by A. J. Cronin
Unheeding of Doggy’s banter, Finlay nodded blankly, and as soon as he could get away he slipped out of the club, his face brooding, still marred by that unpleasant frown.
Impelled by some secret, inner force, his steps took him not in the direction of home but towards the Cottage Hospital. It was after nine when he got there, and, as he expected, Nurse Angus was on duty, writing up her charts in the small side room which opened off the ward kitchen.
He entered without a word, and, standing with his hands in his pockets, surveyed her with Napoleonic gloom. At last he spoke.
‘I thought I’d come in and tell you the glad news. We’re drawn together for the Nimmo Trophy.’
If he had expected to dismay her he was disappointed. Swinging round in her chair, she surveyed him calmly.
‘That’s grand,’ she said with satirical emphasis. ‘Couldn’t have been better.’
He gave a grunt.
‘I wasn’t aware that you knew one end of a tennis racket from the other.’
‘Oh, yes,’ she answered sweetly. ‘I believe I can just tell the difference.’
‘The junior champion, weren’t you?’ he derided. ‘A kind of infant prodigy, I suppose?’
‘That’s right,’ she answered with a humorous smile. ‘I began to play before I’d finished teething.’
He had to bite his lip to keep back an answering smile. Really her good nature was infectious. And she was as pretty as a picture.
All at once Finlay felt a warm tide pulse within his breast. Did he really dislike Peggy Angus after all? With dramatic suddenness her loveliness and charm took him by storm. He grew confused, and muttered—
‘Well you’d better begin to play in good earnest this time. You’ve got to put your back into it and show some real spirit. I expect you to practice and practice hard. Do you hear me? It’s pluck that counts in any game, and if you’ve got any I want you to show it just for once.’
Without giving her time to reply he nodded awkwardly, turned on his heel and left the hospital.
He did not see Peggy Angus again until the date appointed for his first round tie. So far from indulging in any practice, she seemed never to have been near the courts, a defiance of his instructions which served to increase his growing admiration for her spirit.
With a queer sense of anticipation he made his way to the club and arrived there punctually at half-past five in the evening.
Six o’clock, being suitable to all parties, had been fixed as the time of the match. Despite Doggy’s assurance, he did not expect Nurse Angus would prove herself expert at the game. But if she were any good at all they ought to win this tie, for they were drawn against Tom Douglas and May Scott, neither of whom were any class as players.
Douglas and Miss Scott were already on the court, and at five minutes to six, sharp, Miss Angus arrived, already changed, looking prettier than ever, and very efficient and neat in her smart white dress and white shoes. She carried two rackets under her arm.
The sight of her sent a thrill through Finlay. He knew now how much he had looked forward to playing with her, and the knowledge for some reason made him angry with himself. He met her with a pretence of brusqueness.
‘Late as usual!’ That was his polite greeting.
She gave him a quick glance, in which there was neither mockery nor impudence.
‘Surely it isn’t six o’clock,’ she answered quietly, then looked away.
It was as though this final rudeness had subdued her at last, for there was no raillery in her manner and no roguishness in her face.
He ought, of course, to have exulted, having sworn to put Peggy in her place. But instead he cursed himself for a boorish prig. He wanted more than ever to take back all he had said against her.
The game began. And here again Peggy proved her mettle. Although obviously out of practice, from the moment when, with a clear note, her racket met the first ball, it was evident that Peggy Angus was a skilled player. Indeed, Finlay saw that without a doubt she knew more about the game than he.
She served crisply, volleyed neatly, and drove with remarkable vigour. Her placing was accurate and subtle, and after a few errors, made before finding her touch, she played a really brilliant game. Douglas and Miss Scott were completely swamped.
The first set went to Finlay and Miss Angus at six-one, while the second they won to love, and with it the match.
Douglas and Miss Scott took their beating in excellent part, and smilingly shook hands across the net.
‘Nobody could stand up to that stuff,’ grinned Douglas as he struggled into his sweater. ‘It’s a perfect education!’
Finlay nodded in agreement. He accompanied his partner off the court with a sense of genuine pride. He was delighted to have won, and thrilled at the brilliance of Nurse Angus’s game.
All his natural generosity acknowledged her superiority as a player, and exalted in the wonderful game which she played. He felt that once and for all it was time to make amends. And, as they reached the pavilion, he turned to her abruptly—
‘Nurse Angus you played marvellously, far better than I did. You’ll have to take me in hand and give me a lesson before our next tie.’
But, alas, though Finlay’s intention was good, the result was unhappy, for, in the light of his previous behaviour to her, Peggy mistook his appreciation for the cruellest satire.
She flushed to the roots of her hair, and looked up at him, her lips straight, her eyes strangely hurt. Then she said—
‘I’ve got to play through those ties with you. And, come what may, I’ll do it. But don’t you think it would make things a little easier if you left me alone!’
He saw in a flash that she had misunderstood him. Quite taken aback, he tried to set things right, but even before he could answer she had left him.
He did not see her until the day of the next tie, and then her attitude, reserved and cold, precluded all explanation.
In a strained silence they played through the tie, which they won by an even wider margin.
By this time public interest, all unconscious of the internal tension, began to centre on Finlay and Nurse Angus, because of their fine play, and a fair number of people turned out to witness their fourth-round tie. This Finlay and Nurse Angus also won, and, amidst a buzz of congratulation, it was agreed that their chance of going to the final was excellent.
Actually, they made an admirable combination, for Finlay’s natural impetuosity was countered by the accuracy of Nurse Angus’s play.
While her own game shone with a level brilliance, she seemed, at the same time, to steady Finlay, and somehow to excite him to bring off scintillating winners. A pity, everyone went about remarking, that this nice young couple could not win the trophy.
Naturally, in Doggy Lindsay, the club champion, and Miss Brown, who had been ladies’ champion of the county these last three successive years, they would meet an invincible combination.
The fifth round came, and the sixth, then the quarter-finals, and eventually the semi-finals. Finlay and his partner went through them all formally, distantly, and with scarcely a word spoken between them. Indeed, Finlay determined to postpone all speech until the final tie was over, and the trophy won.
Not for his own sake, but for Peggy’s, he became increasingly set on winning. He told himself that when he had steered Nurse Angus through the contest, and defeated Doggy and Miss Brown, he could adjust the painful situation which had arisen between them.
It came at last, the day of the final, a fine, bright, sunny August day. Quite a stir was about, for the event always aroused interest and excitement in the town.
Even Cameron, at breakfast that morning, facetiously remarked—
‘You seem to be going strong with Nurse Angus. Well, well, she’s a fine lass. I’m not surprised she’s taken a notion of you.’
Finlay jabbed at the marmalade savagely.
‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ he said. ‘I’m pretty sure she hates the very sight of me.’
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‘Aha!’ said Cameron dryly. ‘Then, in that case, the pair of ye deserve to get beat.’
But Finlay had no intention of getting beaten. Following a light luncheon, he arrived early at the club, and changed in good time for the great match, which was to begin at three o’clock.
A crowd of several hundred people was in the ground, members and their friends, and a section of the public perched on the temporary stand, which, following the usual custom, had been erected for the final match.
Doggy and Miss Brown, full of confidence and spirits, were already in evidence, and, in company with some of the club officials, were exchanging good-natured banter on the verandah.
‘Where’s your partner, Finlay?’ cried Doggy boisterously. ‘She hasn’t turned up yet.’
‘She’ll turn up all right,’ said Finlay quickly.
‘Perhaps she’s going to let you down at last?’ persisted the grinning Doggy.
‘She’s not the kind to let anyone down,’ retorted Finlay with sudden indignation.
But, indeed, when three o’clock came, and there was no sign of Peggy, a whisper ran through the crowd, a rumour went round that Nurse Angus would not play. And at this a sensation of dismay, mingled with compunction, swept over Finlay.
Perhaps she was not coming. Perhaps she disliked him so much she had refused to appear for the final match.
A sudden despondency took him, but at that same moment a shout went up from the crowd collected at the gate, and Nurse Angus made her appearance.
She did not quite look herself, somehow, for her face was extremely pale and almost drawn. It seemed as if she had been hurrying; at least, her distress was attributed by Finlay to this cause, but he had no time to dwell upon it, for immediately she led the way towards the court.
Together, with Doggy and Miss Brown, they went out into the bright sunshine of the centre court, and their appearance was greeted by a cheer. Then began a warming-up in preparation for the match. But, as he tossed a ball towards her, Finlay observed that she wore a wash-leather glove on her right hand. He eyed the glove oddly.
‘You’ll never play with that thing,’ he declared. ‘Why don’t you take it off?’
She shook her head, moistening her lips slightly.
‘I’ve blistered my hand,’ she answered rather uncertainly. ‘Oh, it’s nothing at all. Probably from playing so much. I hope it won’t put me off my game.’
Her answer left him rather at a loss, but before he could pursue the matter, Doggy sang out to him, and the game commenced.
It was going to be fast and furious, Finlay saw. Their opponents having won the toss, took the service, which Doggy smashed in relentlessly. His service was his strong suit, and it won him the first game easily.
Finlay set his teeth and pulled himself together. He saw that Peggy was not playing nearly so well as usual, and he felt that she was wilting under the excitement of the event.
When he had won his own service, and Miss Brown had won hers, Peggy served badly, and lost her service, making the score three–one in favour of Doggy and Miss Brown.
In the next game Doggy again served and won a smashing service, making the score four–one. And when Finlay, too eager, served a double fault, and went on to lose his own service, making the score five-one, a groan ran through the onlookers which deepened as Miss Brown easily served her way, to win the first set for her side at six–one.
It was to be exactly as anticipated, then, an easy victory for Doggy and Miss Brown.
The crowd, sympathetically disposed towards Finlay and Peggy, resigned themselves to the slaughter of the innocents and settled down to watch the massacre of the second set.
Before that set began Finlay remarked in a determined undertone—
‘We’ve got to buck up, partner. Come on, now! We’ve got to win.’
Though he meant to be encouraging, for some reason Peggy grew even paler under those words.
But it seemed as if they took effect, for, setting her teeth and playing feverishly, she flung herself into the match. With complete abandon she smashed, and volleyed, and drove, and served, and every one of her desperately-executed shots came off miraculously.
Cheer after cheer rang out from the crowd.
Inspired by this turn of events, Finlay also played well. He reeled off the last game with four cannon-ball services, and he and his partner took the second set at six–three.
One set all, and the final set to go. Excitement amongst the spectators knew no bounds. It was to be a match after all, and a grand one too!
Gripped by the drama of this gallant recovery, the crowd held its breath and focused its attention upon the last deciding set.
Wiping the perspiration off his face, Finlay backed to the base line to await Doggy’s serve. In the short interval he had exchanged no words with Peggy.
Subconsciously he felt something unusual about her game. Although she had played so brilliantly in the second set, when she struck the ball it seemed as if she did so with a conscious effort of will, and he could have sworn that after she had hit an extra powerful shot an expression of acute distress flashed across her face.
But now Finlay did not pause to reason. Straddling his feet, he balanced his racket and took Doggy’s first ball.
A beautiful serve and a beautiful return; but in spite of it Doggy won the service. Undismayed, Finlay followed by winning his. Then quickly Miss Brown won hers, and Peggy the next. Two games all.
A gasp from the crowd. And a succession of such gasps at the end of every game as, in turn, each player won the service until the score stood at five all. It was plain as a pikestaff that whoever broke through the service would win the match.
Excitement mounted higher and higher. Every shot evoked a cheer, every rally a burst of prolonged applause. Finlay felt the quick drumming of his pulse. He wanted, with all his heart, to win, to win with Peggy Angus. It would symbolise his whole feeling for her if they could win this match and share the triumph together.
Another shout from the crowd. The score was now seven all, and it was Peggy’s turn to serve.
The gruelling match had taken toll of her, and as she took up her position she appeared nearly worn out. Little beads of perspiration stood on her upper lip, and when she gripped her racket it struck Finlay that a little shiver of distress went through her whole body.
He glanced at her doubtfully as she served – a fault, and, again, a double fault. Her next service lacked its usual sting and the next also. Quicker than it takes to tell, Peggy had lost her service.
This time a groan rose from the spectators. The score now stood eight–seven, and it was Doggy’s service, which he was almost certain to win. It was the end at last.
‘Are you all right?’ inquired Finlay of his partner with sudden anxiety. But she did not answer.
Deep silence as Doggy served. Finlay, feeling the position hopeless, returned out. Fifteen love.
Doggy served to Peggy, who, setting her teeth and hitting fiercely, scored a winner right in the far corner of the court. Fifteen all.
Doggy served to Finlay, who returned badly into the net. Thirty–fifteen.
Doggy served to Peggy, who again made a brilliant winner right down the side line, and once more evened the points, earning a loud and prolonged cheer from the crowd.
Plainly unsettled, Doggy served to Finlay, who, encouraged by his partner’s daring, returned hard to Doggy, who, making a weak, backhand shot to Peggy, allowed her to run in to volley the ball away safely and win the point.
The score was now thirty–forty.
With an expression of anxiety on his face for the first time, Doggy served to Peggy. It was a fault. He served again. It was right and Peggy, playing with the utmost determination, steered the ball short over the net, and Miss Brown was unable to return it.
An almost hysterical burst of applause from the crowd. Thanks to Peggy’s brilliant play the scores had been levelled and now stood at eight games all.
The excitement wa
s intense as Finlay served and won his service. Nine–eight in favour of Finlay and Miss Angus.
Miss Brown now served. She served to Finlay, who returned the ball and made the point. Love–fifteen. She served to Peggy, who made a brilliant winner, and won the point.
Miss Brown, looking very worried, served to Finlay, and in the rally Peggy again made the point. The score was love–forty. It was set and match point.
A deadly stillness settled upon the court as Miss Brown served to Peggy. The first service was a fault. The second was right, and Peggy met the ball firmly, and, with tremendous force, sent it right to the base line between Doggy and Miss Brown.
It was a marvellous shot, and it won the game, set and match.
Cheer after cheer rang out. It had been a thrilling match, a magnificent recovery and a marvellous finish.
The din was tremendous as Doggy and Miss Brown ran round to congratulate the winners. But all at once the general jubilation changed to a gasp of consternation. As Finlay turned exultantly to take her hand, quite quietly Peggy crumpled up and collapsed upon the court. Finlay rushed forward.
‘Good Lord!’ cried Doggy. ‘She’s fainted.’
‘Drink some water,’ said Finlay, bending down and supporting Peggy’s head.
They brought a glass of water, and he held it to her lips. In a few seconds she opened her eyes.
‘I’m all right,’ she said faintly; then, as though realising that he held her, she added, ‘Please let me get up.’
‘The excitement was too much for you,’ he muttered. ‘You shouldn’t have played if you didn’t feel up to it.’
She gave him a pale, cold glance, then in a voice only audible to him she said—
‘A nice opinion you’d have had of me if I hadn’t played! Even better than you have already!’
Then she insisted on getting to her feet, and assisted by Miss Brown and some others she went into the pavillion.
Finlay stood for a moment, alone, cut to the quick by her bitter words. Then he changed quickly and left the ground. He ought to have been delighted that he had won, thrilled with the joy of victory. But instead he burned with a queer shame. He tried, to no purpose, to banish the whole thing from his mind. The memory of her white, drawn face haunted him.
