by Soliman, W.
Everyone in this bloody place seemed to have a secret. Either that or they were running away from something. A cornucopia of intrigue and malcontent hid beneath a thin veneer of sociability and a much heavier layer of rarefied snobbery.
Despite the fact that Jack gave Angela no encouragement, she seemed determined to get her claws into him. Romance definitely wasn’t on his agenda. She was reputed to be an excellent masseuse, and a good rub-down in the salon where she worked in Newport was just what he could do with right now. But it would be cruel to excite expectations in her he wasn’t about to fulfill. If it was only an occasional fuck she wanted, he’d be happy to oblige.
Unfortunately it wouldn’t end there. Jack knew her type. She’d want more of him than he was willing to give. She’d want A Relationship. Jack shuddered at the very thought of the R-word. He’d tried that once and wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.
“I’ve got a few other things to do later, so I might not make it,” he said, attempting to let her down gently.
“Come at the end of the afternoon, then. I won’t charge you for the massage, and you can take me out to dinner afterward in return.”
Which would finish up costing him a damned sight more than the price of a rub-down. “That won’t work, love. I’ve got something else on tonight.”
“Oh, but I thought we could—”
“Ed tells me that was a draw.” For once Jack was grateful for Trina’s interruption. “Well done, Ed and Stella! Now then, that’s Jack and Angela finished. Joe and Claire are through as well, but everyone else has one more set to play. We’re obviously behind today, what with one court being out of action.” She glared at the workmen, who were doing repairs to the court in question, as though she held them personally responsible for the inconvenience. “Jack and Angela are in the lead, but not unreachable this time. If Ed and Stella manage to win their next one, then that could put them in a play-off situation.”
“God help us!” Jack muttered, heading for the bar, sorely in need of sustenance.
Angela and Claire disappeared in the direction of the changing rooms, while Jack and Joe found a table in the shade next to the swimming pool.
“It’s too bloody hot!” Jack said, attracting the attention of a waitress and ordering a large beer.
“Water for me,” Joe said. “I’ve got a full afternoon.”
“More hearts to bleed dry?” Jack asked with a grin, referring to his close friend’s thriving cardiology practice.
“Have to keep them beating, by fair means or foul.”
“Talking of foul means, did you see Ed almost beat us in that last one? His line calls are a work of bloody fantasy fiction.”
Joe chuckled. “The whole club knows by now, I should think. But watch him, Jack. He’s not as daft as he looks, and I reckon he’s got it in for you.”
“Yeah, he can’t be too thick, I suppose, or he wouldn’t have snared the lovely Stella. She’s the best bit of totty at this club, apart from your Claire, of course.”
“Too right. Never have been able to work out what my lovely wife sees in me.”
“What, it’s got nothing to do with your telephone number salary, then, or the fact that you indulge her every whim?” Joe shrugged complacently. “Or maybe it’s that air of calm competence of yours that she’s got confused with sophistication? No?” Jack regarded his friend with an air of elaborate circumspection, slowly shaking his head. “What the hell can it be, then? Hang on, I think I’ve got it.” He smacked his palm against his bare thigh as though he’d just figured out the meaning of the universe. “It must be because you’re twenty years older than her and sure to drop off the perch any time now. I mean, everyone knows doctors are the last people to follow their own advice, which would leave her a rich widow while she’s still in her prime.”
“I’m not in my dotage yet, mate. Besides, people in glass houses and all that. Just because half the female population of Cowes seems desperate to experience a dose of the legendary Regent charm, it doesn’t alter the fact that you’re pushing forty-five.” Joe grinned as the waitress placed their drinks and a bowl of nuts on the table in front of them.
“Thanks, sweetheart.” The smile Jack flashed at the pretty waitress had enough heat behind it to make her blush. She wiggled her hips as she walked slowly away, ignoring two women at another table who were trying to attract her attention.
“Mortality is a terrible thing, my friend,” Joe said morosely. “Take it from one who knows. Anyway, what happened to you last night? You look like shit.”
“Thanks, I feel it. A night out with Karl and a few of his Dutch cronies.”
Joe groaned. “Only yourself to blame, then. You ought to know by now, that lot can drink all comers under the table.”
“It is correct what Joe says,” Karl said in heavily accented English, passing their table at that precise moment and looking disgustingly fit. “You British are amateurs. I feel perfectly well today.”
“Told you so!” Joe said.
“How was the lovely Irena, by the way?” Karl asked.
“Co-operative.”
Karl chuckled. “Jammy bastard!”
“Argue it any way you like, that still puts me ten years behind you,” Jack said, returning to his conversation with Joe.
“So you keep telling me, but I’m not fooled by the air of mystery you’ve craftily created to conceal what is undoubtedly a murky and disreputable past.”
“You’ve got me all wrong, Joe.” Jack propped his feet on an empty chair and stretched his arms above his head. “There’s no mystery about me. I’m just a hard-working boy who’s retired early to enjoy his twilight years in this quiet backwater.”
“Then how come even I don’t know how you came by your ill-gotten gains?”
“Nothing to tell. Insurance. Too boring.”
Jack’s gaze drifted across the fairways, dotted with people wearing those awful jumpers golfers seemed to consider indispensable even in the middle of a heat wave. The Solent sparkled in the distance, the perfect backdrop for this quintessentially English scene. The area the club was built on had once been open farmland, interspersed with woods and a network of bridle paths. Much to the golfers’ collective chagrin, the bridle paths still existed and they were unable to prevent equestrians from using them. A rider had fallen the other day and her horse, spooked, charged straight across a green, ripping the pristine surface to shreds. Jack and Joe, who thought the golfers took themselves far too seriously, witnessed the incident and almost split their sides laughing.
“And why is it that you avoid the issue every time I ask you?” Joe’s voice recalled Jack’s attention to the question of his former employment.
“Ah, here they are.” Jack raised his eyes to Claire and Angela as they emerged from the changing room. Angela was still in her tennis outfit, in case of a play-off, but Claire was looking delectable in a yellow linen sun-dress. He gave her a quick once-over and grinned at Joe. “What’s your poison, girls?”
“See,” Joe protested. “You’re doing it again.”
“They’re making a meal out of repairing that court, aren’t they?” Jack said a bit later. “They’ve been at it for hours, and there wasn’t much wrong with it in the first place as far as I could see. Is that the usual mob who do the repairs?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Joe said.
“I don’t recognize that big black guy, the one with the shades and baseball cap. He seems more interested in the rest of the place than he is in doing his work.”
“Probably a bit overawed by all the splendor,” Claire suggested.
Angela, who was talking over her shoulder to Karl, didn’t even look up.
“Tell me why you think our vertically challenged friend is dangerous,” Jack said, losing interest in the court repairs.
“He’s stirring up trouble here at the club,” Claire answered for her husband. “Making snide remarks about Trina—”
“We all do that,” Angela said. “She leave
s herself open to it. But someone has to do the organizing, and it’s a thankless task. We’re all quick to complain, but none of us wants to take the job on ourselves.”
“True.” Claire nodded. “It can’t be easy, but she doesn’t help herself because she doesn’t care if she isn’t popular. I don’t think she’s got much else in her life since Peter died and her kids left home. Stella was telling me yesterday at the ladies’ afternoon that she rules the committee with a rod of iron.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Jack said. “Speaking personally, she terrifies the hell out of me, but Angela’s got a point. Someone has to keep us in line.”
“I get the impression, from things Ed’s said to me and from things I’ve overheard,” Joe said, “that he’s planning a take-over.”
“Good God, whatever for?” Jack said. “This is a small tennis club on the Isle of Wight, not bloody Wimbledon.”
“It’s pretty exclusive, though, and you know what a snob he can be.”
“Yeah, I suppose there’s that, but if he’s so keen to run the place he could stand for election at the next AGM.” Jack grinned. “He’d probably have to stand on a box to make himself seen, though.”
“Who knows what goes on in the mind of a midget.” Angela’s comment earned her a sardonic grin from Jack.
“Watch out, they’ve finished playing and they’re heading this way.”
“Oh God, someone please tell me that Ed and Stella didn’t win.” Jack rolled his eyes. “I can’t face a play-off, not against him.”
“No, Jack, don’t worry. Gordon and Jane thrashed them.” Angela patted his arm and left her hand on it until Jack shifted his position, forcing her to drop it.
With the competition over and Jack and Angela once again declared winners, there was a stampede for the bar prior to lunch. Joe pulled Claire into his arms and kissed her.
“Keep an eye on this gorgeous creature for me,” he said to Jack as he prepared to depart for his afternoon clinic. “But only an eye, mind. Those hands of yours don’t need to get involved.”
“Spoilsport!” Jack winked at Claire.
Angela dutifully grinned at this exchange, tamping down the flash of jealousy that surged through her. What did it take to get this guy’s attention? She’d excelled in preparing for this lunch and had never looked better. Her skin tone was naturally dark, and the sun turned it an even richer shade of brown. Her hair hung halfway down her back in natural corkscrew curls, and her light layer of makeup had been expertly applied to enhance the size of her eyes and draw attention to her full, pouting lips. She’d spent hours in the gym, toning and stretching until her muscles begged for mercy. Determined to use the occasion to push her relationship with Jack forward, she’d agonized for hours over what to wear.
Jack was ensconced at the bar amidst a circle of the blokes, all traces of his hangover eradicated. He’d bought her a drink, along with everyone else, and then lost interest in her. Instead he was contributing to the raucous bout of laughter that greeted one of Nigel’s filthy jokes. Angela scowled, discouraging some of the golfing crowd from approaching her, as she pondered her inexplicable failure with Jack. She’d heard several highly colored and very graphic descriptions of Jack’s proficiency at the horizontal tango from a couple of women who’d experienced it first-hand. Were it not for that, she’d be tempted to salve her wounded pride by concluding that he must be gay…or bi…or secretly married…or nursing a broken heart. Something had to be holding him back.
Trina entered the room with a woman at her side no one had seen before, snapping Angela out of her fantasy just when it got to the interesting bit. Noticing Trina’s companion, the men stopped their conversations and blatantly gave her the once-over.
“Who’s that?” Ed asked.
“A prospective member,” Mike said. “Her name’s Jodie Austen. She did her trial game yesterday and she’s quite handy, so Trina invited her along today to meet everyone.”
“If she needs another trial, I’m willing.” Karl was nipping at Jack’s heels to win the club singles title, but because of his volatility on court, and a tendency to blame his partner if they lost, never hung on to one for long. He made a crude gesture in Jodie’s direction that drew another peal of laughter. Off court, he was amiable and dry-witted and everyone loved him.
Alerted to the possibility of a rival, Angela studied Jodie more closely. She had a heart-shaped face, piercing green eyes, and a waterfall of dark hair which, annoyingly, appeared to be natural. Jack was openly assessing her, along with everyone else. She detected a spark of interest in his eyes but quickly dismissed the possibility. Jodie was superficially pretty, but her body let her down. She had wide hips, a large bum, and small tits. Angela happened to know Jack didn’t go for pear-shaped women.
Trina clapped her hands for silence and introduced Jodie. “Jodie has just moved to the Island and is setting up shop as a freelance IT consultant. So any of you who can’t tell your hard drive from your floppy disk know who to go to.”
Trina looked bemused by the ensuing explosion of laughter. “How much do you charge, love?” shouted some wit.
Jodie blushed, embarrassed by the good-natured banter. Angela smiled. If she was that sensitive she’d be eaten alive by this lot. Jack was still casting speculative glances at the girl, and Angela, having decided that she was no competition, made up her mind to befriend her. If nothing else it would show her in a good light in Jack’s eyes.
“Come and join us, Jodie,” she called out.
“Look at ’er.” Ed nodded toward Trina and frowned. “She’s bristling like a cat what got the cream. She’s up to something, you just mark my words.”
As if to prove Ed right, Trina cleared her throat and called for silence. With all eyes focused upon her, she bounced on her toes, enjoying her moment in the spotlight. “Before we go in to lunch,” she said portentously, “I have a few announcements to make. Mobile phones absolutely must be switched off during play.” She glowered at Ed when his rang and he retreated to the side of the room with it glued to his ear. He shouted into it, windmilling his free arm to emphasize his point. “It’s a gross discourtesy to other players to have them ringing in the middle of a set.”
“Damn! How will I stay in touch with my broker now?” Everyone knew Gordon didn’t have two quid to his name and fell about laughing.
Everyone except Trina. “And after Monday’s session, someone left the match balls on the court.” She made it sound like the crime of the century. “They got soaked in the afternoon shower. Balls are very expensive and ought to be treated with respect.”
“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Karl said. “Angela, do you want to treat my balls with respect?”
“Piss off back to Holland, Karl.”
Raising one badly plucked eyebrow was all it took for Trina to silence the laughter. “And now for the most exciting news of all.” She pulled herself up to her full five-foot-two and drew a deep breath, clearly trying to drag out the tension and retain the attention of a disinterested audience. “Now, as you know, we’ve been looking for a new coach for some time. Well, I’m pleased to tell you that we’ve been lucky enough to find someone with excellent qualifications. This is Colin Palmer, and he’s agreed to take the job at short notice.”
“You should have consulted the members before employing someone.” Ed flipped his phone shut and shook it in Trina’s face. “This is supposed to be a democratic club, not a bloody dictatorship.”
Trina glowered at him but didn’t dignify his tirade with a response. “But now I can present the new coach of the Porchfield Country Club Tennis Section…”
Before she could say anything more a good looking man of about forty appeared from the doorway behind Trina and moved to stand beside her. He had a thatch of thick blond hair, clear hazel eyes, the lithe, toned body of an athlete, and a tan that put even Angela’s to shame. Angela smiled to herself. Jack would have some competition now. She turned to look at him, wondering how he’d respo
nd to the introduction of this Adonis, and noticed a marked darkening of his expression. Jack was the most laid-back person she knew. She hadn’t realized he set so much stock by his personal standing in the club.
Everyone else was still looking at the new coach. There was an air of expectancy among the women. They sat up straighter and exchanged asides as they appraised the club’s newest addition, speculating about the circumstances that had landed such a well-qualified coach in this relative backwater.
Their comments barely registered with Angela. Her eyes were still trained on Jack. He muttered something beneath his breath, and she realized there was more invested in his reaction than personal pride. The concentrated fury in his expression made her go cold inside and she was grateful it wasn’t directed at her.
Jack was clearly a dangerous man. Why hadn’t she realized that about him before? She knew frustratingly little about his background and wondered if, like her, there were aspects of his past that he would prefer to keep hidden. Aspects that would get him blackballed from Porchfield if they ever came to light. She caught a glimpse of the subdued menace in his stance and shivered.
With desire rather than apprehension.
That Jack knew this man but didn’t care for him became obvious when he raised his glass in what was obviously supposed to be an ironic salute, anger radiating from hard, flat eyes that impaled Palmer with the full force of his displeasure.
Chapter Three
COLIN’S ARRIVAL CAUSED QUITE A STIR. Most of the ladies were in relationships, but it was obvious to Claire that such concerns weren’t about to deter them from speculating about the new coach’s availability. The more pessimistic among them were already convinced that someone with his looks just had to be either happily married or gay. Among the men, rumors were circulating and doubts being voiced as to his suitability for the club. Claire’s instincts told her they were right to be suspicious. A frisson of excitement rippled through her when Colin’s gaze rested on her and was slow to move on. There was more to this man than met the eye. She didn’t have a clue how she knew that. Somehow she just did.