“Yes. When we got back to Hyde Park Gate, I went upstairs and I was sick in the loo. I stretched out on the bed, and the room was spinning.”
“I know the sensation well. Not pleasant.”
“No, it isn’t. But then Mark knocked on the door.”
“Uh oh.”
“He came in and got into bed with me.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him to leave, that I was sick.”
“I assume he ignored you.”
“That’s right. He was drunk. I told him to go away, to leave me alone, but I don’t think he knew what I was saying.”
“Well, he couldn’t have been too drunk, if he did sleep with you. But maybe he didn’t, really.”
“He was certainly drunk, but I think he did.”
Claire was dubious, I could tell. “This boyfriend sounds like a real piece of work. When’s your period?”
I looked at her. “Early this week, I hope.”
“Did he spend the night with you?”
“No. He went back to his own room.
“So what did you do?”
I didn’t say anything.
Claire said, “You cried into the pillow.”
I didn’t reply.
She shrugged. “That’s what I used to do.”
“I’m worried sick that I’m pregnant. But there’s something worse,” I said.
“After what you’ve told me already, I’m bracing myself for the ‘something worse’ part.”
“I promised Mother I wouldn’t sleep with Mark. And she even warned me about drinking. I don’t think I’ve ever broken a promise to Mother before.”
I started crying.
“Fiona, now this I wouldn’t worry about. Your mother will care first about you, and then, maybe, about some promise you made. You told him to get out and leave you alone. What more could you have done? Hit him over the head with your tennis racket?”
She paused. “I tried that once, actually. It worked pretty well.”
I still had tears on my face, but I had to laugh at her. Then I said, “There’s something more.”
“Fiona, the good thing is that you’ll never forget the weekend before your first Wimbledon match. What ‘more’ could there possibly be?”
“I woke up this morning and went down to breakfast. Mark wasn’t there, but Lady Thakeham was having breakfast, and I sat down with her.”
Claire, who loved eating, nodded. “A good English breakfast is important for winning a match.”
“She threw me out.”
“She did what?”
“She said she thought I’d be more ‘comfortable,’ that’s the word she used, with one of my aunts until I had finished with my tennis. To make sure I didn’t misunderstand her meaning, she said she would ask Miss Hanson to have one of the girls pack my bags while I was here practicing with you. I’m to pick up my bags later.”
“What does the boyfriend have to say about this?”
“I didn’t see Mark. I don’t know where he was.”
“This is a really lovely family you’ve found. Have you considered engaging some master criminal? For a price, you could ensure they’re never heard from again.”
“Claire, don’t make fun of me. My aunts wouldn’t let me wear a tennis dress, much less travel across London without a chaperone. I don’t have anywhere to stay.”
“Certainly you have a place to stay. You’ll stay with us.”
“No, I’m not going to do that. You’re going to win Wimbledon again, and you’re trying to get pregnant. The last thing you need is having me sleeping on your living room sofa. Where do the girls in the draw stay for the fortnight?”
“I don’t know. I’ve always lived in London, so I’ve always stayed at my own flat. But Colonel Macaulay will know where the younger girls lodge.”
“Who is he?”
“The Colonel is the Secretary of the All England Club; I’m sure he’ll be here at Hurlingham today. Here’s what we’ll do: let’s hit a few tennis balls, then we’ll go to the buffet and have a late lunch. I’ll find the Colonel and ask where you might lodge. I have the Alfa here, so I’ll take you to pick up your bags at your boyfriend’s place. Shall we set fire to it while we’re there?”
I had to laugh. She was irrepressible.
Claire was the perfect practice partner for me – it meant that I was practicing against the best there was. Plus, being Claire’s practice partner attracted attention to me in the newspapers. Claire could have had Margaret Smith, or anyone she wanted. While we knocked up on one of the Hurlingham courts, I watched Claire from across the net and thought she must be one of the most beautiful tennis stylists of all time. It was humbling to be hitting with her. ‘I’m out of my depth here,’ I thought.
Finally, even Claire was ready to quit. “Let’s go get you some lunch,” she said. We walked back toward the Hurlingham tea lawn together. Claire held her rackets and pocketbook in her right hand, and she had her left arm draped casually over my shoulders. Everyone was watching me walk off the court with the defending champion. I was still sick with worry about myself, but I was proud to be the practice partner of such a great tennis player.
The tea lawn was noisy and crowded with tennis players of both sexes, plus an array of guests. There was an outdoor buffet where food was served, but it took us some time to get to the food because everyone knew and liked Claire, so she stopped to chat with people, and she was kind enough to introduce me to them.
Claire embraced a large woman who, I thought, looked not much older than me. The two of them shared some private joke and chuckled. Claire said, “Margaret, let me introduce you to Fiona Hodgkin. Fiona, please meet my friend and formidable opponent, Margaret Smith.”
Margaret took my hand in hers. She was surprisingly gentle, but she towered over me; she was a powerfully built woman. I think she and Christine Truman, who was a year or so older than Margaret, were the first women to ‘train’ for tennis by lifting weights.
The men in Australia had been weight training ever since 1938, when Harry Hopman wandered into a gym in Melbourne’s Little Collins Street and met a weightlifter named Stan Nicholes. Hopman was then on his quest to bring the Davis Cup back to Australia, and he saw in Nicholes just the way to accomplish that goal. Harry was right, but the Davis Cup was only for men. Margaret and Christine, to their credit, had understood that weight training was just as important for girls as for the men – maybe more so.
But to tell you how unusual this was at the time, in Stan Nicholes’ gym, there was no ladies’ dressing room – Stan would have to guard the door to the men’s dressing room while Margaret took a shower after her weight session.
Claire said, “Maggie, I think you’re up right after my opening match on Ladies’ Day.”
“Can you believe it? I drew Moffitt, the girl from the States.”
“Have you played Billie Jean? I haven’t.”
“No, I haven’t either. How she plays so well wearing those eyeglasses, I can’t imagine.”
Margaret turned to me. “You and I are on the same side of the draw, so I hope we’ll meet in the third round. If the weather holds up, and we stay on schedule, that’ll be later this week.”
“That couldn’t be good for me,” I laughed.
“Don’t say that,” Margaret told me. “Wimbledon is a surprising place. You’ll do well.”
Margaret and Claire knew that almost certainly they would meet in the final, two weeks from now.
“Enough, Maggie,” Claire said. “I need to get some food into Fiona.”
Claire and I went to the buffet, where I got a salad. Claire eyed it suspiciously. “Fiona, a rabbit couldn’t survive on that.” She turned to an older lady who was serving at the buffet.
“Evie,” Claire said, “could we give this young lady some roast beef?”
“Certainly, Claire. And potatoes?”
“Definitely potatoes. Your son, I hope he’s doing well? He’s what now – 25?”
&
nbsp; Evie beamed, because a Wimbledon champion had asked about her son. “He’s 27, married, and I’m a grandmother, as of last Christmas.”
“A grandmother? At your young age? It’s a scandal!” Claire leaned across the buffet and whispered to Evie, who reached up, put her hand on Claire’s cheek, and smiled. I guessed Claire had whispered that she, finally, was trying to start a family.
Then Evie, turning to business, put a huge slab of roast beef on my plate and enough potatoes to feed an army for three days.
This was more food than I could possibly eat. I turned to Claire to protest, but she said, “Don’t worry, I’ll eat anything left over,” and we went to find a table.
“I hadn’t thought about meeting Margaret Smith in a match,” I said. Claire was busily eating most of my roast beef.
“Don’t think about it. It wouldn’t be until your third round. Don’t think about anything but your first round match – which is Tuesday afternoon. Win the first round and then think about what comes next.”
Claire, having almost finished my lunch, pushed her chair back. “I’m going to find Colonel Macaulay and ask him where you should stay.”
I worked on the food Claire had left me, and after 20 minutes she returned with a slip of paper in her hand.
“Sorry to be away so long. Had a talk about Bermuda with the Colonel.”
“About Bermuda? Why?”
“He thinks Bermuda is part of Great Britain.”
“He’s not alone in that. But why were you talking about Bermuda?”
“Well, you should be assigned to the upper dressing room, with me. You’re the champion of Bermuda. The dressing rooms are close together, and there’s not much difference, but I’d rather have you with me.”
“That would be wonderful. Is there a problem?”
“No, the Colonel finally agreed with me. He was just confused because the LTA ranks me the number one girl in Britain, so if Bermuda is part of Britain, you should be in the lower dressing room. The upper dressing room is just for seeded players and national champions. But now he thinks you should be assigned to the upper dressing room.”
“More important.” Claire spotted a piece of beef I hadn’t eaten and speared it with a fork. “Where should you stay? Albert House, in Alwyne Road. It’s just a rooming house for young ladies. Ten minute walk down Church Road from the Club. It’s so close that the Club doesn’t bother sending an auto for you. Three girls in the draw are staying there. The Colonel knows Mrs Brown, who manages the place, and he rang her. There’s a room for you. Not fancy, but inexpensive. Agreeable?”
“Not fancy and inexpensive is good.”
“Yes! Let’s go collect your bags and bring them around to Albert House.”
Claire drove the Alfa like a wild woman along Kensington Road, and at the turn into the Frying Pan I waved to the bobby standing guard.
In front of No. 16, Claire stopped the Alfa. “Let’s get your bags.”
I hesitated. “I don’t want to see Mark. What if he’s home?”
She looked over at me. “Why don’t I go in myself and get the bags?”
I reached in my purse, took out my key to the house and gave it to Claire. “Could you leave this?”
Claire ran up the front steps, rang the bell, and Harold answered the door. A moment later, Myrtle appeared like a Royal Navy dreadnought steaming out of Scapa Flow.
“I knew nothing about this,” she said. (I’m sure she was thinking, ‘Or I would have put a stop to it.’) “If I speak to Doctor Thakeham, I’m confident he will insist you remain with us.”
I got out of the Alfa and hugged her, and she hugged me back.
“I’m fine. I’ve found a place to stay, in Wimbledon, close to the All England Club. It’s better for me.”
Claire and Harold emerged, Claire lugging one of my huge bags, and Harold struggling with the other two. They dropped my suitcases on the walkway beside the tiny Alfa Romeo.
Claire said, “Fiona, I go to Australia for two months in the winter to play in the run-up matches to their championship, but I take my rackets, my pocketbook, and one suitcase. A casket is smaller than any one of your bags.”
Harold cleared his throat. “Ma’am,” he said to Myrtle, “I don’t expect that Miss Hodgkin’s baggage will fit into this small roadster.”
“Good thinking, Sherlock,” Claire said dryly.
“Harold, put Miss Hodgkin’s luggage in the Bentley and follow them to Wimbledon,” Myrtle told him.
Myrtle turned to me. “Fiona, you will ring me if you change your mind about staying with us, or if you need anything. I want your word you will do so.”
I agreed.
Harold loaded my bags into the Bentley, and he followed us to Albert House. I doubt that a Bentley had ever parked in front of Albert House to discharge a guest’s luggage.
Albert House was a small, dark red brick house, with two front bays. A handwritten note was thumbtacked to the door: “Do NOT Ring Bell After 9 At Night Or Before 7 In The Morning.”
Claire and Harold helped me carry the bags and my tennis things upstairs. My room was so small that the bags, tennis rackets, Claire, Harold, and I just about filled the room to the ceiling. Harold, I could tell, was dubious about my new living arrangements.
Claire shooed Harold out, but as he left he said to me, “Miss, please ring if you want me to come back and return you to Hyde Park Gate.”
“Thank you and goodbye, Harold,” Claire said.
Claire said to me, “Are you all right? Do you want me to stay with you?”
“I’m fine. You’ve been wonderful to me, Claire.”
I was sitting on the edge of the bed, and Claire sat down beside me. “Fiona, listen to me. You have to eat a good dinner tonight, and you have to sleep well. Will you do both of those for me?”
“Yes, don’t worry, Claire.”
“We can’t practice at the All England Club in the morning. Colonel Legg, the referee, gives all the courts to the men for practice on the first day.”
The first Monday of the fortnight was only for the men players. Then the first Tuesday – ’Ladies’ Day,’ it was called – the women played, with the defending champion leading off on Centre Court. So my first round match, and Claire’s second round match (she had a bye for the first round) would begin on Tuesday at two o’clock in the afternoon – ‘precisely,’ as the Intended Order of Play always stated.
The ‘precisely’ dated back to some of the earliest minutes of the Committee’s meetings in the 1880s. The minutes always recorded that the meetings ended ‘precisely’ at 3:30. So the word ‘precisely’ had entered the Club’s traditions. Until, of course, it had been blown away by American television, which couldn’t begin a sporting event precisely on the hour – because when would the opening commercial advertisements be shown to the television audience?
Claire said, “I expect that if we ask Queen’s Club politely, they’ll give us a court for a couple of hours to practice. Let’s meet there in the morning. Say, 11?”
“Yes. Where is Queen’s Club?”
Claire thought for a moment. “You take the Tube from Wimbledon to Earl’s Court. Change there to Piccadilly, then just one stop to Baron’s Court. You can see Queen’s just down Palliser Road when you come out.”
She kissed my cheek and said goodbye.
I was alone. I took off my tennis shoes and stretched out on the bed in my tennis dress. I was numb. I couldn’t sleep, and so I just stared at the ceiling for a long time.
Then, I heard a loud knock. I got off the bed and unlocked the door. It was Mark, who was wearing a dinner jacket.
“Go away,” I said, closing the door.
“Wait! Fiona! We’re having dinner this evening at the Westons’.”
“I’m not. How did you know where I’m staying?”
“Harold drove me here. May I talk to you for a moment? This is important.”
“Go ahead and talk,” I said, still standing in the doorway.
“May
I come in?”
I stood aside and let him walk in.
“This is quite a nice place,” he said after he had looked around the room. I assumed he was being facetious. I hated being in the same room with him.
“Fiona, Mother has told me what she said to you, and I’m sorry. I had no idea she would do such a thing.”
I was certain Mark had known; that’s why he had been absent from the house this morning. “It’s not important. I’m better off here. Now leave.”
“Fiona, we are expected at the Westons’. This is an important dinner for Catherine. You must be there.” The Westons, I knew, were giving the dinner for Catherine and the Thakeham family as part of the celebrations leading to her big party that Wednesday night.
“I couldn’t care less. I want you to leave now.”
“Fiona,” he began, but I cut him off. “Mark, it’s humiliating for me to even be in the same room with you. The least you can do is go away and leave me alone.”
“You’re not upset about last night, are you?”
“You took advantage of me. It was horrible. I’m ashamed.”
“Oh, Fiona, don’t be that way. I didn’t take advantage of you. I just had a bit too much to drink.”
“Go away, now.”
“I think we should wait to talk about this when you’re not so upset.”
I was determined not to cry. I hated him.
“Mark, if you don’t leave now, I’m going downstairs to ask Mrs Brown to call a bobby.”
“Fiona, I really must insist that you come with me this evening. Everyone is expecting you. It will be embarrassing if you’re absent.”
“Even if I were willing to go with you, which I’m not, I wouldn’t go out this evening, because I’m going to practice with Claire in the morning.”
He scoffed. “Look, you can’t be serious about this. I mean, it’s exciting that you made it to Wimbledon, and we’re proud of you. I’m especially proud of you. But you said yourself this is just a trial run, this year. They’ve put you up against a top seeded player. You have to be realistic, you can’t get past the first round. Eventually you’ll win Wimbledon; I’m sure of it. But your first year, as a qualifier, you don’t have a chance. I don’t believe any lady qualifier has ever come close to winning. This is just for experience. You can’t win. So why not come out tonight with me?”
The Tennis Player from Bermuda Page 14