by Carla Caruso
‘Well, we’ve got to put on a bit of a show. It can’t be too short a game,’ Mitchell returned smugly. An umpire tossed a coin – Lenny won.
‘I’ll serve,’ he decided.
‘And I’ll stick with the far end of the court,’ Mitchell replied. Not that Lenny cared much.
A ball-boy, on the sidelines, lobbed him a fluoro yellow ball. As Lenny raised his racquet in the air, the sun beating down on him, he realised perhaps he shouldn’t have declined doing an earlier warm-up hit. Rather than getting stuck into the Pimm’s, which was really meant to lubricate the spectators. Still, he swung with all his might, the ball connecting with a satisfying thwack, and watched it soar over the net. The crowd drew in a collective breath, as though it were Novak Djokovic and Roger Federer battling it out on the lawn, not just the nobodies they were.
But rather than attempting to go for the shot, Mitchell just stepped back with a self-satisfied expression. The ball bounced outside the service box and the umpire called ‘fault’. Okay, so that wasn’t the go, then. Some of the rules from school were starting to come back to Lenny. Although, he was really just hoping Mitchell would trip on a ball.
He swung again and this time the ball hit the net, as well as landing outside the service box. So far, the game wasn’t really helping Lenny to release tension.
‘Double fault, love/fifteen,’ the umpire unhelpfully informed all and sundry.
Nodding, Lenny wiped the sweat off his brow. Okay then, there’d be no John McEnroe-style tantrum. He’d just give it one last almighty shot and bugger the rules. At least it’d make him feel better, and the charity would still win at the rate he was going. He did so and it was a corker, the ball whizzing to the other side faster than a Lamborghini in top gear. Mitchell tripped over his feet to get to the thing, but it had other intentions. The crowd gasped as the ball sped in the direction of Mitchell’s groin. Lenny couldn’t have planned it if he’d tried. The ball met its target with force, Mitchell slumping to the ground and wheezing for an injury timeout.
Lenny strolled over to the net and nodded at Mitchell, now in the fetal position on the lawn. ‘The perils of tennis! Who knew it could be such a dangerous sport?’
Mitchell grunted something indecipherable in response. Possibly a swear word.
‘Need anything? A hand?’
Mitchell found his voice, in between pants. ‘Just … a … moment … alone.’ Imogen — not Celeste — was now hovering with an ice pack.
‘Well, we’ll just leave it there, then, although I’ll still donate to charity. Maybe we can go for another hit again soon and you can teach me a few things?’
Mitchell didn’t bother to respond, so with a shrug Lenny turned and headed away from the court, actually feeling de-stressed as planned.
‘That wasn’t very nice.’
Lenny had just left the court, after grabbing the form on where to pay his charity monies to and shoving it in his pocket, when he heard Celeste’s voice behind him. He turned and took in the image of her in a white mini tennis dress. He’d almost given up on crossing paths with her that day, figuring she was too busy scrubbing her kitchen floor or something similar. But it looked like she played the sport, too. Maybe she’d been warming up elsewhere.
Despite her words, she looked so angelic that all he could imagine was rolling around with her on the football oval where they were standing, getting her covered in grass stains and dirt. Sometimes he had a one-track mind. Well, it was that or work.
Lenny cleared his throat. ‘I didn’t intend to hit him … well, where it hurts … but that’s the danger of sport. Besides, shouldn’t you be tending to his wound? Or, perhaps, wounded ego?’
‘Very funny. I was helping wash up glasses in the clubrooms when it happened. I heard it about, though. Imogen helped him off the court. Mitchell’s recovering indoors, no thanks to you.’
‘That was very helpful of Imogen,’ Lenny said mildly. ‘You must be pleased she’s joined the club, too.’
Celeste looked away, muttering, ‘Sometimes I feel like I never left Karmel Designer Interiors.’ He enjoyed the moment of honesty, the trust in him. Unfortunately, it wasn’t to last. Her gaze returned to his. ‘So did you know Mitchell and I would be here today or was this just a happy coincidence?’
‘I live nearby and I wanted to do my bit for charity.’
It was true enough.
She seemed to buy it. ‘Oh … right.’
‘How come I didn’t see your name on the local stars list alongside Mitchell’s?’
She bit her delectable lower lip. ‘I’m not really one for the spotlight.’ Unlike her beau. ‘I just came to support the club and have a social hit afterwards.’
Lenny crossed his arms and felt his eyes twinkle. ‘What I’m curious to know is if it’s the game of tennis you love most or getting your tennis whites brighter than bright afterwards?’
She pulled a face. ‘You’re hilarious.’
‘Yeah? I’ve always wondered about a second career in stand-up.’
‘Got to be better than your building work.’
‘Touché.’ The girl had sass. He liked it.
Celeste suddenly averted her gaze, flicking pink-painted nails together. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you how you’re finding working for Natalia.’
Alarm bells immediately clanged. He could almost see the cogs turning in Celeste’s head. ‘Why?’
More nail-flicking. ‘No particular reason. I mean, she’s nice enough, and professional. It’s just I’ve noticed a few strange things happening about her place …’
He dropped his arms to his side. He was pouring a lot of man-hours and materials into the Ballet-Tastic project. He would hate to see things go south. ‘Like what?’
‘Well,’ Celeste’s mouth twisted, ‘the other day, when I was rearranging Natalia’s home office, I found what looked to be a … a blackmail note. Addressed to Natalia. With cut-out magazine letters and everything. I mean, I don’t know if it’s legit or not. The paper was all crumpled up like it’d missed the bin. It could just be someone’s idea of a joke—’
‘A blackmail note?’
‘Yeah, I know, I know! It sounds crazy, but I saw it with my own eyes. It said stuff about Natalia having to leave ten thousand dollars in the “usual spot” or the alleged blackmailer would have to ruin her party, which I’m guessing means the big launch she’s putting on at the mansion. And— and there was something about how they knew who Natalia really was, whatever the hell that means.’
It was a lot to digest. ‘You’re serious?’
‘Dead serious,’ Celeste lobbed back, then shivered apparently at the darkness of her own words.
‘Have you asked Natalia about it?’
‘No, of course not.’ Celeste rubbed her forearms even though it was too warm for goose-bumps. ‘I figured it wasn’t my business …’
‘What else? What else have you found that’s strange?’
‘Well, the old guy across the road also said something weird to me in passing about Natalia. I mentioned I worked for her and immediately he said she was a “crook”. Not that he would elaborate any further — he was off talking about the pigeons he feeds. Still, I know that’s not much to go on and he’s a bit mad …’
‘Mr Milesio? I’ve chatted to him and I don’t think he’s lost it yet. He’s a retired judge. Worked mostly in Italy, as you can tell by the accent. He downsized his place and gave all his money to his kids. I quite admire the guy.’
‘Oh.’ Celeste looked lost for words.
Lenny pushed on. ‘He’s also a grumpy old man who spent too much time in the courtroom. And he’d probably call anyone who looked at him the wrong way a crook. Anything else?’
‘No, not really.’ Celeste shrugged limp shoulders. ‘Just a … feeling about the place, I guess.’
‘So what have we got here? A crumpled note that could be a prank, the mutterings of a grumpy old man, and a bad feeling. Is that really enough to have you sliding down ladders from the second-storey? I kn
ow starting a new business can be stressful and all, but really? Jumping to conclusions about your very first client?’
‘Fine.’ She had no need for blusher — her cheeks glowed scarlet. ‘I thought I might be able to talk to you as one professional to another, seeing as we’re working for the same client. Obviously, I can’t.’
He set his mouth in a hard line. ‘Unless it affects the bottom line, it doesn’t concern me.’
‘That’d be right.’
And just like that, they were arguing again. Not really helped by him. Though she could be such a little spitfire at times. She turned to go, her arms swinging, but was stopped short. The bracelet he’d noticed earlier twinkling at her wrist had somehow snagged on the hem of his top. Luckily Mitchell wasn’t around to see. He might get the wrong idea about their proximity. Not that the idiot seemed overly concerned with Celeste’s whereabouts.
‘Don’t move,’ Lenny advised in a low voice, unpicking the thin, diamond-studded bracelet from his top with precision. There was that lavender scent again. Wafting under his nose. Much nicer than the smell he’d be emitting after his hit on the court. He tried not to breathe in her heady perfume too deeply.
The accessory was finally freed and Celeste offered a begrudging thanks, playing with the delicate gold metal at her wrist.
He arched an eyebrow. ‘Was the tennis bracelet a gift from Mitchell?’
‘No. Her eyes were ablaze. ‘I bought it myself. After dumping a guy who was a total jerk.’
There was a bit of a stomp to her walk as she marched away. He couldn’t help finding it sexy.
8.
‘What is this? Sweet Valley High?’ Betty-Lou huffed as a lady with two dalmatians walked past her and Celeste at Lavender Park. Despite the park’s name, pink bougainvillea ironically bloomed on the fence-line. ‘The girl has balls!’
Celeste had just finished updating her friend about Imogen being, well, everywhere — from signing up at the tennis club to asking for Natalia’s email — leaving Betty-Lou fuming.
‘Actually, make that more like Single White Female,’ Betty-Lou raged on. ‘It’s like she’s trying to steal your life or something. She obviously wasn’t held enough as a baby. Next she’ll be after Mitchell. Which, in thinking about it, wouldn’t actually be a bad thing.’
Celeste shot her a sideways look. ‘Be nice.’
They were at the Astonvale French Market, which was awash with crêpes, brioches, Édith Piaf music, hot mamas with Bugaboo prams, and Botoxed older ladies who looked like wax figures. Celeste had in her own hand a paperbag of buttery croissants. The kilojoule-counting could wait for tomorrow. Or maybe next year. She enjoyed the warmth of the spring sunshine on her shoulders, bared in her apricot-coloured shell top.
Betty-Lou demonstrated the attention span of one of the triplets by promptly being distracted by a sign. ‘Check that out! Crêpes with field strawberries and cream. Why can’t they just say “strawberries” these days? It’s like “whole-bean instant coffee” or “television events”. Why do they have to pretend everything is so OTT? Why can’t I just have plain, old vanilla yoghurt from the supermarket — not yoghurt with “caramelised pear” — or crappy instant?’
Celeste shrugged. ‘Blame the marketing gods.’ Suddenly, she gripped Betty-Lou’s shoulder and lowered her voice. ‘Speaking of good marketing, my client Natalia Samphire is here. I should have seen it coming! She studied at some top-notch French ballet school, according to the online research I did before meeting her.’
Betty-Lou followed Celeste’s gaze. ‘Interesting to see her in the flesh. Although why don’t celebrities realise they can never hide behind a hat and sunglasses?’
It was true. Everyone within range was in danger of causing themselves whiplash trying to get a glimpse of Natalia up-close. The fitness guru wore a black floppy sunhat, enormous dark shades, and a purple-and-pink-striped T-shirt dress. None of which did anything to hide her trademark blonde curls, sun-kissed skin, and that indefinable X-factor all celebrities seemed to ooze. She was flanked by Minka, who looked as dowdy as ever in a shapeless mustard number. The designer-looking tan wedges almost saved her. Perhaps Natalia had hired Minka so she wouldn’t take the spotlight away from her.
‘I should probably go say hello,’ Celeste murmured, although she felt suddenly shy and hated the thought of looking like she was showing off who she knew to all and sundry.
Even though Natalia had been as pleased as punch with Celeste’s work on the home office, and, rather than sending her packing, had since moved Celeste onto organising her bedroom. It seemed like Natalia wanted the entire mansion spick and span before the launch party in case someone got lost and walked into the wrong room. The clothes she was having Celeste send to Goodwill were unbelievable. Celeste could have bought a new car if she sold the lot on eBay, but sadly that would have been unethical.
The whole blackmail note also seemed ludicrous now since Celeste had talked to Lenny, or he’d talked at her. It was obviously just some sort of prank. The impassioned conversation Celeste had overheard Natalia having with Mike in the library could have been about anything, too — Natalia overworking herself most likely. Besides, both the people Celeste had told about the note — Lenny and Flip — had seemed unfazed.
‘Well, go on.’ Betty-Lou nudged Celeste towards Natalia.
Shuffling forwards, Celeste waved awkwardly in the fitness guru’s face, Betty-Lou trailing behind her. The looks from prying eyes prickled on her skin. ‘Uh, Natalia, hi!’
Zeroing in on Celeste, Natalia beamed. It seemed odd to be almost at eye-level with the fitness guru, as though Natalia should somehow have been larger than life. ‘Celeste! How lovely to see you outside of work hours.’
Natalia bent to kiss Celeste’s cheek hello, though the act in itself always made Celeste uncomfortable. She usually put the wrong cheek forward or made too loud a mwah sound in the other person’s ear. Happily, the air-kiss between her and Natalia went smoothly, though. Minka nodded a curt hello and Celeste introduced Betty-Lou.
‘So have you been here long or just having a wander around now?’ Celeste pressed Natalia.
‘We’ve just arrived actually, and I’m loving it,’ Natalia said, her shades still firmly on. ‘It takes me back — to my younger days, in Paree.’
‘Oh, of course, how nice.’ Celeste nodded vigorously. ‘This might take you back, too.’ She held up her paper bag. ‘Fancy a croissant? The queue for them was a kilometre-long.’
‘Oh no, I’m good.’ Natalia put a hand to her flat-as-a-Pilates-mat stomach. ‘I had a kale smoothie with apple and ginger before I arrived.’
Celeste didn’t miss the look Betty-Lou shot the guru, like she was from an alien species. But she was saved from having to deflect attention from her friend by two ladies from the French language-school stand rushing over, Natalia clearly in their sights. The raspberry-coloured berets they wore were the giveaway to where they were from.
One, looking a tad pink-cheeked, let out a string of babbled French in Natalia’s direction. Celeste only caught ‘bonjour’ and ‘Natalia’.
A dent formed between the fitness guru’s eyebrows, then, suddenly, inexplicably, her body went limp and she began falling backwards. Not uttering a sound. It was like seeing a car accident about to happen. Celeste was frozen in shock, as everyone else around them appeared to be, too. Then, just as swiftly, strong arms were catching Natalia before she hit the grass.
Lenny’s arms. Like a knight in shining weekend-wear.
For a nanosecond, Celeste almost wished it had been her blacking out. Which was insanity. What was he doing there? And how had he managed to respond so quickly? The other market-goers’ eyes were now virtually out on stalks as Lenny helped Natalia to a seated position. The bereted women from the language school stood by, jabbering to each other in French, looking beside themselves.
‘Can you give us some room?’ Lenny waved his arm to shoo the onlookers away as he kneeled beside Natalia. ‘Can you hear me? Are y
ou all right?’
The fitness guru was unmoving for a moment, then slowly nodded. Celeste felt relief whoosh through her. ‘I’m okay. I think it was just the heat … the crowds … it all, somehow, overwhelmed me. I have been a little under the weather, too.’
Minka, who’d disappeared momentarily, ran forward with a white plastic cup, bending to her boss’s eye-level. ‘Here, have some water.’
Natalia took the drink, sipping it slowly, and worked up a small smile. ‘I’d usually only drink reverse-osmosis filtered water, but on this occasion …’
Minka glanced at Lenny. ‘I think she’s feeling better,’ she said dryly.
Lenny shook his head at Natalia. ‘Lucky I was cutting through here on the way to the supermarket or you would have hit the ground with force.’
‘I know … I should probably go home and rest up.’
‘I’ll help you to your car.’ Lenny and Minka helped Natalia to her feet, with Lenny only stopping to tell Celeste, ‘We’ll take it from here. See you at work.’
The crowd parted like Natalia doing the splits to let the fitness guru and her entourage through. Celeste figured the locals would be able to live off the gossip of Natalia’s fainting episode for months. It was an even juicier talking point than the recent spate of brush-fence fires by bored youth, waiting for their trust funds to kick in. Happily, it also meant that Celeste and Betty-Lou were ignored once more.
Though one little detail hadn’t bypassed Betty-Lou. She rounded on Celeste. ‘That was the builder?’
‘How— how did you know?’
‘Hello, muscles.’ Betty-Lou fanned herself. ‘I’m actually feeling a bit faint myself. And he’s into you, I can tell. He gave you a funny sort of look that could only be lust.’
‘He did not.’ Celeste felt the tips of her ears burning in spite of herself. The only looks she’d seen him issuing were ones of concern directed at Natalia.
‘We’ll have to agree to disagree. Judging by the lack of a wedding ring, he’s single.’
Her friend didn’t miss a trick. Celeste rolled her eyes. ‘Very much so.’