The Tennis Party

  ‘I see the way you’ve worked it out,’ said Don. ‘I suppose that is a valid method, although it’s not one I’ve seen before.’

  ‘Oh good,’ said Patrick.

  ‘And I suppose, with Val injured like that,’ continued Don, ‘we weren’t likely to win all our matches.’

  ‘No,’ chimed in Caroline in a loud, sarcastic voice. ‘And you certainly wouldn’t have wanted to put her through a final. Not with an injury.’ Don flushed slightly.

  ‘What I was wondering,’ he said dolefully, ‘was whether you wanted an umpire for the final. Since I won’t be playing, I thought I’d volunteer.’ He shifted morosely from one foot to the other.

  ‘Yes, well,’ said Patrick. He looked around at the others for help. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ said Annie. That’ll make it really special.’

  ‘And since we do have an umpire’s chair . . .’ drawled Caroline.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Don. ‘It’d be a shame not to use it.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right,’ said Patrick, feeling an increasing enthusiasm for the idea.

  The authentic Wimbledon-green umpire’s chair that towered at the side of the tennis court had been an expensive purchase from a specialist sporting catalogue but was rarely put to use by anyone other than Georgina.

  ‘We could get along the kids to ballboy,’ said Caroline. ‘Georgina, you were volunteering yourself the other night. How about it?’

  ‘Actually,’ said Georgina, ‘it’s nearly time for us to do our play.’ She sprang to her feet, and called to the others. ‘Get everyone sitting in a row,’ she commanded Caroline.

  ‘What about the ballboying?’ said Caroline.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Georgina. ‘Play first. We’ll be down when we’ve put our costumes on.’

  ‘All right,’ said Caroline. ‘There’s no hurry!’ she called after her. ‘Why do kids always want to put on plays for their parents?’ she addressed Annie. ‘I was just the same.’

  ‘So was I,’ agreed Annie. ‘I used to love charades. And we had a wonderful dressing-up box.’

  Patrick seized his chance. Sauntering casually down to where Cressida was sitting, he smiled gently at her and said, ‘The children are about to put on a play for us. Are you interested?’

  ‘Our children?’ Cressida seemed confused; her eyes darted about.

  ‘They’re inside, getting their costumes together,’ explained Patrick. ‘Georgina’s been organizing them.’

  ‘Oh, I see, yes, of course.’

  ‘They’ll be a while yet,’ said Patrick, and sank easily onto his heels. ‘Lovely day, it turned out,’ he said, looking up at the sky.

  ‘Yes, lovely,’ murmured Cressida.

  ‘I tend to lose my appetite in this kind of heat,’ said Patrick. ‘I don’t know if you’re the same.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Cressida vaguely.

  ‘And it makes it worse when you’re the one in charge of the cooking!’ He laughed pleasantly and eyed Cressida surreptitiously to see whether she was relaxing. He wasn’t quite sure what all this was leading to; but somehow he felt an obscure need to show her that not all men were like Charles; that there were a few she could trust, perhaps even confide in.

  Cressida stared fixedly at her fingernails and felt a pink tinge creep over her face. It had just occurred to her that Patrick’s job was something in finance. Perhaps he would know whether the letter was a mistake or not. Perhaps she should ask him. It would be such a relief if he could reassure her. She opened her mouth to speak – and then shut it again. If she mentioned the letter, he might well ask to see it. Did she want him, a relative stranger, looking at her correspondence? Did she want him to know how much the demand was for? Could she perhaps bring up the subject in a more oblique way?

  She glanced over her shoulder. Charles had got up, and was stalking off towards the terrace. No-one was near.

  ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘there was something I wanted to ask you.’ She blushed, and looked down at her skirt.

  Patrick’s heart surged with a mixture of pride and terror. Cressida had chosen him to confide in. He had been right. She needed someone she could trust. But what was he to say if she asked him about Ella? He quickly prepared a few anodyne phrases in his mind. Of course, it wasn’t right for Charles to have gone off with Ella like that – but on the other hand, had anything really happened? And although he would have relished Charles’ embarrassment at any indiscretions, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything that would hurt Cressida.

  ‘It’s about a letter,’ said Cressida. Patrick’s heart sank. Had Charles and Ella been writing to each other all this time? Had the affair never ended? He inwardly cursed Georgina again for having told Ella it was all right for her to come and stay with them. As far as he was concerned, it was never OK for that Jezebel to stay with them.

  ‘A letter?’ he said, in light tones, ready to downplay its significance. ‘I’ve never been one for much letter-writing myself.’

  ‘But business letters,’ said Cressida quietly. ‘You do write business letters.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ said Patrick, surprised. Was she not talking about a letter from Ella, then? ‘At least,’ he added, ‘my secretary does. If anything goes wrong, I blame her.’ He gave a quick laugh. Part of him regretted having invited Cressida’s confidences. Although, to be fair, he hadn’t really invited them. But he had certainly welcomed them. And now he had a nasty feeling he didn’t want to hear her troubles after all. What if she was involved in some sort of scandal?

  ‘I received a letter yesterday’, said Cressida, ‘which I think might be a mistake. In fact, I’m sure it is a mistake. But I’d just like to be sure.’ She brought her head up, and stared at him with large blue eyes. Then her expression changed, and her attention shifted to over his shoulder. Patrick turned round, and saw Stephen striding towards them.

  ‘Hello, you two,’ he said, in a determinedly cheerful voice. ‘Patrick, might I have a quick word? You don’t mind, do you, Cressida?’ Cressida’s face had closed up.

  ‘Oh, no, not at all,’ she said politely. Stephen grinned.

  ‘I think the youngsters are about to entertain us,’ he said. ‘But I wanted to catch you before they begin.’ He stopped, clearly waiting for Patrick to rise to his feet. Patrick didn’t know whether to feel annoyance or relief.

  ‘All right,’ he said eventually, struggling up and brushing down his trousers. ‘I’ll talk to you later perhaps,’ he said to Cressida, then wondered whether that sounded compromising. But Stephen wasn’t the sort to wonder why he and Cressida had been chatting alone.

  They walked off together in silence, and Stephen’s face grew more and more scarlet. He could barely bring himself to say what he was planning. The whole subject covered him with embarrassment and shame; he would almost rather have just swallowed the mortgage commitment, managed somehow, and said nothing. But a growing conviction that he needed to sort this all out as soon as possible, compelled him at last to speak.

  ‘It’s about that deal,’ he said awkwardly. ‘I’ve been having second thoughts.’ He looked away, in acute embarrassment. Patrick’s step barely faltered. He was used to this kind of thing.

  ‘People do,’ he said in a jovial tone. ‘When did you ever make a big decision and not have doubts somewhere along the line? It’s only natural. But I can assure you, you’ve really done yourself a favour.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Stephen. ‘But, actually, I don’t think I really want to take out a huge mortgage. Not while I’m still doing my doctorate.’

  ‘Hardly huge,’ said Patrick. ‘It’s well within your means.’

  ‘I know,’ said Stephen. ‘I’m sure you’re right. But you know . . .’ He forced himself to look at Patrick. ‘I just don’t feel comfortable with it. I’m not like you and Charles,’ he added. ‘I’m not used to dealing in big sums of money, and I’m not used to borrowing. I just wouldn’t be able to sleep at night. So,’ he paused, ‘I’ve decided I’d like to pull out
.’

  ‘You really have got it bad,’ said Patrick, giving an easy chuckle. ‘You’ll be laughing at yourself tomorrow, when you remember this conversation. But don’t worry,’ his eyes twinkled, ‘I won’t hold you to it!’

  ‘No, really.’ Stephen’s voice was firm. ‘I want to cancel the deal.’

  ‘Well, that might be a bit difficult,’ said Patrick in a thoughtful voice. ‘The problem is, you see, the penalty charges for early surrender. You might come out with quite a bit less than you put in.’

  ‘But I only put it in yesterday!’ Stephen’s voice rose in outrage.

  ‘I know, silly, isn’t it? These funds are all structured the same. They reward people who stay the course and penalize those who leave early.’

  ‘And what counts as early?’

  ‘For you, anything before ten years. But don’t worry. I’m sure it won’t come to that. If you like, I’ll go through your accounts with you and work out how you can be sure of meeting the mortgage commitment each month.’

  ‘Patrick, you don’t understand. I want to cancel the deal.’

  ‘I know you do.’ Patrick’s voice was sympathetic. ‘But if you cancel the deal, you’ll definitely lose out. You’ll have to pay your charges straight away. They could be a good few thousand pounds. I really wouldn’t advise it’

  ‘Oh.’ Stephen looked crestfallen. There was a short silence.

  ‘Actually,’ Patrick said, in a thoughtful voice, ‘there is an answer.’ Stephen looked up. ‘You could switch into our guaranteed investment fund.’

  ‘Guaranteed?’ Stephen looked up. Guaranteed. It had a comforting ring about it.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Patrick. ‘Utterly safe. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this for you before. It’s designed precisely for someone like you, who isn’t keen on risk.’

  ‘That’s me,’ said Stephen, making a half-hearted attempt to joke.

  ‘I understand completely. You’re not one of the big-shot investors of our time, are you?’ said Patrick in a sympathetic voice.

  ‘Not really,’ said Stephen. ‘That’s just it. I’m not happy with debt. Never have been.’

  ‘Well then, that’s the answer,’ said Patrick, in a pleased voice. ‘What a relief. You leave it all with me. I’ll put your investment in our one hundred per cent guaranteed fund, and you sleep easy at night.’ He grinned at Stephen. ‘That way, you can’t fail to cover the mortgage payments.’

  Stephen felt uplifted, despite his reservations, by Patrick’s enthusiasm.

  ‘And you think that would be a better option?’ he said cautiously.

  ‘Christ, yes. I should have thought of it before. You get the best of both worlds with this fund. Investment and security. I’ll go through it all with you on Monday, shall I?’ Stephen gazed at him.

  ‘All right,’ he said eventually. There didn’t seem to be any choice in the matter. He would just have to trust Patrick and hope for the best.

  They walked along in silence for a few moments.

  ‘Out of interest,’ Patrick said casually, ‘why the sudden panic?’ Stephen flushed.

  ‘Nothing really,’ he said. ‘I’m just a bit uneasy with such a big debt.’

  ‘But it’s not debt if you’re making more than enough to cover it,’ said Patrick, grinning at Stephen.

  ‘I know that,’ said Stephen. ‘But I started thinking, I should have taken the papers away to think about yesterday, shouldn’t I?’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Patrick easily. ‘There’s no point delaying something if it’s to your advantage.’

  ‘But most people would think about it overnight,’ persisted Stephen. ‘At least, that’s what . . .’ He broke off.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Stephen. Patrick stiffened slightly.

  ‘Has someone been talking to you?’ he said casually. ‘Giving you advice? I’m just interested to know,’ he added, smiling at Stephen. Stephen looked uncomfortable.

  ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘I mean . . .’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Patrick. ‘I know what it’s like. People ask you not to let on what they’ve been saying.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ said Stephen. He looked away.

  Patrick stared at Stephen, filled with a mounting, angry certainty. Charles. It had to be Charles fucking Mobyn. Patrick was almost sure of it. It would be just like that supercilious bastard to find out what Stephen had been talking about to him, and advise him to pull out. What the fuck did Charles know about it? A memory of Charles’ smooth voice ran through his mind. I think it’s a bit much trying to do business with one of your guests. This is supposed to be a party, isn’t it? Keep your charts for the office. Bloody bastard. Thought he was doing Stephen a favour, no doubt. Thought he was getting him out of a fix. Well, he should fucking well mind his own business. Spend more time looking after his wife and less poking his nose where it wasn’t wanted.

  ‘You liddle pigs are too old to leev at home,’ said Martina, waving her arms vaguely in the air. ‘You must go to seek your fordunes. But beware of ze volf!’

  Toby and the Mobyn twins, each clad in a pink T-shirt, stared at her, apparently amazed.

  ‘Off!’ hissed Georgina, from the side of the lawn. ‘Go on, Toby!’ Suddenly remembering what he had to do, Toby grasped a twin by each hand and led them off the lawn.

  ‘Shall we clap?’ whispered Annie.

  ‘Yes, I think we should,’ said Caroline, and began hearty applause.

  ‘It’s not over yet!’ Georgina’s blue eyes regarded them with disapproval.

  ‘Oh, we know,’ said Annie. ‘We’re just applauding the scene.’

  The adults were sitting in a row of seats facing the lawn, each holding a drink. Annie and Stephen were in the middle of the row, but Stephen was not attending. The sense of enthusiasm which Patrick had transmitted to him during their conversation was quickly ebbing away and his situation was becoming starkly apparent to him. He was still committed to a huge mortgage. That much seemed plain enough. He couldn’t afford the few thousand pounds, or whatever it was Patrick had said he would have to pay in order to pull out. But was this guaranteed fund really the answer? What was meant by guaranteed? Stephen felt confused. Patrick hadn’t actually said anything about it. Everything was going too fast.

  One of the twins appeared on the lawn. He stared vaguely at the audience and began to suck his thumb. He looks so sweet, thought Annie, and she turned to grin at Charles. But Charles was sitting, chin cupped in his hand, staring morosely at the ground.

  ‘Hello, little pig!’ Annie looked up in surprise. It was Nicola, dressed in what appeared to be a suit and tie, and with a moustache painted on her face. She grinned tremulously at Annie, then addressed the twin. ‘Can I interest you in some extremely fine straw for your house? It’s the finest straw around; you won’t find better, mark my words.’ She fumbled with her bad hand at the catches of the attaché case she was carrying; the audience was silent. Finally the lid swung open, to reveal a caseful of straw. ‘Look at that, sir,’ continued Nicola. ‘Finest quality house-building straw. Yours for only five gold pieces.’ A snuffling sound came from the end of the row. Caroline was shaking with laughter.

  ‘She’s brilliant!’ she exclaimed in a muffled voice.

  ‘So is that a deal then, sir?’ said Nicola. ‘I assure you, straw is the best thing you can build your house out of these days. Bricks are old-fashioned. Straw’s what you want.’ She bowed to the twin, handed him the case and walked off the lawn. The adults burst into applause and Caroline burst into snorts of laughter.

  ‘She’s wonderful! She’s just like you, Patrick!’ Patrick’s head jerked up in shock. Along the row, faces turned towards him, giggles were stifled; even Charles raised his head and gave a grin.

  Patrick turned white with anger. Was that how everyone saw him? As a cheapskate salesman? He wasn’t surprised at Caroline – it was the sort of comment he might expect her to make. But for her to say it in front of all of them – some
of them clients – filled him with a hot, embarrassed fury. Especially Charles. Charles, who had told Stephen he should try to get out of the deal. Charles, who thought he was so fucking superior. Patrick could hardly bear to look at his smooth, tanned face. Stephen, after all, didn’t know any better. But Charles did; and Charles knew Patrick had been desperate for the business.

  And now they were all sitting there laughing at him. With the utmost control, he forced himself not to get up and walk out. He gave a stiff grin and took a swig of Pimm’s. The other twin appeared on the lawn, and once more Nicola came on with an attaché case.

  ‘Are you building a house, sir?’ Her tone was confident now; she was clearly enjoying the humour of the part. ‘Might I interest you in some lovely twigs? They really are the finest twigs for house building. Completely wolf-proof. Guaranteed against wolves of all shapes and sizes. You won’t have any complaints, sir.’ She handed the attaché case to the twin; once again the audience collapsed in laughter.

  ‘She’s priceless,’ said Ella, wiping her eyes.

  ‘It’s amazing, isn’t it?’ said Annie. ‘I had no idea she could be so funny.’

  Toby wandered onto the lawn.

  ‘I want bricks,’ he announced loudly.

  ‘Not yet!’ hissed Georgina. Nicola hurriedly made her entrance. ‘Hello, little pig,’ she said. ‘Can I interest you in some twigs or straw?’ There was a pause.

  ‘Now!’ hissed Georgina from the side. Toby’s brow cleared.

  ‘I want bricks,’ he said.

  ‘Not straw?’ said Nicola hopefully. ‘Or twigs?’

  ‘I want bricks,’ said Toby.

  ‘What about some nice cardboard?’ suggested Nicola.

  ‘I want bricks,’ said Toby. Nicola sighed.

  ‘You’re making a big mistake,’ she said. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Here you are.’ She handed Toby a brick, and led him firmly off stage.