The Tennis Party (13 page)

‘Something like that.’

‘That’s what we all think.’

Caroline halted in front of a door. ‘Since it was Georgina’s idea to tell you it was all right to come,’ she said, ‘I think the least she can do is donate you her room.’

‘Oh no,’ protested Ella. ‘I can go anywhere. I’ve got a sleeping-bag . . .’

‘Rubbish,’ said Caroline. She opened the door. Georgina’s bedroom was large, light and spotlessly tidy. The window, the dressing-table mirror and the
water dispenser all glinted in the late-afternoon sun; the books and pencils on the desk were neatly arranged; a single china horse and a lamp stood on the white bedside cabinet.

‘Very nice,’ said Ella. Caroline shrugged. ‘I’m sorry we can’t come up with another spare room. You would have thought this house was big enough.’

‘How many bedrooms has it got?’ said Ella, dumping her bag on the sheepskin rug in the middle of the floor.

‘Six, altogether. But they’re all taken.’ Ella was peering round the bathroom door.

‘Lucky Georgina. This is really nice.’ She sat on the bed. ‘Makes a change from sleeping-mats and mice running up and down my legs all night.’ Caroline gave her a horrified look.

‘Is that what it was like?’

‘Not all the time.’ Ella laughed at Caroline’s expression. ‘It was pretty sordid in India and bits of South America – but I’ve been back in Europe for the last four months. Still, nothing as luxurious as this.’ Caroline shook her head.

‘I don’t know how you did it,’ she said. ‘Three weeks is enough for me, however nice the place is. Didn’t you get homesick?’

‘A little. After the first two months I got really
miserable and I thought about chucking it in and flying home. But I got through that pretty quickly. It was really basic things that were getting me down – like no hot water and the food. I got quite ill at one point. But, you know, I got used to it. And the whole experience was so wonderful . . .’ Her eyes were shining.

‘Mad woman,’ said Caroline. ‘Well look, welcome back.’

‘Thank you,’ said Ella. ‘And apologies again.’

‘It’s my bloody daughter who should be apologizing to you,’ said Caroline. ‘I honestly don’t think it ever occurred to her that you might not
want
to see Charles.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Ella. ‘I’m actually quite looking forward to talking to him now. He looked so completely amazed.’ She looked down at herself. ‘Is it all right if I have a bath straight away?’

‘Oh, sure, go ahead,’ said Caroline. She pushed open the door of the bathroom. ‘We have the water hot all the time, so use as much as you want. I’ll go and get you a towel.’

When she returned, Ella was standing unselfconsciously naked, brushing out her honey-brown hair while hot water thundered into the bath. Her creamy-brown body was curved and dimpled, and with each stroke of the hairbrush her full breasts rose and fell.

‘Here you are,’ said Caroline, holding out a pair of huge white towels. ‘What a wonderful tan.’

‘Actually I got this on the beach in Greece,’ said Ella, who was engrossed in teasing out a knot in her hair. ‘I was with a bunch of nudists – or, at least, nude sunbathers. It was very eye-opening.’ She looked up seriously, caught Caroline’s lascivious eye, and they both dissolved into giggles.

‘That’s not what I meant!’ protested Ella eventually, still snorting with laughter.

‘Then it was a Freudian what’s-it,’ said Caroline. ‘You can’t be getting enough sex.’

‘Well, actually,’ said Ella mysteriously, ‘that’s where you’re wrong.’ She winked at Caroline and took the towels.

‘Why? Who? What’s been happening?’ demanded Caroline.

‘I’ll tell you later,’ said Ella, ‘maybe.’ And she disappeared into the bathroom.

Outside, the tennis match was nearing its conclusion. Cressida, gripping her racquet tightly, was not allowing her concentration to slip. She didn’t dare think about where she was, or with whom she was playing. Her eyes were fixed on the ball; her shots had sharpened up; and she was playing to win. The harder she concentrated on the game, the less easy it was to think
about the disconcerting arrival of Ella; or about the letter waiting for Charles upstairs; or even about the grim prospect of a whole evening with these awful people. She skimmed a winning forehand past Valerie at the net, collected up the balls, and walked swiftly to the other end of the court to serve.

Charles paused at the net to exchange a pleasantry or two with Don. But Don was looking ruffled.

‘She’s playing well, your wife,’ he said.

‘Isn’t she?’ Charles shot a puzzled glance at Cressida, who was bouncing the ball up and down and staring fixedly at the ground.

‘Wonderful concentration,’ said Don. ‘You see, Val,’ he addressed his daughter, ‘if you concentrated a bit harder, you wouldn’t keep making all those mistakes.’ Val looked down, and scuffed her shoe with her racquet.

‘Well,’ said Charles quickly. ‘I make that five-four.’

‘Now come on, Val,’ said Don sharply, as they walked off. ‘We really need to win this game.’

As soon as they were in their positions, Cressida served; a long, hard, textbook-style serve. Valerie returned the ball rather hesitantly to Charles, who lunged at the ball and mishit it. It skimmed the top of the net and fell neatly into the tramlines. Valerie pounded forward, but the grass was soft and it barely bounced.

‘Sorry about that,’ called Charles cheerfully. ‘It could have gone either way.’

‘Five-love,’ called Don. Charles repressed his start of annoyance. He was becoming unreasonably irritated with Don’s familiar, clubby tennis terms. ‘Five-love’; ‘van-in’; ‘one more please’; ‘that was just away’. Why not say the ball was out?

‘Fifteen-love,’ he called back firmly. Not that Don would notice.

Cressida served again, a hard, fast, spinning shot which licked across the court to Don. Don drew back his racquet in his exaggerated style, and sent the ball up high over Charles’ head.

‘Out,’ called Cressida shortly. ‘Thirty-love.’

She served once more to Valerie, who sent it into the net.

‘Forty-love.’ Don was looking rattled as he prepared to receive Cressida’s serve. It came hard again, to his backhand. He sent a rather weak shot to Charles, who drew back his racquet and sent a thundering shot into the corner of the court. Charles threw up his racquet with a whoop of delight.

‘I’m afraid it was just long,’ said Don quickly.

‘Was it?’ Charles looked surprised. ‘OK then. Forty-fifteen.’

‘But it wasn’t out,’ came a stern voice from above. ‘It was in.’ Everyone looked up. There was Georgina,
sitting on the branch of a tree. ‘I saw it,’ she said. ‘It was about two inches in.’ Don looked disconcerted.

‘What did you think?’ he said, turning to Valerie. She turned bright red.

‘Ooh,’ she said. ‘I didn’t really see it. It was going too fast.’ She giggled embarrassedly.

‘It was in,’ insisted Georgina. ‘I’ve got a better view than you.’

‘Oh well,’ said Don, in a belated attempt at light-heartedness. ‘I’m sure you’re right. That’s set and match, then. Congratulations.’

Cressida smiled feebly at Valerie and tried not to wince as she shook her clammy hand.

‘Ooh, gosh, well done,’ said Valerie, as they all walked off. ‘I thought you’d probably beat us.’

‘Now, that’s a loser’s attitude,’ said Don. ‘No-one gets anywhere by thinking they’re going to lose. The first rule of winning is to believe you’re capable of winning.’

‘Oh, give us a break,’ muttered Charles.

‘What’s the second rule?’ asked Georgina.

‘Aha,’ said Don, twinkling at her.

‘
I’m so glad you asked me that
. . .’ whispered Stephen to Annie, who furiously bit her lip.

‘The second rule’, said Don, ‘is to make others believe you’re capable of winning.’ He looked meaningfully around.

‘But what if you’re not?’ said Georgina.

‘Not what?’ said Don.

‘Not capable of winning?’ said Georgina. ‘Like, what if I thought I was really good at . . .’ she thought for a bit, ‘. . . ice-skating. And I told everyone I was really good. But really I was rubbish.’

‘Georgina,’ interrupted Caroline, ‘go and get your stuff out of your room and take it to Nicola’s room. You’ll be sleeping there tonight.’

‘Brill!’ said Georgina, deflected from her speech. ‘In a sleeping-bag?’

‘Yes,’ said Caroline.

‘Wicked!’ said Georgina, slithering down the tree. ‘Come on, Nick.’

‘Don’t just go charging in,’ warned Caroline. ‘Ella’s having a bath.’

‘Is Ella having my room?’

‘Yes,’ said Caroline. ‘I think it’s the least you can do, don’t you?’ Georgina blushed slightly under Caroline’s piercing look.

‘I suppose so,’ she said, shifting from one foot to the other.

‘Well, go on then,’ said Caroline. ‘And knock first.’

‘It’s all right,’ said Georgina. ‘I’ve seen Ella without any clothes on before. She won’t mind.’

There was a short silence as she and Nicola ran off,
during which the image of Ella without any clothes on hung unavoidably in everyone’s minds.

‘Right,’ said Caroline briskly. ‘I think I’m going to get changed. We’ll be having dinner around eight, with drinks beforehand.’

‘Very civilized,’ said Stephen. ‘What about the kids?’

‘I’ve sorted that out. They’ll have theirs earlier on, in the kitchen. Mrs Finch is organizing it.’

‘Bliss,’ said Annie. ‘I think I’ll just lie here for a few months or so.’

‘I’m afraid not,’ said Patrick. ‘You’re on again, against us.’

‘No!’ groaned Annie.

‘Patrick!’ said Caroline. ‘I’ve got to get changed! Can’t we leave it till tomorrow?’

‘Hear, hear!’ said Stephen.

‘Well, I suppose so,’ said Patrick grudgingly. ‘But we must play it. Otherwise we won’t know who’s in the final.’

‘We will,’ said Annie. ‘Promise.’

‘We’ll be off home then, to change,’ said Don. ‘Drinks around seven-thirty, Caroline?’

‘Whatever you like,’ said Caroline dismissively.

‘Yes, seven-thirty,’ said Patrick, smiling at Don.

* * *

Caroline wandered slowly up to her bedroom. Passing the room where Georgina had moved to, she heard sounds of rumpus, and wondered briefly whether to intervene. But she really couldn’t be bothered. And she had more important things to think about. The first was the sudden appearance of Ella. Although, of course, she disapproved of Georgina’s lying, a part of her, she realized, rejoiced at the discomfort of Charles and Cressida. This was a meeting which probably would not have happened otherwise. And it would serve Charles right to see what he had turned down.

Ella was looking utterly radiant – and had obviously had an incredible trip. So glamorous, thought Caroline, to go whizzing off round the world like that. Although perhaps it sounded better than it really was. Caroline’s own idea of a holiday was being shipped, with no effort on her own part, from front door to airport to hotel to beach. But Charles had always liked those hippy, studenty holidays with backpacks and no tour rep – and would probably love to go round the world like that. Caroline made a note to herself to ask Ella loudly about her travels at dinner – and watch Charles’ face. She smiled to herself as she turned on the taps and watched the water gushing into her bath-tub.

‘Having a bath?’ It was Patrick, bustling cheerfully into the room. ‘Going to be long?’

‘Yes,’ said Caroline uncompromisingly.

‘OK then. I’ll read the paper. Give me a shout when you’ve finished.’ He opened the balcony door and went to sit outside. Caroline watched him distrustfully, then quickly stripped, leaving her clothes on the floor, and got into the hot, scented, foamy water. She opened her mouth to call to him, and then realized that she would be overheard.

‘Patrick, come here,’ she shouted. ‘Patrick!’

‘What?’ He appeared at the bathroom door.

‘I want to talk to you. Close the door.’

‘What about?’ He stood and let his eyes run over her body in the foamy bath water. She ignored him.

‘About Charles. No,’ she held up a hand, ‘let me finish. I know what you were up to today. You tank him up, disappear off to the study on some pathetic pretext and then all of a sudden, I can just see it, you haul out the brochures and sell him some completely unsuitable product just for your bloody commission.’

‘Now wait a moment,’ said Patrick, raising his voice.

‘Sssh!’ hissed Caroline. ‘Do you want everyone to hear?’

‘Now wait a moment,’ he repeated more quietly.

‘You can stop talking about
my
bloody commission. It pays for your food, your clothes . . .’

‘OK, OK,’ she said impatiently, ‘but I’m not
completely hung up about it like you are. Anyway,’ she held up her hand again before he could interrupt, ‘the point is, why do you have to do business in the house? It’s bad enough entertaining people like Don because they’re
good clients
,’ her voice mocked the phrase, ‘but when you invite Charles Mobyn here just in order to sell him some crappy policy . . . it’s really naff.’ Her blue eyes regarded him with disdain.

‘And how’, he said, ‘do you know I sold anything to Charles?’

‘Oh, it’s obvious,’ snapped Caroline. ‘You disappear off with him; the next thing you’re in a really good mood, doling out brandy and cigars like there’s no tomorrow. Either you sold some whacking great plan to Charles or else you’ve got a coke habit I don’t know about.’ Patrick gave a small smile. He peered into the steamy mirror, licked his finger and smoothed his eyebrows.

‘Or else’, he said casually, ‘I sold some whacking great plan to someone else.’

‘What?’ Caroline stared at him in surprise. ‘Who? Cressida?’ Patrick continued smiling pleasurably at his reflection. ‘Don?’ she said.

‘I sold the plan’, he said slowly, ‘which will take my bonus this year up to . . . go on, have a guess how much.’

‘Don. It must have been Don. He didn’t go off to
feed his dog at all, did he? He went off to be conned by you.’

‘One hundred thousand pounds,’ said Patrick, relishing the sound of the words. ‘That’s not salary, that’s bonus. One hundred thousand pounds of lovely bonus.’

‘But Don’s strapped for cash. He’s in real trouble, Valerie told me. He can’t have invested that much.’ Patrick broke off from his pleasant reverie and looked at her in surprise.