line to leave Amanda stranded, somehow, even without Liam, she would move on.

‘Played.' Estelle couldn't help noticing how forcefully Amanda shook hands with them both, how they all avoided eye contact. She sensed Liam lingering behind as Amanda strode over to collect her bag and decided to linger too.

But Nick had other ideas. ‘What a fabulous partner!' He grabbed her and kissed her on both cheeks and then, much to her surprise, firmly on the mouth.

Estelle was so taken aback that it was a moment before she reacted. She pushed him off with a laugh and a ‘hey!'

But by that time, both Amanda and Liam were walking off the court and towards the honey-coloured clubhouse. Thanks, Nick, Estelle thought. If he imagined that the way to get Amanda Lake back into his life was to go around snogging other women, the poor deluded man should think again. A change of tactics was called for.

*   *   *

Liam joined the players and spectators for the prize-giving ceremony held on the patio. It was late afternoon, very warm and hazy. Chairs and tables had been moved aside, while certificates, a silver-plated rose bowl, two bottles of champagne and two bouquets of flowers laid out on a white cloth on one of the clubhouse tables, were presided over by Erica Raddle. Erica Raddle – self-important and yet still making some concession to sportiness in her white suit with navy trim. Beside her was a microphone on a stand.

‘Ladies and gentlemen…' Her bosom swelled. ‘The American tournament has been a
tremendous
success. Thank you, everyone, for making it so.' There followed a round of polite, disinterested applause.

Automatically, Liam looked amongst the small crowd for Estelle. She wasn't with Rossi. She was standing, alone, towards the back. There were a lot of people between them, but he had a clear view of her pale face, surrounded by the halo of auburn hair, free now of the bandanna that had been holding it in place. As he watched her, she half-turned and caught his glance. Liam didn't look away. For about ten seconds they seemed to absorb one another's gaze. Ten seconds could be an awfully long time …

And then someone spoke to her – a woman standing nearby, and Estelle's attention was distracted, she blinked, looked away, replied to the woman.

Liam re-focused his attention on Erica, who was still sounding off.

‘But I mustn't waffle on…' She paused, but no one disputed this. ‘You'll all be wanting to go home or into the changing rooms to get ready for tonight's dance.' She rubbed her hands together with glee. ‘Our big night. I know you'll all be offering your support.' At this, her brow furrowed and her gaze scanned the players and spectators in front of her. Yes, Liam thought, she was old-fashioned teacher material. She reminded Liam of his old nightmare, Miss Dithercott. She would stride the corridors in her black and dusty flowing gown like a vampire bat on the prowl. And when she found a transgressor, she would fix him or her with a steely grey eye behind round metal-framed spectacles, and pounce … with a detention.

‘And I'm proud to announce…' Erica turned a little pink. ‘That one of our special benefactors will be here to grace the occasion. Henry Lake himself.' She beamed at Amanda, who was standing near the front, arms folded, looking bored. At Erica's words, she unfolded her arms, smiled briefly and insincerely and then resumed her pose.

‘So, to the winners.' Impatiently, Erica beckoned Deirdre Piston forwards. ‘Deirdre has done her sums…'

Deirdre nodded. ‘Done my sums,' she confirmed.

Erica frowned. ‘And the winners are…' she beamed once more, flashing horsy teeth to all and sundry, ‘our own dear Amanda Lake, and Nick Rossi.'

Bloody typical, Liam thought. The guy who had everything, and who now had Estelle. He watched their body language as Nick and Amanda went to the table to collect their prizes. They stood carefully a few feet away from each other, eye contact still not an option apparently.

‘A few words?' Erica suggested.

Amanda flicked her hair from her shoulders. She held her flowers cradled in the crook of one arm with casual grace – a girl clearly used to receiving such gifts. ‘Thanks,' she said briefly, merely leaning slightly towards the microphone. ‘And apologies to everyone I bullied when I played with them.' She shot a special smile towards Liam, who shrugged and laughed.

‘And Nick?' Erica said.

Nick took a deep breath. He didn't look quite so comfortable with the flowers and placed them gingerly back on the table while he spoke. ‘I'd like to say that Chestnut Grove is a great club,' he said. ‘That's the tennis club and the youth club.' He too seemed to be addressing Liam, unless Liam was getting a power complex all of a sudden. ‘I know some of you aren't too sure about the bright blue acrylic all-weather courts, but I'm confident they'll be popular with our younger element. We may be a club steeped in tradition, but we still like to move with the times.' He smiled. ‘After the re-surfacing, Chestnut Grove may be an even sunnier place than it is today.'

People began to clap – Liam included. But Nick hadn't finished yet. He held up a hand. ‘And it's important that we keep the original ethos of Chestnut Grove in mind.'

‘Yes, yes, absolutely.' Erica tried to grab the microphone from him, but he shrugged her away.

‘We should ensure that the tennis facilities are available for everyone,' he said, nodding at Liam. ‘The youth club, people who can't afford to pay costly annual fees – in fact everyone who wants to play the game of tennis. And I'm sure you'll all have lots of fund-raising ideas, to help make it happen.' He shook the bottle of champagne and opened it with a flourish. ‘Here's to taking the snobbery out of the game,' he said as the liquid shot out in a spray.