For the Sake of Love

by Chrissie Loveday

  ‘How tall are you?’ she asked.

  ‘Six foot, four inches,’ he said slowly. ‘You still use feet and inches?’

  ‘I certainly do. I think the kids today are used to metric.’ She laughed. ‘Here I am, looking down on London with a gorgeous man and comparing the metric system with imperial.’

  ‘But it’s important. The differences. Vive la differénce.’ They watched as London passed them by and all too soon, the ride ended. ‘That was excellent. Thank you for sharing it with me.’ She smiled back at him. ‘Now, where are we going to eat? Shall we walk along the riverside and see what we can find?’

  They strolled along the South Bank, passing theatre goers and those like themselves who were enjoying another fine summer evening. Amanda felt a mixture of emotions. Joy at being with him, sadness that he was leaving the next day. Longing for this new relationship to continue. They headed into the town and found a small restaurant where they had dinner. As the meal came to an end, they became silent, their fingers touching across the table.

  ‘I can’t bear to leave you ma belle. But I am committed to this trip.’

  ‘I know. It’s much too soon for us to be parted. We hardly know each other but I feel we have known each for ever. I shall miss you.’

  ‘And I, you. Will you give me your cell number?’

  ‘Mobile number,’ she corrected. ‘Of course.’ She took out her diary and wrote it on a page and tore it out. ‘Can I have yours?’ She punched the numbers into her own phone and smiled at him. ‘Will you text?’

  ‘Of course. We can keep in touch. Hey, you dropped something.’ He leaned down and picked up the crumpled sheet of paper on which she had made notes about him and then forgotten to shred. She went pale as she realised what it was.

  ‘Sorry. Just rubbish. Give it to me please.’

  ‘But rubbish in a lady’s purse is utterly fascinating,’ he teased, starting to unwrap it.

  ‘Please, Sacha. It’s private.’

  ‘Okay. But you have me interested now. What is it that you so much want to hide? A secret note from a lover? A billet doux?’

  ‘Of course not. I don’t have any lovers, secret or otherwise.’

  ‘Then don’t be afraid. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t tease. But it is clearly something you don’t want me to see. Here. Keep your secret.’ He tossed it back and she grabbed it and pushed it deep inside her bag. ‘I was wondering,’ he said huskily, ‘if you might consider coming to the States to see me? I have to be there for three weeks. You could come over for a week or so. If your shop can spare you of course.’ Her heart leapt at the excitement of his suggestion, but reality hit her.

  ‘Oh, Sacha. I don’t know. It’s a bit sudden isn’t it? You hardly know me.’

  ‘Maybe. But I’d like to change that. I shall need to see you before three whole weeks are through. I have a series of small tournaments and matches to play. I won’t be back in England for possibly four weeks I guess.’

  He lived in a different world, she was thinking. She couldn’t drop everything and dash off to America just like that. A week’s holiday from her job took a great deal of organising.

  ‘I can’t take holiday just like that.’

  ‘Give your notice. You’ll find another job easily. I will pay for your flight and accommodation. I will probably take an apartment as usual. Fredo is certain to have something organised.’

  Amanda’s mind was in total melt down. If she handed in her notice, it would mean the end of her career and she certainly wasn’t ready for that. She hardly knew the man, however much she wanted to change that state of affairs. Besides, she certainly couldn’t accept his paying for her visit. Maybe he wasn’t quite as nice as she thought. What did he expect of her? Was she to be just another hanger on? A groupie?

  ‘Sacha . . . I’m very flattered by your suggestion but I simply can’t do it.’

  ‘I’ll show you New York. Though I will be playing some of the time, I can still have plenty of opportunity to take you to places. I will be proud to show you off to my friends and colleagues. But maybe, you are not so pleased with me. You do not feel as I do?’

  ‘You’re moving too fast. Only yesterday you were saying you have no plans to settle down.’

  ‘I’m not inviting you to settle clown, as you put it. I simply want to be with you. For us to spend time together. Is that so wrong of me? I enjoy your company. Isn’t that what you said to me last night?’

  ‘I guess. But I’m simply not able to reorganise my life just to take a holiday. I have to book it in advance. Arrange cover for my . . . for my work.’ She’d so nearly said column. She was feeling guilty. Dreadfully guilty that he thought she was something she wasn’t.

  They’d come a long way this evening. She was beginning to know the real man. He had lived in the rolling hills of Provence for much of his life and was used to helping out in the family vineyard. He was knowledgeable about wines and seemed to have a loving family. Her feelings of guilt about her own work had made her reticent to talk about herself but he had seemed content with what she had said.

  ‘If you are certain. I’ll call you tomorrow, before I fly out. It’s acceptable to use your cell phone? Your bosses won’t be angry that I call you at work?’

  ‘No. That’s fine. Call me when you like. No problem.’

  ‘So, for now it’s goodnight, Amanda,’ he said sadly, ‘But I sincerely hope that I will see you again very soon.’

  ‘Thank you for a lovely evening.’ Amanda felt remarkably close to tears as he drew her close. They kissed gently but there was tension growing between them. A group of young men passed them and called out lewd comments. She felt Sacha stiffen and he drew in his breath. ‘It’s all right,’ she whispered. ‘Ignore them.’

  ‘Perhaps they are jealous of my good fortune.’

  ‘I should go now, before it becomes even more impossible to leave you.’

  ‘Then don’t go.’

  ‘I must. Call me. I also hope we’ll see other again soon.’ Blocking the threatening tears, she turned away and hailed a cab She left him standing on the pavement, his hand raised in a gesture of farewell. She sniffed into a hankie and wiped her eyes.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Inevitably, sleep was almost impossible. Her body was one hundred percent in favour of catching the next flight to America. Her brain was behaving more sensibly and was only ninety percent committed to the idea. If Penelope guessed the real reason for a sudden trip, she’d probably offer to pay first class fares. The chance of getting in on the tennis circuit first hand, well, it would open no end of doors and provide the dirt for a whole series of articles.

  Suddenly, she felt her own sense of guilt about her job when seen from her victims’ point of view. It was somewhat sleazy and unpleasant. She knew already that she cared rather too much about Sacha; she couldn’t hurt him in any way. But then, Penelope didn’t have any deep feelings to intrude on her professionalism. She must have some sort of life outside work but if so, she never let it show and seemed to find it strange that anyone else did. How could Amanda possibly organise a week off without letting the real truth slip? With Jenny on her case, it would be nigh on impossible.

  When she did doze off to sleep, her dreams were filled with fantasies that actually made her blush when she woke up and remembered them. What was this man doing to her? How could someone like him, be interested in her? She was an ordinary working girl like so many thousands of others. He had clearly said that serious relationships were not in his current game plan. Why should she be so scared? Wasn’t she a twenty-first century woman, well able to look after herself? She was a tough journalist, wasn’t she? Capable, professional . . . but dared she go to America to join him? Perhaps she should ask if she could have time off? Then, when her request was turned down, she’d at least have a proper excuse. She should not get too involved. No man could be this perfect. He must have some darker side that she hadn’t yet discovered.

  ‘Could I have a word?’ she asked Penelope
the next morning.

  ‘Only if it’s to ask how many words I need for the tennis star article.’

  ‘Em . . . no. Sorry. Nothing doing on that front yet. I was actually wondering if I could book a week’s leave?’ Penelope looked back at the sheaf of papers on her desk.

  ‘You know where the rota is. Just book it.’

  ‘Well, actually, I wondered about next week.’

  ‘Four weeks’ notice. You know the rules. Unless it’s an emergency.’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Not sick are you?’

  ‘No. Okay. Just thought it worth asking.’ Penelope appeared even more engrossed. ‘Okay then. Er, thanks.’ That was that. She didn’t want to go anyway, did she? Her mobile rang. She tucked herself behind the water dispenser and tried to speak quietly.

  ‘Sacha? Hi.’

  ‘Hello. I’m just on my way to the airport. Thought I’d say good morning.’

  ‘Nice to hear you.’

  ‘Did you think any more about coming over to visit with me?’

  ‘I asked my boss but she said no.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous. Everyone can take a holiday.’

  ‘We have to give notice. So there’s someone to cover for us.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake. Why don’t you finish with the ridiculous job? You can surely get another one easily enough. I can’t wait for nearly a whole month to see you again.’

  ‘I like my job. It isn’t always as easy as you think to get another.’

  ‘A job in a magazine shop? Don’t be so ridiculous. I guess you simply don’t want to come over. Maybe I’m mistaking the messages you were sending to me.’

  ‘No, Sacha. You’re not.’ Maybe this was the moment to come clean and tell him the truth. Oh, yes, that would be a very clever move. That would be goodbye forever and not even a ‘nice knowing you’ footnote to soften the blow. All the same, her work was hardly in a magazine shop. Her silly, miscalculated lie was coming home to roost. ‘I’m sorry. It’s all too hurried. It’s not the way we work here,’ she mumbled. Jenny came over to get some water. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I have to go now. I’ll call you later.’

  ‘Maybe I will be able to answer. But I’ll be on the plane before long. Au revoir.’ And he was gone.

  ‘Did I interrupt something?’ Jenny asked with poorly faked innocence.

  ‘Not really. I was about done.’ She gave a sigh and felt a sense of depression clouding over her. She’d handled that call so badly. On the other hand, Sacha wasn’t exactly being very understanding. This had been their first phone call on parting and she’d blown it. Maybe having him call her at the office wasn’t such a good idea.

  ‘There’s clearly something going on. How was the mysterious date?’

  ‘Good. He’s gone away now so I’m just feeling a bit down. It did look as if it might go somewhere but hey, that’s life. On to the next assignment.’

  ‘So, he was an assignment, was he?’ Jenny persisted.

  ‘Of course not. He was just a guy I met and now he’s gone. Okay? So, what are you working on?’

  They returned to office chat and safer ground. The morning crawled by. Whatever Amanda did, Sacha’s face with his halo of raven black hair seemed to float in front of her eyes. Concentration was impossible.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Amanda. Where are you today?’

  ‘Sorry? What?’ she snapped.

  ‘I asked you for the third time, are we going to get some lunch?’

  ‘Sorry. I think I’ll work through.’ It might even give her the opportunity to call Sacha again and try to explain. Explain what, she wondered. She glanced at her watch. He’d be on the plane by now so he wouldn’t be able to answer. ‘Oh, hang it. I’ll come with you . . . as long as you drop the Spanish Inquisition routine.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Jenny replied indignantly. She had no intention of letting anything drop. There was a juicy story lying under Amanda’s evasiveness and she had every intention of finding out every last bit of gossip.

  * * *

  Sacha sat in his cab en route for the airport. After the call to Amanda, he stuffed his phone into his pocket and stared through the window.

  ‘What’s up?’ demanded Fredo, his coach and companion. They were speaking in French as Fredo’s English wasn’t brilliant.

  ‘Nothing. I was hoping for a better response.’

  ‘And is this something to do with your mysterious absence from the apartment the last couple of evenings?’

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘Hey come on. You know the rules. No women during the season.’

  ‘But according to you, the tournament season seems to last the entire year. No sooner do we finish one round in the Northern Hemisphere than you’re starting to book me up in the Southern.’

  ‘If you want to get anywhere, it has to happen soon. You’re getting older. Time slips away. Okay, for you, maybe it is already too late for the really big tournaments. Perhaps the grand slams are beyond you but you make a more than decent living from the rest. There’s plenty of time for women and everything else in a few years’ time.’

  Sacha sighed and closed his eyes. Two days ago, he would have agreed. Before Amanda. She was his dream, his perfect woman. What was it about her? They had kissed a few times and spent time together over a couple of meals but his tennis ambitions had been knocked right back. After all the years of training and practice, how could he simply drop out of it now? And all for a woman he scarcely knew.

  ‘You scare me Sacha. I’ve invested a lot of time and effort into you. I can’t believe you plan to give up just like that. You’re crazy.’

  ‘I think I may be in love.’

  ‘Get her out of your system somehow. Can’t be that difficult. A guy with your looks should have no problem.’

  ‘It’s not just any woman that will do, thanks all the same. I’m trying to persuade her to come out and join me. I could do with a few diversions.’

  Fredo looked thoughtful. If his rising star was serious about this girl, whoever she was, maybe he needed to do some investigating of his own. He wasn’t having some female messing around with Sacha’s head. He needed his man clear, sharp and focussed. He had three, maybe four more years to get anywhere near the top before his time was through. This year he’d broken into the top 90 players in the world rankings and that was quite some achievement for a man of his age. Teenagers seemed to rule these days.

  ‘Okay. So who is she, what does she do? Do you want me to organise something? A diversion?’

  ‘Of course not. She’s a girl I met outside the courts one day. We made a connection. She’s not some groupie looking for reflected glory. She’s open and honest and with no hidden agendas. Needless to say, she’s also gorgeous. Amazing blonde hair. A real English rose. Gorgeous figure and perfect dress sense.’

  ‘Oh, worse than I thought.’ Fredo groaned. ‘Much worse. Just settle for one of the girls who hang around the circuit. Don’t complicate matters.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m not giving up. I’ll train as hard as you wish but it doesn’t stop me wanting Amanda. I’ll keep trying to persuade her to come and join us in America. She works in a shop so it shouldn’t be too difficult.’

  ‘A shop girl? Great. This gets better and better. Not even a refugee from an Aussie soap? No nubile little French girl? Any of these would enhance his reputation, but oh, no, he picks a shop girl.’

  ‘It’s an honest job.’ Why did he feel he needed to be so defensive? ‘Look, mind your own business, hey? I’m going to have some control over my own life from now on. You’re not my parent, even if you behave like one. I work hard and don’t forget I keep you employed, might I add.’

  Fredo closed his eyes and feigned bored sleep. His mind was racing however. This latest affair sounded much more serious than any of his other casual encounters. His player was certainly charismatic enough and his avoidance of publicity added that extra intriguing quality. Maybe it was time to up his profile a little and rele
ase just a hint of gossip in the right quarters. He’d have to be careful though. One hint of where the gossip came from and he’d be out of a job. However good he was.

  * * *

  As she sat alone in her flat, Amanda reflected that it was less than 24 hours since she had said goodbye to Sacha. Already it seemed a world away and she was forgetting what he looked like. She switched on her laptop and typed his name into a search engine. There he was. Why hadn’t she thought of this before? There were pictures and details of his career. Though he had won a few tournaments, his profile was far less significant in Britain than many of the major players. She searched further, looking for any items of gossip she could find. It was thin on the ground. That figured. Went with all his statements about being shy of publicity. She printed off one of the pictures and slightly foolishly, she thought, pinned it over her computer. She picked up her mobile and wrote a text. Innocent and casual, she hoped.

  Hope journey was good. Best of luck with tour. Show ’em who’s top. Should she sign it love? Everyone did. It meant little or nothing. All the same, she merely signed it ‘A’. She pressed send before she could change her mind. Then she stared at her phone for the next ten minutes, willing it to ring. Nothing. Why, oh why, hadn’t she agreed to go and visit this wonderful man in America? Just think what her friends would have said. What did they matter? Why should she even contemplate trying to impress any of them? She went to bed. If Sacha replied to her text, it would be waiting next day.

  * * *

  It seemed an interminable few days. Texts and a few fairly brief chats did nothing to enhance her previous feeling of connection with the tennis player. She found herself scouring sports pages for any mention of the man. She even hoped he was losing his matches so that he would return sooner. If only she’d had the courage, she could have been out there with him enjoying the whole experience.