Chapter Eighteen #2
‘Shall we?’ he said, flicking his head in the direction of our room.
I nodded. We were here now, weren’t we, with the room all paid up. It seemed a shame not to use it.
The room wasn’t as big as I’d anticipated. It seemed ￡1,200 per night didn’t get you much more space than a double room in a Travelodge, but it did get you a beautiful colour scheme, high thread-count sheets and a marble bathroom to die for.
‘Hmmm,’ I said, putting down my suitcase and looking around nervously.
It was all bed, bed, bed and not much else, which quite frankly was the very last thing I wanted to see right now with Marcus shimmering next to me in his suit.
‘You seem worried,’ said Marcus.
‘Maybe there’s a sofa hiding somewhere?’ I mumbled.
‘Don’t think so,’ said Marcus. ‘I can sleep on the floor if you like?’
I hesitated. For some reason I didn’t want that and I wasn’t about to dig deep as to why.
‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘I think the bed is probably big enough for both of us, don’t you?’
‘As long as you’re sure,’ he said, throwing his bag on to a chair.
Was he not at all concerned about this? Then again, I wasn’t his type, was I, judging by the absolutely stunning women he’d been photographed with before. Sharing a bed with me probably wouldn’t faze him in the slightest – he probably wouldn’t be tempted to do anything at all except sleep.
‘Maybe if I scoot right over to this side. And you kind of push over there,’ I suggested.
‘You don’t want me actually falling out of the bed, I presume?’ he said.
Not able to think of a suitable response, I wheeled my suitcase into the corner.
‘Just nipping to the bathroom. And then shall we head down to the dinner?’ I said, not trusting myself to stay in that room with him a moment longer than I had to.
‘Let’s do that,’ he said, sitting on the bed and watching me with a grin.
I went into the bathroom and shut the door behind me, leaning my back against it and closing my eyes.
It would be fine. Fine. I was sharing a room with one of the most attractive men I’d ever met who also just happened to be my pretend boyfriend and there was nothing strange about that, nothing at all.
It wasn’t like I was going to throw myself at him overnight, was it?
Unless I drank too much free alcohol, which I immediately made a mental note not to do.
I touched up my make-up and tidied my hair, which I’d left flowing around my shoulders but had then decided to put up in a ponytail.
I seemed to be perpetually flushed this afternoon and it was making my hair frizzy, particularly at the nape of my neck, where it had already turned into a tangled mess.
I combed it out, clipping it up and out of the way, spraying about half a bottle of hairspray over the whole thing to smooth it out and then barely being able to breathe because of the lack of ventilation in the bathroom.
I threw open the door, half falling out of it while gasping for air.
Marcus looked at me, bemused. ‘Everything okay in there?’
‘Hairspray,’ I wheezed, taking a lungful of less toxic air.
And then we both laughed and it felt okay again. Sort of. If I didn’t put too much emphasis on that extremely luxurious-looking bed that later that night we would have to share.
The gala dinner at Claridge’s was everything I’d imagined it to be – it was taking place in the hotel’s stunning ballroom, which had a geometric black-and-white carpet, an art deco design throughout and beautiful chandeliers that made you so happy you wanted to swing from them.
We’d only had starters so far, but I thought the smoked haddock soufflé they’d served us might have been the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted in my life.
Marcus and I were seated together, of course, and although he knew everyone at our table – a mixture of players, one tournament director, and a couple of commentators everyone except me seemed to recognise – the only person I knew was Patrick, on the other side of me.
Everyone was lovely, but I was also quietly enjoying listening in on their conversations and joining in when I could without any real pressure to do anything; surprisingly, with Marcus by my side, I felt completely at ease.
‘How’s your article coming along, Ava?’ asked Patrick.
‘Good, actually,’ I said, glancing at Marcus, somehow wanting his approval. ‘I feel like I’m finally getting to know what makes him tick out on the court – now I just need to find a way to articulate everything I’ve learned about him to my readers.’
Marcus slid his arm casually along the back of my chair so that I was sort of nestled under it. It felt comforting and warm, like a place I might never want to leave, which was dangerous, because pretty soon he’d never be putting his arm around me again. I’d better start getting used to the idea.
‘Are you excited for the grass court season, Marcus?’ asked Patrick.
‘I’m not sure I’d use the word “excited”. “Pressured” feels like a better choice.’
‘Marcus, this is not a now or never. One step at a time. You are thirty-one, not thirty-seven. There will be other chances,’ said Patrick.
Marcus didn’t look convinced.
‘How are you feeling about round one?’ I asked him. ‘Who have you got?’
‘Pedro García,’ said Marcus.
I looked at him blankly. Although my tennis knowledge was much improved of late, Marcus regularly drew players I’d never even heard of, and Pedro was one of them.
‘Spanish, twenty-nine, hit the top ten a couple of years ago but hovers around the low twenties now. But he does love grass. And he’s been working hard on his fitness,’ said Marcus.
‘And so have you,’ said Patrick. ‘You did well in training today, Marcus. I have a very good feeling about this tournament.’
‘Don’t jinx it,’ Marcus quipped.
‘Marcus has always been driven,’ said Patrick, ‘but he has been working harder than ever before this season. We have got him changing a few things up, right, Marcus? Shots that weren’t working before but that his old coach did not think it was necessary to adjust.’
‘Is that why you split with him?’ I asked Marcus. ‘Did it feel like you weren’t making the progress you needed to?’
He’d been working with an American guy before, who was now a co-coach for Mia Stephens.
‘Partly,’ said Marcus. ‘Is this going in your article?’
‘I think it’s worth mentioning why you’re working with Patrick and why now, at this point in your career?’
And then the waiter came to bring more wine, and I listened as Marcus and Patrick discussed rumours that were flying around involving somebody having an injury they hadn’t fully recovered from and somebody else falling out with his coach.
It took me a second to work out what was going on when the waiter returned to our table and very casually let me know that there was someone in the hotel who wanted to see me.
‘Me?’ I said, thinking he must be mistaken.
‘Got a secret admirer?’ teased Marcus.
‘They are seated at the bar, madam,’ said the waiter. ‘They asked me to let you know that it is your mother and your sister.’
My heart sank, or at least it certainly felt like it had. Surely they couldn’t be here? They’d be at home in Reading. There must be some kind of mix-up.
‘What, they’re here, at the hotel?’ said Marcus.
I cleared my throat, achingly embarrassed. What were they doing?? I should never have told them where I was going, but then I’d never expected them to do something like this, so why would I have kept it from them?
‘Seems like it,’ I said, cringing.
Patrick looked surprised. ‘They are also here for the gala dinner?’
‘No, they are not,’ I said, snatching my napkin off my lap and throwing it on to the table.
Marcus stood up to let me out. He touched my arm lightly. ‘Want me to come with you?’
I shook my head. That was the very last thing I wanted. ‘Back in a sec,’ I said.
Trying not to panic, I hotfooted it to the bar (a delight under normal circumstances, I was sure), where, to my horror – each sitting on a bar chair, dressed up to the nines – were Mum and Cassie.
When they saw me standing there, probably with my mouth hanging open in disbelief, they smiled and waved, as though there was nothing at all strange about them rocking up at a restaurant in Mayfair – an area of London I was pretty sure neither of them had ever frequented – and to the very hotel I’d told Mum I was coming to!
Taking a calming breath, I tried to reduce my annoyance as I approached them, or at least internalise it – Cassie didn’t deal well with thinking she’d upset people and took it very personally.
But seriously, what were they thinking? They were clearly only here to nose at Marcus, and if I’d wanted them to meet him, I would have taken him to Reading, wouldn’t I?
Imagine if I’d done the same thing to Cassie.
When I reached them, Mum got in early with a ridiculous explanation.
‘Now, don’t be upset, Ava. We happened to be in the area and I looked up Claridge’s and thought it would be nice to have one drink on the way back to the station so we could say hello.’
‘Happened to be in the area? You live in Reading!’ I hissed.
‘Impromptu shopping trip,’ said Cassie unconvincingly.
‘If you were in London, why didn’t you mention it before so that we could have met up?’ I quite reasonably questioned. It made no sense whatsoever that they would come here for the day and not let me know.
‘Last-minute decision,’ said Mum. ‘And I knew you were busy over at the tennis place.’
‘I haven’t even been to Queen’s today, I’ve been working from home. You could have given me the option to come and see you, at least!’
‘Oh yes, I suppose we could. Sorry,’ she said, looking a little bit sheepish.
‘Anyway, never mind logistics, where’s Marcus Taylor?’ said Cassie, looking over my shoulder.
‘We’re at a gala dinner,’ I said. ‘He can’t just leave the table, and neither should I. His team are here and everything. I really don’t think it’s appropriate for you two—’