‘Well, it was—’
At that moment Jude’s mobile rang. She snatched it out of her pocket and saw that the call came from Piers Targett. ‘I must just get this,’ she said, abruptly standing up and moving towards the pub door.
‘There’s a perfectly good signal in here,’ Carole called after her, and as Jude moved outside she could feel her neighbour’s reproachful eyes boring into her back.
FIVE
‘Hello, Jude love. I’ve missed you,’ said Piers’ voice. ‘We’ve been apart now for . . . what? Getting on for four hours, got to be. Don’t you ever leave me for so long again.’
‘You are such a smoothie, Piers. And your chat-up lines are cheesier than a month-old Gorgonzola.’
‘I know. Amazing that they still work, isn’t it?’
‘Amazing.’ Jude giggled. ‘I’ve missed you too.’
‘Well, don’t worry. I have arranged our next encounter.’
‘Oh, really?’
‘Yes. We will meet next on Wednesday morning.’
‘Will we?’ Jude was quite relieved. She would have liked to see him sooner, but she really needed the next day to get some kind of normality back into her life. Though the cleaning regime she imposed on Woodside Cottage was minimal – certainly compared to the scouring to which Carole subjected High Tor on a daily basis – it still had to be done. And there were messages on her answering machine that needed responses. Clients who depended on her, needed her services.
‘So where are we going to meet?’ she asked.
‘Lockleigh House tennis court.’
‘Oh?’
‘I am continuing your education, Jude. Yesterday you saw real tennis for the first time. On Wednesday you’re going to play real tennis for the first time.’
‘But I can’t do that.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘Because I’m fat and in my fifties.’
‘Absolutely no bar to playing the game. There were people you saw in the Sec’s Cup yesterday who were carrying a lot more weight than you are.’
That was certainly true, but Jude still felt she had to protest, ‘I haven’t lifted even a proper tennis racket for over twenty years.’
‘Jude,’ said Piers Targett sharply, ‘that is the most offensive thing I have ever heard you say.’
‘Sorry?’
‘A real tennis racket is a proper racket. Real tennis is the proper game. “Lawners” is nothing more than a vulgarian upstart.’
Jude hadn’t heard her lover speak like this before and wasn’t sure whether he was serious or not, so was quite relieved when she heard him giggle from the other end of the phone as he announced, ‘Sorry, Jude, but you must get these things right. If you’re going to be spending a lot of time round Lockleigh House tennis court then there are certain basic points of protocol you must understand.’
‘And who says I’m going to be spending a lot of time round Lockleigh House tennis court?’
‘I do. Anyway, the court’s at seven forty-five, first booking of the day. Under normal circumstances I’d say I’d pick you up, but I’m not quite sure what my movements will be that morning, so could you meet me at the court?’
‘Well, yes, I’m sure I could, but I’m not sure that I want to make a fool of myself in front of lots of—’
‘The only person you will be in front of will be me. The professionals don’t come on duty till nine. And, anyway, you’re far too poised and beautiful a woman ever to make a fool of yourself.’ He was silent. ‘Cheesy again?’
‘Pretty cheesy, yes.’
‘Ah well, I’m afraid you’ll just have to learn to live with my cheesiness, Jude. Just as you will with many other less appealing aspects of my character.’
‘And what are they?’
Piers let out a low whistle of admonition. ‘I’m not going to screw up my chances by enumerating them now. Wait till we know each other a bit better.’
‘As you wish,’ she said. ‘Anyway, what about after the game?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Will you be returning straight to London? Or do we get the chance to spend some time together?’
‘We spend all Wednesday together. Including, if I could impose on your hospitality, Wednesday night.’
‘Sounds good to me. I will introduce you to the delights of Woodside Cottage.’ She was about to suggest an introduction to Carole Seddon as well, but no. Too soon, too soon.
‘I look forward to it, Jude.’
‘And then?’
‘Then?’
‘Sorry, it’s just me being practical. There are some healing sessions I’ve got to book for Thursday, but I don’t want to cut across any mutual plans we might have.’
‘I see what you mean. Well, no, sadly on Thursday morning we face another separation.’
‘Oh?’
‘I have to go to Paris on business for a few days. Back on Sunday, I hope.’
‘And what kind of business is it?’
‘Boring stuff,’ said Piers Targett airily. ‘Money, you know.’
And before Jude could ask for a bit more detail, he went on, ‘So the booking at the court’s seven forty-five am on Wednesday. Arrive a little earlier to give yourself time to change. And the dress code is strictly white.’
‘That was the new man, was it?’ asked Carole as a somewhat shamefaced Jude returned to the bar.
‘Yes. Yes, it was.’
‘The one who introduced you to real tennis?’
‘Mm.’
Carole Seddon was desperate to ask more about the mystery man, but equally desperate not to be seen to be desperate about it. She looked around the crowded pub. ‘Ted certainly seems to be doing good business. Excellent for a weekday, isn’t it?’
Jude was quite organized that afternoon. She cleared the messages on her answering machine and set up a couple of healing sessions for the following day. There was a third she said she might do, depending on how drained she was after the first two.
But though she felt better for having made the arrangements – and made a desultory gesture towards cleaning Woodside Cottage – she was still uncharacteristically twitchy. She didn’t enjoy every aspect of being in love. Though no one realized it, the serenity she showed to the outer world had been hard won. She had thought her emotional equilibrium was secure. The arrival of Piers Targett in her life had made her conscious of its central fragility.
She was also annoyed with herself for not telling Carole about him. She should just have cut through her neighbour’s assumed lack of interest and given her the facts. Not having done so left Jude feeling guilty; it was not a sensation that she was familiar with. And not one she enjoyed.
These thoughts were circling unhelpfully around her head when the phone rang. She answered it.
‘Oh, hello, it’s Wally.’
‘Sorry?’ She couldn’t immediately place the claret-soaked voice.
‘Wally Edgington-Bewley. We met up at Lockleigh on Sunday.’
‘Oh yes, of course I remember.’
‘You probably also remember that I mentioned a little book I’d written.’
‘Erm . . .’ She had no recollection of it, but didn’t want to sound rude.
‘Little, self-published thing. About some of the world’s real tennis courts I’ve visited with some chums. Called Courts in the Act.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Jude vaguely.
‘Anyway, I said on Sunday I’d like to give you a copy.’
‘Of course.’ This time she gave a better impression of knowing what he was talking about.
‘Well, I was wondering how to get the copy to you . . .’
‘It shouldn’t be a problem . . .’
‘. . . and then Piers said he was taking you up to Lockleigh for a knock-around on Wednesday.’ How quickly news spread in the world of real tennis. ‘Which is going to work rather well, because I’ve got to be up at the court tomorrow, so I could leave a copy for you on the table in the club room.’