Chapter 2
Two
The air on Court Three of the Riverside Tennis Club smelled like melting tarmac and suncream. Cassie Thorne adjusted her cap, pulling the brim down to shield her eyes, and watched Nigel prepare to serve once again.
Nigel’s salmon shorts and polo shirt were soaked with sweat, the damp patches forming a butterfly-shaped blotch across his back. He was only five minutes in and already gasping from the sheer effort of bending to pick up a stray ball.
He tossed the ball up with the enthusiasm of someone throwing confetti at a wedding and swung. The racket whiffed entirely, and the ball thudded weakly to the ground. Nigel stumbled forward, then grinned sheepishly.
‘Getting closer!’ he puffed, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon.
Cassie bit back the truth—that he was actually regressing—but gave a gentle lob of a ball in his direction.
‘Again,’ she said.
He nodded solemnly, shuffling into position with no form whatsoever, despite Cassie’s efforts. He missed again and dashed after the ball like an overexcited spaniel, slipping slightly but recovering with a triumphant smile.
Cassie sighed and wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. Her elbow throbbed, a dull, persistent ache she’d learned to live with.
Nigel returned, out of breath but still beaming, and she forced a polite smile. She just wanted this to be over so she could rub diclofenac into her elbow.
When Nigel’s hour was finally up, Cassie slung her bag over her shoulder. ‘Good effort, Nigel,’ she said, heading to the clubhouse, not looking at him.
‘Thanks!’ he responded enthusiastically, eager to think he’d been complimented.
The clubhouse was all polished wood, chandeliers, and velvet armchairs—the kind of place designed more to impress than a serious place to play tennis.
The courts outside were secondary. Nice to look at, sure, but most members preferred gossiping on the terrace with a cocktail in hand.
The club existed for its pedigree, the social currency that came with membership, not really for anyone’s backhand.
She headed to the showers, dumped her bag, and got to work on her elbow. When the meds kicked in and the burning sensation had begun to fade, she took a quick, too-hot shower.
When she got out, someone was waiting for her. Anthea, the club manager.
Cassie hated dealing with Anthea. She always seemed so bloody scared of Cassie. Cassie didn’t really like dealing with people like that. Then again, dealing with people in general wasn’t her idea of a good time.
‘Hi, Cassie. How’s the coaching going?’ Anthea asked.
Cassie thought ‘coaching’ was rather a grand word for it, but she said, ‘Fine,’ as she changed while Anthea turned away nervously. But Cassie wasn’t standing in a towel while Anthea worked her nerve up to say whatever the hell it was that she’d come to say.
‘Cassie,’ came Anthea’s bright, breathless voice. ‘I’ve got a favour to ask. A gig. Potentially.’
‘Right,’ Cassie encouraged.
‘Oh good… so a board member got in touch. Needs a favour. A friend of theirs represents an actress who’s landed a role as a tennis player, Tamsin Rowe? You know her, right?’
It took all the will Cassie had not to reply with incredible sarcasm to that very stupid question about tennis legend Tamsin Rowe. ‘Yes. I know Tamsin Rowe,’ she said evenly.
‘Good. Well, this actress, Delilah Day is her name; she needs to be ready for rehearsal in six weeks. Daily practice at double your current rate. Can you fit her in?’
Cassie processed. The money would be helpful.
The aggravation, less so. An actress? It sounded worse than the many Nigels she already trained.
People with absolutely no desire to be any good at tennis, only choosing tennis as something a little more elite than the gym to stop themselves from having a heart attack from their high-stress, well-paid jobs.
But an actress didn’t even want that. She merely wanted to look good whilst pretending to play tennis, right? Dreadful.
Cassie glanced down at her racket bag as she finished getting dressed. It still carried the crumpled tag from her last Grand Slam. She should get rid of that. She would… soon. Any day now.
She rubbed her temples. ‘No,’ she told Anthea simply.
Anthea looked frightened. ‘I could probably squeeze them for triple your fee. They’re pretty desperate.’
‘Just what I love to hear.’
‘I mean, they needed someone good, and most coaches are rather busy with… Anyway, it’s an hour a day for a few weeks. What’s the harm? Plus, the board member might not like it if… you know…’ she trailed off, not quite able to bring herself to finish her threat.
‘Fine. Let me think about it,’ Cassie told Anthea.
‘I will need an answer quite soon,’ Anthea said, backing out of the room with an arse-licking grin.
But Cassie already knew what the answer was. She needed this place, and the clients it brought her.
Still, she didn’t like being threatened. She toyed with the idea of telling Anthea to shove the actress into a dark orifice.
Cassie finished packing up her stuff and opened her calendar app. Four more lessons this week. Maybe a fifth if Trish managed to get herself a new nanny after the last one fled. She certainly had the space.
Then she checked her banking app and looked at the number in her current account. It wasn’t the kind of number that allowed you to say no to shitty opportunities with facile actresses.
She texted Anthea an incredibly reluctant Fine.