The Tennis Party (12 page)

And finally it had happened. Stephen had signed away eighty thousand pounds of his money. Patrick didn’t allow himself to consider whether this was a safe move for Stephen. He had explained what the fund was; he had allowed Stephen to make up his own mind – it was Stephen’s decision, not his. And eighty thousand wasn’t so much, really. Not compared with the amount of business Patrick had already done that year. He remembered with a quiver of delight his performance charts, waiting in his desk drawer for the final figures. He would be top salesman again that year. And would be well rewarded. Patrick gazed at Georgina, playing tennis beautifully and giggling hysterically as Charles pretended to miss all her shots, and he felt a surge of triumph. Now they could afford a new house, a new pony – anything his daughter wanted, she could have.

His eye fell on Charles and he felt a twinge of anger that he had not been able to close the deal with him. Fucking tight git. But then, Charles was always there for the future. Whereas Stephen . . . Patrick shook his head. Stephen was about the least likely person he could imagine having as a client. It had never
even occurred to him to pitch at Stephen. But a good salesman should be able to sell to anyone. And he had excelled himself that afternoon. It had been a model exercise in salesmanship. Suddenly he felt too keyed up to stand still, and he wandered over to Caroline. He ran his hands over her hips, and nuzzled her neck.

‘You’re gorgeous, you know that?’ he whispered. ‘Fucking gorgeous.’

Caroline eyed Patrick suspiciously. First this morning’s good mood, now this. What was he up to? She had not failed to notice him invite Charles into his study. What had been his reason? To look at those prints he’d bought a couple of weeks ago. She’d been surprised when he’d shown them to her. Weird, modern efforts – not his kind of thing at all. It really wouldn’t surprise her to learn that he’d bought the prints especially to have an excuse to ask Charles into his study. And Charles had gone along trustingly. But it didn’t fool her. Had Patrick tried to sell some sort of plan to Charles? And had he succeeded? She glanced up at Patrick’s face. He had an expression of suppressed glee; his mouth was twitching into a smile and his eyes were bright. He must have sold Charles something. No wonder he was in such a good mood. No wonder he had plied poor old Stephen with brandy so generously. It must have been a big deal. Caroline looked consideringly at Charles, romping on
the tennis court. He seemed in a good mood as well. She inwardly shrugged. Good luck to them. And now Patrick had achieved his aim of extracting money out of Charles, perhaps they wouldn’t have to invite them over again. She could certainly do without Cressida’s bloody miserable face about the place.

Eventually Don turned up, rather flustered, and was ushered onto the tennis court by a smirking Caroline. Valerie followed him, looking rather anxious, and finally Cressida got up and made her way silently onto the court. Her face was still pale, and she fingered her racquet in a desultory way. But Don’s face lit up as he saw her and realized that he and Valerie were to play against Charles and Cressida.

‘Here’s a real challenge, Val!’ he exclaimed. He turned and grinned perkily at Annie and Stephen. ‘This’ll be a nightmare! Wake me up when it’s all over!’

Annie smiled back encouragingly.

‘Fucking prat,’ murmured Stephen.

Georgina and Nicola, usurped from the tennis court, flopped down, panting, on the grass.

‘You’re very good at tennis,’ said Annie to Georgina.

‘I’m all right,’ she replied conversationally. ‘I’m in special coaching at school. But I’m not in the house team. You see, about ten people in each house have special coaching if they’re good enough, but only six
are in the team. And a reserve.’ Patrick raised his eyebrows at Caroline.

‘You didn’t tell me Georgina was having special coaching for tennis.’

‘That’s because I didn’t know,’ said Caroline unconcernedly.

‘Sweetie,’ Patrick addressed Georgina, ‘why don’t you tell us things?’ Georgina shrugged.

‘I do tell you things.’

‘You didn’t tell us about that.’

‘I forgot.’ Georgina abruptly leapt up. ‘Time for another rehearsal. Martina, bring the twins.’ She looked around and called in a stentorian voice, ‘Toby! Come on!’

‘What are you rehearsing?’ said Annie. ‘A play,’ said Georgina, discouragingly. ‘You’ll see it tomorrow. Toby!’

‘He’s stuck in the umpire’s chair,’ said Nicola. ‘Someone’ll have to get him out.’ But already Martina had put down the twin she was carrying and hurried over to release Toby from his perch.

‘She’s certainly got them all organized,’ said Stephen admiringly, as the troop of children left the tennis court. ‘Even the nanny.’

‘She’ll overdo it one of these days,’ said Caroline. ‘Not everyone likes being bossed about.’

‘She doesn’t boss people,’ objected Patrick at once.
‘She just gets what she wants. That’s the way you’ve got to be.’ Caroline rolled her eyes at Annie and said nothing. She turned her gaze to the tennis court.

‘Bloody hell,’ she said after a few moments. ‘What the fuck’s wrong with Cressida?’

The four on court had begun to knock up. Don was sending a series of swift, low balls to Cressida, who seemed barely able to return them.

‘Sorry,’ she kept saying, as another went into the net.

‘Saving it till the match,’ quipped Don. ‘I know that trick!’ He beamed at Cressida, who returned a weak smile. They tossed for sides; Don and Valerie won. As they walked to the back of the court, Don began to mutter to Valerie an audible series of instructions and warnings about Cressida’s and Charles’ play.

‘Guard the net; she’s got a nasty sliced forehand, might take you on the hop; don’t try to lob him unless it’s over the backhand. Is he steady at the net?’ he suddenly demanded.

‘Well, quite steady,’ stammered Valerie.

‘Mmm. Well, don’t play to either of them at the net. Off you go, now. It’s me to serve, remember?’

Valerie scuttled to the net and Don prepared to serve to Cressida. She stood, apathetically watching his mannered action, and lunged dispiritedly when the ball came spinning into her service box.

‘Bad luck, darling,’ said Charles. Don shook his head and clicked his tongue.

‘You had that one,’ he said to Cressida. ‘Don’t know what happened there.’

Charles returned the next serve straight to Valerie, who put it away with a vicious volley.

‘Good girl,’ said Don. ‘Nice approach, that was, well away from the body.’ He prepared to serve to Cressida again. The first serve went out, and he stood stock still for a minute or two, as though meditating on the horror of such a mistake. Then, shaking his head slowly, he took a second ball from his pocket and served again. His second serve was a looped shot which landed just the other side of the net and bounced surprisingly high. Cressida, who had begun to run forward, was taken unawares, and hit the ball wide. It veered towards Valerie, who made an exaggerated jump aside to avoid it, and landed well outside the tramlines.

‘Forty-love,’ called Valerie.

‘Sorry,’ said Cressida to Charles. ‘I can’t think what’s wrong with me.’

‘Watch the ball,’ piped up Don. ‘That’s always the answer. If things are going badly, don’t think about anything but the ball.’

‘Yes,’ said Cressida shortly. Don served again, Charles returned the ball to him, and he sent an easy
shot to Cressida. She volleyed it straight into the net.

‘You’re just not watching the ball,’ said Don complacently. ‘That’s all it is. Isn’t that right, Valerie?’

‘Well,’ said Valerie uncertainly. She looked at Cressida’s face, drawn and tense. ‘Maybe.’

Cressida’s misery seemed to be getting deeper and deeper. Sitting quietly by the side of the tennis court, watching Charles clowning with the children, it had abated slightly, and she had, for a few blissful minutes, forgotten about the letter. But now she could think of nothing else. And everyone seemed to be watching her. Don, with his comments; Valerie, with her cow eyes; even Charles, thinking he was encouraging her by turning round and making faces behind Don’s back. Caroline and Annie, too, were probably staring at her, wondering why she was playing so poorly.

She stared blindly at the tennis net, trying to rationalize her feelings. The letter could be a mistake – was probably a mistake. Charles would soon sort it out. He would sort it out. She repeated it to herself, trying to soothe herself into a state of calm. But a pounding background worry would not let her spirits rest. What if it wasn’t a mistake? What if they had to pay? Where would they find the money? Cressida had successfully managed to close her ears to most of the financial information that had passed her way during the last ten or so years since her mother had died. She
had only a hazy idea of her fortune; an even hazier one of where it had been invested. But she knew that most of it had dwindled away since her marriage. Was there still enough there? She screwed up her mind, trying to remember what her last account from the portfolio managers had said.

‘Darling?’ Charles was looking quizzically at her. ‘We’re changing ends.’

Cressida flushed and her head jerked up. Everyone was staring at her. Of course. They had lost the first game. Charles was already on the other side of the court; Don and Valerie were hovering at the net, looking at her in polite surprise. They were all waiting for her. Any minute now, someone would ask her if she was feeling all right. Caroline was so insensitive, she would probably shout out something awful, like, was it Cressida’s period and did she want some Feminax. Or they might guess that something was wrong, and show a horrible, over-familiar sympathy.

The thought of exposing herself – her vulnerabilities – to these awful people, stiffened Cressida’s resolve. She simply had to pull herself together. She gave a chilly smile, and quickly walked round to the other side of the court.

‘Sorry,’ she murmured to Charles. ‘I was miles away.’ She narrowed her eyes. She would just have to concentrate. Turning towards the net, she focused her
attention on a particular corner of netting. ‘Concentrate,’ she muttered to herself. ‘Concentrate.’ She tried to blank everything else out of her mind.

‘One-love down,’ said Charles cheerfully. ‘Looks like I’m going to have to pull something pretty special out of the bag. Eh, Cress?’ He served to Don; a straightforward unpretentious shot. Don returned the ball straight to Cressida, obviously expecting her to miss. But she stuck her racquet out, almost in a reflex action, and whipped the ball away.

‘Great shot!’ shouted Charles in delight.

‘Well played,’ said Don tetchily.

‘Wow!’ said Annie. ‘That’s more like it.’

The next game passed quickly. Cressida’s mind, black with misery, had blocked out everything but returning the ball. She was unaware of the score; unaware of the looks of amazement as she sent one after another top-spin forehand rocketing into the far corner of the court.

‘Cressida, darling, your serve.’ She looked up, startled, to see Charles smiling affectionately at her. ‘You’re playing incredibly.’

Cressida felt as though she might burst into uncontrollable sobs. Instead, she picked up two balls and prepared to serve. She threw the first ball high, far too high, and hit a serve which ballooned right out of the court.

‘Mummy!’

Cressida ignored Georgina’s high-pitched cry and threw the ball up again. It went behind her.

‘Have another,’ said Charles.

‘Mummy, look who’s here!’

This time Georgina’s excited shriek was too compelling to ignore. Cressida, Charles, Caroline, everyone, looked round.

Standing next to Georgina, barely taller than her, was a smiling girl with a glowing, tanned face. She was dressed in an Indian-cotton dress of bright turquoise, and her golden-brown hair was tied up in a scarf of the same colour. The dress, sleeveless and low cut, showed off a pair of full breasts, tanned as far as the eye could see to the same colour as her face, and the rest of her body was similarly voluptuous – rounded shoulders, dimpled arms, a slightly curved belly visible through the thin cotton of her dress. A gold chain round her neck glinted in the afternoon sunlight; her feet were shod in brown leather sandals and she carried a large leather bag. Her deep-brown eyes quickly surveyed the scene, and she murmured something to Georgina, who laughed slightly and then looked nervously at her mother. The entire party stood looking at the girl for a minute or two in silence. Then Stephen spoke.

‘Jesus Christ,’ he said. ‘It’s Ella.’

Chapter Seven

‘I’m so terribly sorry,’ said Ella. She and Caroline had gone inside and were walking up the stairs. ‘I just assumed Georgina was, well, you know . . .’

‘Telling the truth?’ supplied Caroline. ‘Fair enough, why shouldn’t you?’

‘She was very convincing,’ said Ella. ‘I really thought she’d asked you. I mean, otherwise I’d never have come. Maybe she’d forgotten about the party?’ she added suddenly.

‘No chance,’ said Caroline. ‘She’s known about it for weeks. When did you say you phoned?’

‘Oh, four or five weeks ago,’ said Ella. ‘I was still in Italy. I asked her if it was OK to come over, and she said she’d go and ask you. She was away from the phone for a few minutes, then she came back and said you were in the bath but you’d said it was fine. I mean, I didn’t see any reason not to believe her. I suppose I should have called again, to check it was still all right
to come, but you know what it’s like . . .’ She grinned guiltily. ‘Have I ruined the delicate balance of your gathering?’

‘I’d say you’ve ruined Charles’ delicate balance all right,’ said Caroline, smirking. ‘Not to mention his charming wife’s. Did you see her face?’ Ella shook her head.

‘I have to say, I avoided looking at either of them.’ Caroline glanced swiftly at her.

‘Are you OK about it? I mean, seeing them?’

‘Yes, I am,’ Ella said slowly. ‘I’m fine. It’s been long enough now, and there have been others since Charles. I don’t want him back or anything. But even so . . . I look at her, and I think . . .’

‘You think, “You rich cow”,’ said Caroline. Ella laughed.