Free Devil May Care by Sebastian Faulks Page B

net and hammered it with his racquet.
    ‘Steady on. You’ll have the secretary out here,’ said Bond. ‘Five–four. My serve, I think.’
    Bond drank a full glass of Evian at the change.
    
    The match was almost over and he wasn’t bothered about having too much fluid in his stomach. While he waited for Gorner to complete his changeover rituals, Bond bounced the ball and planned his service game. Three-quarter speed down the middle to the deuce court, out wide to the backhand on the advantage court. Then, if 30–love up, hit the variants: slice wide to the forehand, then straight down the middle in the advantage court. Gorner finished towelling himself and went slowly back to receive. As Bond prepared to serve, Gorner advanced almost to the service line, then doubled back. He managed a decent backhand return, but Bond put the volley away a safe two feet inside the sideline.
    Gorner advanced to the net. ‘I wonder if you’d like to raise our bet, Mr Bond. I was thinking of a double.’
    Bond didn’t have the money and he didn’t have the authority of the Service to presume on theirs. But he felt that in the last two games the odds had turned inexplicably in his favour.
    ‘If you insist,’ he said. ‘Fifteen–love.’
    He netted his first serve, but hit a deep second with topspin. Gorner’s return was short and Bond was able to pressure him into a backhand mistake.
    
    Following his plan, he swung the next serve out wide and stunned Gorner’s return with a drop volley, giving himself three match points.
    Now for the middle line, he thought. He threw the ball a little lower than usual, and slightly further in front of him, then hit with all his power, flat down the centre. It bounced in the corner of the service box and curved away from Gorner’s flailing racquet to hit the back netting half-way up. It lodged there, whitish grey, smudged with red.
    Bond went to the net and held out his hand. Gorner came to meet him and, for the first time since they had met, looked him in the eye.
    The relief and elation of victory evaporated as Bond felt the intense and violent hatred of the eyes that bored into him.
    ‘I look forward to a rematch,’ said Gorner. ‘In the very near future. I do not think you will be so fortunate a second time.’
    He went to gather his belongings without another word.
    6. Quite a Girl
    When he emerged from the shower, Bond found no trace of Gorner in the changing room, though on top of his racquet was a white envelope, stiff with banknotes. On it was written: ‘ A
    ` bientoˆt .’
    Bond tracked down Scarlett to one of the upstairs bars, where she sat on a stool in the window, innocently sipping a drink.
    ‘Did you enjoy your game, James?’
    ‘Good exercise. I think I lost a few pounds. Not as many as Gorner.’
    ‘But you did win?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And are you going to take me out to lunch to celebrate?’
    Bond pushed back his hair, which was still damp
    
    from the shower, and smiled at the girl’s earnest expression. ‘Let’s have a drink first,’ he said. Bond joined Scarlett in the window, bringing a fresh citron presse´ for her, a litre of Vittel and a bottled beer for himself.
    Scarlett crossed her legs and turned to Bond. ‘It all seemed to come right for you just at the end.’
    ‘You were watching?’
    ‘From a safe distance. I didn’t want Gorner or Chagrin to see me.’
    Bond nodded.
    ‘ The thing is,’ said Scarlett, with an enigmatic smile, ‘that you seemed to have no luck at all until the last three games.’
    ‘ That can happen in any sport,’ said Bond. ‘Golf, tennis . . .’
    ‘Well, it seemed more than a coincidence to me,’
    said Scarlett, ‘so I did some investigation.’
    ‘You did what?’
    ‘Every time you hit the ball into the netcord, it seemed to rebound out of play. Gorner’s shots never seemed to touch the net. I became suspicious.’
    Bond leaned forward, intrigued despite himself.
    ‘And?’
    ‘I noticed