Gabriella had already watched perhaps ten ships pass by. She wasn’t counting, even though by now it would have been a nice way to pass the time. She stopped tapping her foot against the stone wall and turned around to overlook Place Valhubert. She had miscalculated the time it took to get from the hotel and had arrived far too early. But a look at her watch confirmed that now Sasha was late. Well, she could only be late if she was coming at all, Gabriella thought, screening the cabs that passed her by. She didn’t even know if Sasha was on her way. The Czech hadn’t answered after Gabriella had sent her a text message. Perhaps she hadn’t seen it. Or perhaps she wasn’t interested in coming.
Gabriella pushed herself away from the wall and stepped to the street curb. She needed to be more visible in case Sasha drove by.
A day earlier, Gabriella had won her fourth round match against Stephanie Moeller. A tough win in three sets, but the hard fight only made victory sweeter. On the middle Sunday Sasha had also won her fourth round match against Mint Rickenbacher. When the schedule for the first quarterfinal day came out yesterday evening Gabriella saw, to her disappointment, that Sasha’s match was scheduled first on Court Philippe Chatrier, meaning that the Czech had to go to bed early. Gabriella refrained from booking a room and calling her lover. Instead, she just sent a short message wishing Sasha luck.
Due to Sasha’s absence Gabriella had spent the evening dreaming about the Czech – and eventually had come up with the idea of taking her out for dinner.
She checked her watch again. Five minutes. That was perfectly normal, Gabriella told herself. Nothing to worry about. The traffic in Paris was terrible. One got stuck easily. That’s why Gabriella had planned a little walking tour to the restaurant.
She was just about to type Sasha another text when a cab stopped with squealing tyres. Out of the back of the car jumped Sasha Mrachova. Her smile couldn’t have been broader.
“Oh, good. So, you got my text message then,” Gabriella began, but couldn’t say much more as Sasha was giving her a big hug, burying the words in the Czech’s red jacket.
“You just saved my day,” she beamed. “Who wants to mull over bloody London churches when in Paris, right?”
Gabriella didn’t understand a word, but obviously Sasha was happy and so the American just nodded.
“I thought we could take a walk through the garden and then have dinner somewhere.”
Sasha was still smiling. But now she cocked her head a little to the side and watched Gabriella carefully.
“Are you sad you lost yesterday?” she asked. Gabriella frowned. Luella had folded badly in her fourth round match. Gabriella’s thoughts were racing. She knew Lulu was still in town. She would probably stay another two days to enjoy loads and loads of shopping sprees.
“No,” she finally said. “The result is alright.”
Sasha winked at her. “Perhaps we should cut down on the nightly activity during Grand Slams. As far as I recall you have a couple of points to defend in the next.”
Gabriella smiled. In fact, it was her ungrateful sister who had a lot of points to defend in Wimbledon – thanks to Gabriella, who had won Luella a Grand Slam. The thought of Luella trying to reproduce this achievement amused her.
“There’s no way we will cut down on that activity,” she laughed. “Actually I plan on staying a little longer in Paris and keeping you company.”
“Would you?” Sasha seemed genuinely touched by the surprise.
Gabriella nodded. Yes, she wanted to keep Sasha company. The strange thing was that only now had it occurred to her.
***
Anastasia Stea made her way through the crowd, unnoticed and unhindered. Typing into her phone and laughing at an incoming message, she looked harmless. Suspiciously harmless, Ted thought. She was maneuvering swiftly through the densely packed, viscously moving crowd of spectators, knowing her way around, and Ted panted while trying to keep up with her. With every step her pony tail swung from one side to another, and Ted tried not to lose eye-contact with the blonde pendulum. Soon he would be hypnotized by the steady movement, Ted feared. But then she turned right off Allée Suzanne-Lenglen and hurried down a few steps into a little pathway which surrounded part of the gigantic Court Philippe Chatrier like a moat. Now he knew where she was going. He didn’t follow her down the stairs. Keeping an eye on her, Ted walked quickly along the main alley above the trench.
On Court 2 a doubles match was in full swing. Ted could hear loud cheers, but luckily no spectators were allowed to leave between points and so Ted was quickly making ground. A little garden area was located between Court Philippe Chatrier, Court 2 and the Bullring, the third largest court of Roland Garros, with a kids tennis court, the French Tennis Federation Museum, and boutiques selling food and souvenirs. Anastasia had almost passed by the garden when suddenly, like a swarm of hornets, a group of giddy boys and girls came out of the museum, recognized the umpire and ran after her.
“Anastasia,” they begged her to stop. “Anastasia! Can we have a picture with you?”
The chair umpire laughed. It wasn't uncommon for her to be asked to give a little courtesy here and there and she was known to always oblige. It looked like she was a wonderful ambassador for tennis. But Ted had to find out if she really was. He had jumped behind a flower trough and stopped moving.
Ted and Tom had decided to go one step further. It wasn’t enough to follow the chair umpire and to document her every move, which they had been doing since Miami. It had turned out to be much easier than expected. Every morning they found out when and where Anastasia was scheduled to umpire a match, which court and which players. Even though they didn't know how long a match would take, they were able to anticipate her daily schedule quite well.
Before Anastasia called ‘Game, Set and Match’ for the last time in a given day, Tom or Ted were there, waiting courtside for the umpire to leave the tournament site. They had found out that she almost never took a tournament car but had made it a habit of taking the subway back to the hotel whenever possible. What they were planning now, however, was even more daring than simply observing the umpire. In order to find out whether Anastasia possessed Tom’s pictures or not they had to take a look at her laptop.
Anastasia was still surrounded by the group of teenagers. It seemed to Ted that it was taking ages until everyone had their photo taken. Some kids even had the nerve to ask for a second picture when they saw that they looked weird in the first one. That happened to him as well. And you couldn’t say no to fans.
When the last boy had had his photo taken, Anastasia got ready to say good-bye to the group and Ted straightened up to follow her. But that was a mistake.
“Oh la vache!” one of the girls exclaimed, pointing in Ted’s direction. “It’s Ted Curry.”
“Trop bien,” another cheered.
Anastasia turned around and Ted had to accept that his secret pursuit had come to an end. The umpire gave him a smile. They both knew that it was now Ted’s turn to pose for pictures with a horde of pimply teenagers. He put on his professional smile, ready for the procedure to begin, but was then surprised to see that Anastasia apparently had made the decision to wait for him.
When the pandemonium was finished she came over.
“Tough luck, Ted,” she winked.
Ted chuckled. “No biggie.”
“Are you on your way to the hotel?”
Ted hesitated. Her question seemed like an indirect invitation to accompany her. Should he accept it? Was that a good idea? But his surveillance was over for the day. If he said no, he would have to explain what he was doing at the far end of the tournament site. If he said yes, at least Ted would have a chance to ask her a few harmless questions.
“Yes,” he smiled. “Want to go together?” She nodded and they made their way to the Musquetaires exit.
“I always walk to the train station after work,” Anastasia explained. She gave Ted a side glance. “I saw you on the Metro a couple of times. Don’t you take the cabs?”
/>
Ted gulped. “I try to avoid them,” he stammered. “They play this stupid quick-fire question game in the tournament cars. I don’t like it.”
Anastasia laughed. “And I thought you were following me!”
Oh dear, Ted thought, they really had to get better at their observation skills. But he managed to laugh, too.
“Lynn had the idea that you perhaps had a crush on me,” Anastasia was still chuckling at the thought. “But you know I’m gay, right?”
“Yes, yes, I’ve heard that.” At least the umpires didn’t know about his relationship with Tom. They assumed he was straight.
He wondered where this conversation was going. But they still had a mile to walk to the Porte d’Auteuil station and Ted decided – now that the open-hearted umpire had brought the topic up – he could at least ask her about her relationship status. For the sake of politeness.
***
“What a lovely day,” Alice Chevallier rejoiced. She and Morgana sat down at the small, round table of the street café in the Quartier Latin.
Alice had spent the whole morning having a prolonged petit déjeuner with old friends and catching up on all the gossip she had missed while flying around the world. Just when she was saying good-bye, Morgana had called her and asked Alice to meet her for a coffee.
“I can’t believe we have to leave soon for rainy England,” Morgana shivered with disgust.
Alice had to grin. Since she had started working for the WTA a year ago in Luxembourg, her friends at home in Paris had been teasing her that her job was in reality an everlasting vacation – she was travelling from one sunny place to another, staying in top-notch hotels. Did it feel like work? It certainly did, especially after fourteen or fifteen hours. But sometimes, like today, Alice was able to squeeze in a few hours of idleness. For Paris she had asked Candice to give her more days off than usual, and even though the work load during a Grand Slam increased dramatically her boss had agreed to her request.
“But aren’t you excited to prepare for the Olympics?” Alice asked. “I know Wimbledon is a Grand Slam and all, but it seems this year it’s only a preparation for the really important event.”
“True,” Morgana admitted. “Everybody is getting excited. I just wish I had more time here in Paris.”
“How is your doctoral thesis going?” Alice asked. She knew that Morgana had chosen the Quartier Latin because she had visited her professor at the nearby university.
“Good,” Morgana nodded. “There have been some interesting and important developments in the past weeks.”
Alice put her coffee cup down and leaned forward.
“I have tapped a source,” Morgana continued, glancing around to make sure none of the innocent looking patrons were overhearing their conversation. “Gradually, I’m getting closer to solving the Tennis Nurse mystery.”
“Mystery? You mean the author?”
Morgana sat up, frowning. “I can’t quite put my finger on it. But there’s more to it than just an anonymous author who wants to conceal her identity, which is certainly part of that mystery, but not all of it. I’ve encountered an atmosphere of silence and fear whenever I ask certain questions.”
“About what?”
“About which players the original characters in Tennis Nurse were modeled after,” Morgana pondered. “It’s not hard to understand who is who, but when you try to verify any of the Tennis Nurse stories or try to find proof that there exists a connection between the real players, as described in the books, you’d be better off banging your head against a brick wall.”
“That sounds interesting indeed,” Alice mumbled, while dunking a piece of cake in her coffee. “Is there anything I can do for you? Do you need help with the research?”
Morgana looked up, beaming. “Yes!”
She took out a little notepad and opened the cover. On the first page Alice could make out a list. With a swift movement Morgana ripped the page off and handed it to Alice.
Monica Jordan
Agnes Lion
Florentina Bonelli
Alessandra Calhau
Jamie and Susan McKay
Daniela Grieb
At first glance, Alice only knew a few of the players. Some had retired a long time ago, others she had never heard of.
“These are the names I received from my source,” she said. “We need to find out more about them. Everything, in fact. Where they played tournaments, whether they played doubles and with whom – and, of course, every little story available.”
We? Alice had to smile. Morgana was very good at delegating work, but why not indulge her? It would be a welcome change from her usual chores.
“They made up a group that called themselves –,” Morgana made a little pause for the dramatic effect. “ – the Secret 8.”
“Are you serious?” Alice chuckled but went quiet when Morgana gave her a disapproving look. But she couldn’t help noticing something. “You realize that there are only seven players on the list, didn’t you?”
Morgana sighed. “Yes, another mystery to solve.”
***
“Oh, no,” Tom muttered. He looked outside the hotel room window and saw two familiar faces coming up the street. Anastasia had linked arms with Ted and was happily chatting away.
However, when Ted came into the hotel room and flung his racquet bag onto the bed, he didn’t look too crestfallen over his obviously failed attempt to observe Anastasia unnoticed.
“You talked to Anastasia?” Tom blurted out. “I saw you coming to the hotel together.”
“Yes,” Ted smiled. “We talked all the way to the hotel. I know everything now, and I have a wonderful plan.”
Tom anxiously followed Ted into the living room. A plan?
“Anastasia confirmed that she was seeing Michelle van der Boom,” Ted informed him. “They meet up now and then and usually it’s Anastasia who stays in Michelle’s room overnight. Michelle doesn’t want all the trouble of walking back to her own room in the morning when she has an early practice and Anastasia usually doesn’t have any appointments in the morning.”
Tom nodded impatiently. “We found that out already.”
“Not about the room habit,” Ted interrupted him.
They sat down on the couch and Ted opened his backpack. He pulled out a small carton.
“Look what I found on the way from the tube,” he smiled, handing Tom the box to unwrap.
“Mint chocolate biscuits?” Tom shook his head in amazement.
“Anastasia showed me the shop,” Ted explained. “They have all sorts of British stuff. I bought a box for mum, too.”
“As if we wouldn’t get enough of it in a couple of weeks,” Tom grinned. The grass season would begin soon and they both were looking forward to spending time in their home country. Even more so with the Olympics prolonging their stay in England. Tom took a biscuit and fed it to Ted, then tasted one himself. They were delicious.
“Tell me about this wonderful plan of yours,” Tom demanded to know, letting the mint and chocolate taste spread in his mouth.
“Well, so far we’ve tried to get a chance to somehow snatch her laptop bag when she wasn’t looking, and we failed miserably. Of course, she looks after it and most times she doesn’t even have it with her on the tournament site.”
Tom agreed.
“But now we know she leaves her room to see Michelle and stays away all night,” Ted continued. Tom suddenly knew where this was going.
“You want to break into her room?” he exclaimed.
“I’ve done it before,” Ted said with a smile. “I’m Mr. Cat Burglar.”
“You almost fell out of the window,” Tom remarked with a serious tone. “And you know that we are in this situation in the first place because of exactly such a cat burglar operation.”
That was true. The only reason they were in all this trouble trying to get Tom’s risqué pictures back, was that Ted had stolen the photo files from Tom’s computer during last year’s U.S. Open. Ted h
ad climbed into the window of Tom’s hotel room and had broken the password of his computer. But when he fled the room he had lost his flash drive.
“I will be more careful this time,” Ted promised. He grabbed another biscuit. “All we have to do now is find out when Anastasia spends the night with Michelle.”
“More observing,” Tom sighed.
“I have a better plan.” Smugly, Ted slipped the biscuit into his mouth and Tom sighed a little more. Another plan by Ted. This could only end badly.
***
“Here we go again,” Amanda mumbled.
The hotel room seemed to have shrunk, as so many bags and suitcases covered the floor. Elise and Amanda’s racquet bags occupied the bed, and a large trolley, rolled into the room by a bellhop, was waiting to be loaded. They had shooed the young man out again quickly, as there were a few items still to be packed which were lying openly on the bed. Especially one item nobody was supposed to lay their eyes on.
“You take it this time,” Elise suggested. She had said it lightly as if this was a matter of course, like taking the car keys.
Amanda chuckled at the cheap attempt. “No way. This time you will carry it. I’ve counted the times we’ve had to take it on the plane and go through customs and you have a lot of catching up to do, young lady.”
Pursing her lips, Elise seemed to slip into a sulky mood, but then she gave Amanda a mischievous smile.
“I had to try,” she grinned.
“You love trying stuff, don’t you?” Amanda challenged her, making a step towards Elise. The German nodded and pulled Amanda closer.
“And you seem to like our little travel companion,” Amanda whispered into Elise’s ear while pushing Elise down onto the bed. Her lips began wandering over Elise’s neck. She was waiting for the sighs the touch of her lips always conjured. But Elise had grown stiff.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I couldn’t help but notice that you are eyeing our little Mr. Pecker all the time,” Amanda grinned, still kissing Elise’s face. “Are you toying with an idea that involves him?”
Love Game - Season 2012 Page 19
