The Tennis Player from Bermuda (19 page)

Then it dawned on me that maybe I was in Smith’s side. The Committee, after all, simply pulled the names of the unseeded players out of an old cloth bag to establish the draw. I looked up at the top of the page under Smith’s name. Finally I found, in tiny letters, the most thrilling words I’ve ever seen in print:

M
ISS
F
IONA
H
ODGKIN
(B
ERMUDA
) Q

The ‘Q’ meant Qualifier.

Unbelievably, incredibly, I was going to play in the Championships at Wimbledon.

And, I knew this wasn’t likely, but it
might
happen – I could get to play a match on Centre Court.

Later that morning, Myrtle brought me a telegram:

P
OST
O
FFICE
T
ELEGRAM

MEET SATURDAY 11 AM AELTC TO GET YOUR PASS AND PRACTICE COURT 8 STOP WILL PRACTICE SUNDAY HURLINGHAM STOP WHEN I PLAYED YOU LONGWOOD I KNEW YOU WOULD QUALIFY WIMBLEDON STOP

CLAIRE

Claire forgot to mention in her telegram that she had won the final at Eastbourne in straight sets.

F
RIDAY
E
VENING
, 22 J
UNE
1962
L
ONDON
, E
NGLAND

I didn’t see either Mark or Lady Thakeham during the day on Friday. I assumed that I was
persona non grata
with Lady Thakeham and probably with Mark as well, because I had missed both my social obligations the day before. If Mark had gone to the party last evening, he must have done so alone, without an escort. Given his tone with me Wednesday evening, when I had begged off dinner at the Savoy, I expected that I was in a deal of trouble with him.

I went out during the day and sent my parents a telegram telling them that I had qualified for Wimbledon. In the few words of a telegram, I tried to sound as though it was just a minor thing I had managed to do on the side, in between parties and teas.

That afternoon, Mark came home from hospital just before tea and, to my surprise, he took me in his arms and congratulated me on qualifying for Wimbledon. When I apologized for failing to appear the evening before, he said, “Oh, Fiona, you’ve qualified for Wimbledon. That’s the important thing. I’m extraordinarily proud of you.” He sounded sincere.

“I know I left you without an escort last night, and I’m sorry. I was being selfish.”

“It wasn’t a problem,” he said cheerfully.

I didn’t like the way he said my absence hadn’t been a problem. “Did you go to the party?”

“Certainly. Margarite has been in London all this week. I rang her. She dressed at the last moment, and Harold collected her in the Bentley.”

For a moment, I couldn’t think what to say. Finally, I said, “Well, do you want me to go with you this evening?”

“Yes, if you would like. But it’s your decision.”

“Perhaps you’d prefer to go with Margarite again.”

“Now, Fiona. Don’t be that way. I told you in Bermuda that I’d broken up with Margarite several years ago.”

At first, this bewildered me. I hadn’t heard of Margarite until earlier that week. Then it dawned on me. “She was your first lover? You told me about making love to her, your first time?”

Consternation crossed his face. He must not have recalled that he had told me that the unnamed girl he broke up with several years before had been his first – and somewhat unhelpful – lover. He hadn’t meant to permit me to deduce her identity.

“Don’t worry,” I assured him. “Your secrets are safe with me. But if you’d rather take Margarite tonight, please do so. It’s not a problem for me.”

But Mark said he wanted me to go with him, and we went. The party that evening was for a girl I hadn’t met, Elsabeth Norton; it was at Grosvenor House (where the Thakehams were giving Catherine’s party the next week); and it followed the formula with which I was now quite familiar. To my relief, Margarite wasn’t there.

Mark wanted me to have a cocktail with him before the dancing began, but I declined, which displeased him. But I was determined, for once, to stay out as late as Mark wanted, even though I was meeting Claire at the All England Club in the morning.

As Mark and I were dancing, I couldn’t help asking him, “Did you and Margarite go anywhere after the party last night?”

Mark laughed. “Fiona Hodgkin, I think you’re jealous of Margarite!”

I must have turned red in my face, and I tried to break away from him, but he held onto me. “Fiona, I’m teasing you. There’s nothing between Margarite and me. We’re only friends.”

I relented, and remained in his arms, but I said, “I certainly don’t mind either way.”

“I’m sure that’s true.”

We didn’t arrive back at Hyde Park Gate until almost three in the morning. Once we were in the front hallway, to my surprise, Mark simply picked me up in his arms and carried me into Dr. Thakeham’s study, where he sat on the couch with me on his lap. I put my arms around his neck and kissed him. He reached up to my shoulder and pulled the strap of my gown down.

“Mark!” I practically hissed. “What are you doing? Anyone could walk in here.”

This made no difference to Mark. He said, “There’s really no reason for you to be in your gown. Let’s take it off.”

“Absolutely not.”

He kissed me and pulled up the hem of my gown. This, I thought, was rapidly getting out of hand. I tried to make a joke of it. I pushed away from him, put my hands on either side of his face, kissed him, and smiled at him. “Behave yourself.”

He was exasperated, but he did stop trying to undress me. “Fiona, really – ”

I put my hand lightly over his mouth. “Let’s sit here and kiss for a few more minutes, and then go off to our rooms – separately.”

“Fiona, you know I want you, and I think you want me.”

“You’re certainly right that I want you, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep with you tonight.”

He lifted me off his lap and sat me on the couch. He stood up and said, “Well, then. I’ll see you in the morning. Do you plan to go to the dinner party tomorrow evening?”

I stood up as well. “Yes, I’d like to go to the party with you, but I don’t want you to be upset with me.”

“I’m not upset with you, but I’m certainly unaccustomed to having a girl repeatedly turn me down when I want to sleep with her.”

He was incredibly arrogant to say this, and I was angry. “I’m sure Margarite didn’t just say, ‘OK, of course,’ when you first tried to get her into your bed.”

“No, she didn’t say that. Actually, Margarite didn’t say anything. She reached behind her neck and began unzipping her dress.”

He turned and left me alone in the study.

S
UNDAY
, 24 J
UNE
1962
H
URLINGHAM
C
LUB
F
ULHAM
, L
ONDON

When Claire arrived for our practice time Sunday morning at Hurlingham, I was already sitting on the bench beside our practice court. I must have looked awful, and I certainly
felt
awful. She put down her pocketbook and rackets and looked at me. “Are you all right?”

“No.”

“I would never have guessed. Which bus ran over you?”

“Claire, don’t make fun of me. I’m so ashamed of myself.”

“You qualified for the Wimbledon draw. You did it on your own. So, what’s there to be ashamed of? Every tennis player in the world would love to spend the Sunday before the fortnight at Hurlingham.”

“Last night, Mark slept with me.”

“Good! Finally! How was it?”

“Horrible. I was humiliated.”

Now she knew I was serious. She sat down beside me and put her arm around me. “Tell me what happened.”

“We were at a party, and I had three cocktails. I don’t even know what was in them.”

“Good preparation for the first round at Wimbledon.”

“I know. I can’t believe I drank cocktails. But Mark was drinking, and he said I should have one, and then another, and I wanted to please him.”

“Have you had anything to drink before?” “At Christmas dinner, my parents would always give me a glass of champagne.”

“And that’s it?”

“Yes.”

“And last night you had
three
cocktails?”

“Yes. When we got back to Hyde Park Gate, I went upstairs and I was sick in the loo. I stretched out on the bed, and the room was spinning.”

“I know the sensation well. Not pleasant.”

“No, it isn’t. But then Mark knocked on the door.”

“Uh oh.”

“He came in and got into bed with me.”

“What did you say?”

“I told him to leave, that I was sick.”

“I assume he ignored you.”

“That’s right. He was drunk. I told him to go away, to leave me alone, but I don’t think he knew what I was saying.”

“Well, he couldn’t have been too drunk, if he did sleep with you. But maybe he didn’t, really.”

“He was certainly drunk, but I think he did.”

Claire was dubious, I could tell. “This boyfriend sounds like a real piece of work. When’s your period?”

I looked at her. “Early this week, I hope.”

“Did he spend the night with you?”

“No. He went back to his own room.

“So what did you do?”

I didn’t say anything.

Claire said, “You cried into the pillow.”

I didn’t reply.

She shrugged. “That’s what I used to do.”

“I’m worried sick that I’m pregnant. But there’s something worse,” I said.

“After what you’ve told me already, I’m bracing myself for the ‘something worse’ part.”

“I promised Mother I wouldn’t sleep with Mark. And she even warned me about drinking. I don’t think I’ve ever broken a promise to Mother before.”

I started crying.

“Fiona, now this I wouldn’t worry about. Your mother will care first about you, and then, maybe, about some promise you made. You told him to get out and leave you alone. What more could you have done? Hit him over the head with your tennis racket?”

She paused. “I tried that once, actually. It worked pretty well.”

I still had tears on my face, but I had to laugh at her. Then I said, “There’s something more.”

“Fiona, the good thing is that you’ll never forget the weekend before your first Wimbledon match. What ‘more’ could there possibly be?”

“I woke up this morning and went down to breakfast. Mark wasn’t there, but Lady Thakeham was having breakfast, and I sat down with her.”

Claire, who loved eating, nodded. “A good English breakfast is important for winning a match.”

“She threw me out.”

“She did what?”

“She said she thought I’d be more ‘comfortable,’ that’s the word she used, with one of my aunts until I had finished with my tennis. To make sure I didn’t misunderstand her meaning, she said she would ask Miss Hanson to have one of the girls pack my bags while I was here practicing with you. I’m to pick up my bags later.”

“What does the boyfriend have to say about this?”

“I didn’t see Mark. I don’t know where he was.”

“This is a really lovely family you’ve found. Have you considered engaging some master criminal? For a price, you could ensure they’re never heard from again.”

“Claire, don’t make fun of me. My aunts wouldn’t let me wear a tennis dress, much less travel across London without a chaperone. I don’t have anywhere to stay.”

“Certainly you have a place to stay. You’ll stay with us.”

“No, I’m not going to do that. You’re going to win Wimbledon again, and you’re trying to get pregnant. The last thing you need is having me sleeping on your living room sofa. Where do the girls in the draw stay for the fortnight?”

“I don’t know. I’ve always lived in London, so I’ve always stayed at my own flat. But Colonel Macaulay will know where the younger girls lodge.”

“Who is he?”

“The Colonel is the Secretary of the All England Club; I’m sure he’ll be here at Hurlingham today. Here’s what we’ll do: let’s hit a few tennis balls, then we’ll go to the buffet and have a late lunch. I’ll find the Colonel and ask where you might lodge. I have the Alfa here, so I’ll take you to pick up your bags at your boyfriend’s place. Shall we set fire to it while we’re there?”

I had to laugh. She was irrepressible.

Claire was the perfect practice partner for me – it meant that I was practicing against the best there was. Plus, being Claire’s practice partner attracted attention to me in the newspapers. Claire could have had Margaret Smith, or anyone she wanted. While we knocked up on one of the Hurlingham courts, I watched Claire from across the net and thought she must be one of the most beautiful tennis stylists of all time. It was humbling to be hitting with her. ‘I’m out of my depth here,’ I thought.

Finally, even Claire was ready to quit. “Let’s go get you some lunch,” she said. We walked back toward the Hurlingham tea lawn together. Claire held her rackets and pocketbook in her right hand, and she had her left arm draped casually over my shoulders. Everyone was watching me walk off the court with the defending champion. I was still sick with worry about myself, but I was proud to be the practice partner of such a great tennis player.

The tea lawn was noisy and crowded with tennis players of both sexes, plus an array of guests. There was an outdoor buffet where food was served, but it took us some time to get to the food because everyone knew and liked Claire, so she stopped to chat with people, and she was kind enough to introduce me to them.

Claire embraced a large woman who, I thought, looked not much older than me. The two of them shared some private joke and chuckled. Claire said, “Margaret, let me introduce you to Fiona Hodgkin. Fiona, please meet my friend and formidable opponent, Margaret Smith.”

Margaret took my hand in hers. She was surprisingly gentle, but she towered over me; she was a powerfully built woman. I think she and Christine Truman, who was a year or so older than Margaret, were the first women to ‘train’ for tennis by lifting weights.

The men in Australia had been weight training ever since 1938, when Harry Hopman wandered into a gym in Melbourne’s Little Collins Street and met a weightlifter named Stan Nicholes. Hopman was then on his quest to bring the Davis Cup back to Australia, and he saw in Nicholes just the way to accomplish that goal. Harry was right, but the Davis Cup was only for men. Margaret and Christine, to their credit, had understood that weight training was just as important for girls as for the men – maybe more so.