Tom got up and stepped outside the door of the press room onto the upper stands of the Sinan Erdem Dome. Down on the court, two doubles teams were practicing.
Good, Tom thought. He could have an eye on Bernadette while he was waiting for Paola to finish her article. Then he needed to e-mail or chat with Ted who should have been back in London already. They hadn’t talked to each other since before Tom’s ill-fated flight to Istanbul. Who knew what interesting news Ted had found out in Moscow while following Bernadette around? It wasn’t unlikely that she was the person who had found the pictures and delivered them to the unsuspecting players. From all he had heard about the Canadian woman she wasn’t liked on the tour for her ruthless ways. Of course, none of her fellow players had articulated it that bluntly but Tom could read between the lines – Bernadette was shunned on the tour.
She did have a Machiavellian touch to her, Tom thought while he watched the girls exchange forehands. This was the last tournament before all the players would scatter to the four winds and take a holiday from the tennis. It was on him to rescue the pictures from Bernadette.
“Ready!” Paola yelled from inside the press room.
Tom hastened inside and logged into his e-mail account, only to gasp when a million unread e-mails rolled in. He quickly checked through them, then found what he was looking for.
“Oh, thank god,” he uttered in relief. “They found my luggage and it’s already on its way to Istanbul. They will send it to the hotel. It might even have arrived by now.”
Paola threw her hands up in celebration. There were two e-mails from Ted, wondering why Tom was unavailable. Call me, the latest mail read. I have news. Important news. Tom was just about to start typing a reply when Paola tapped Tom on the shoulder.
“Hate to interrupt you already, Tom. But I really need to go and get ready for the players’ party tonight. Perhaps your computer is already in the hotel.”
Tom nodded. “Yes, of course. I can write these when I’m back at the hotel.”
He logged out of his account and closed Paola’s computer.
“So excited for the party tonight,” Paola mumbled as she packed her bags.
“Did they plan something special?” Tom asked. He really wasn’t up-to-date with anything anymore.
“Tom!” Paola scolded him. “We will announce the winner of the Supersport show tonight. Luckily, the player is on site.”
She winked at him, as they both knew who it would be.
***
“There she is,” Candice whispered.
She, Monica and Agnes were leaning over the concrete banister, observing the players’ exit door under the staircase. It was a windy day and the fast-moving, grey clouds didn’t allow the sun to shine through. Underneath the stairs, they could make out Bernadette’s long, dark hair drifting in the cool breeze.
“Is she alone?” Monica asked. They waited for Polly to come out of the exit, but the younger Canadian didn’t show up.
When Bernadette began walking to the parking lot, Monica pushed Agnes and Candice slightly towards the stairs. “Come on, before she hops into a car.”
Yesterday evening, after arriving in their hotel, they had decided that they needed to confront Bernadette. They needed to know if she was the one behind Morgana’s mysterious source.
They hurried down the stairs and after the Canadian player.
“Bernie, wait!” Agnes shouted.
Slowly, Bernadette turned around, a flicker of distrust glowing in her eyes when she saw who was approaching her.
“What do you want?” she growled.
“Bernadette,” Candice addressed her with a broad smile. “We are planning our annual Year End meeting and it’s been so long since you attended it the last time.”
Bernadette blinked. “What?”
“Here is your invitation for tonight,” Candice explained, handing Bernadette an envelope. Monica held her breath. The Canadian player didn’t seem to trust the friendly approach.
“Who will be there?”
“All of us,” Monica said in a friendly way. “We also invited Polly, of course.”
“Of course,” Bernadette said cautiously. “That’s very nice of you.”
Monica threw Agnes a side glance, who nodded subtly.
“We also need to talk to you about something very important,” Monica whispered to Bernadette. The others nodded conspiratorially.
“Has Morgana approached you lately?” Agnes asked. Bernadette raised an eyebrow.
“We believe she is trying to reveal what happened back then,” Candice threw in with a worried look. “It wouldn’t be good for all of us. We need to stick together and work on a plan on how to prevent this.”
Monica watched Bernadette from the corner of her eye. They needed to give Bernadette the feeling that they trusted her. They needed to pull her in and hope that she would either give herself away by mistake and admit that she was Morgana’s source or, however unlikely, stop giving Morgana information because she was happy to be reaffiliated with the old group.
They waited for Bernadette’s response. With two fingers the dark-haired player slowly turned the envelope holding the invitation.
“The party is after the official players’ party?” she eventually asked.
Agnes nodded. “Yes, only ten minutes from the hotel. We found a lovely spot at the Bosporus.”
“Sounds great,” Bernadette smiled, and Monica began to relax. But only for a second.
“I’m afraid though I won’t make it tonight,” Bernadette said with a wintry smile. “Polly neither. We arranged a late practice after the official meeting.”
She handed the envelope back to a surprised Candice.
“And Morgana never approached me,” she said smugly. “I understand that you are nervous about the prospect of your racketeering being unveiled, but I have nothing to hide. It wasn’t me who betrayed anyone.”
Abruptly, she turned around and quickly walked to the car park where she waved to a driver. The group watched her until the car had disappeared behind the large arena.
“She didn’t buy it,” Agnes sighed.
Candice shook her head. “No, she didn’t. She’s too smart.”
“Always used to be,” Monica said pensively. At least they knew now what this was about. Betrayal. Yes, understandably, Monica thought. But was an event that happened over a decade ago still relevant for Bernadette?
I have nothing to hide. It wasn’t me.
One thing Monica was sure of now. That had been a lie. It was Bernadette who was Morgana’s source.
***
When the ceremony began – with a couple of boring speeches and waiters running around and handing out champagne – Polly and Mint had grabbed two glasses and had found a spot in the back of the room, as Mint was trying to go unnoticed. But to no avail – Agnes had approached them, and Polly and Mint had received an exclusive invitation for a secret party. After Candice had finished her speech, they believed they could finally dig into the delicious buffet, but suddenly Paola had stormed the stage – late as always – and announced the winner voted by the audience of the Supersport show.
They had chosen Polly, as Paola revealed.
“Right on!” the American crowed, and Polly almost spilled her champagne over the tablecloth, when Mint gave her a hard forehand pat on the back. Then she gave Polly a little push to walk forward to the small stage where Paola was looking out for the young Canadian player.
“Come on,” Mint whispered into her ear. Polly gulped, but then smiled when she saw all the happy faces in the room applauding her win.
Three minutes later she was back with Mint. She couldn’t remember a word she had said into the microphone but Mint’s smile told her that it hadn’t all been too silly.
“I didn’t know that you were competing for a prize,” Mint remarked.
“I didn’t know it either,” Polly said with a shrug. “I must have missed it with everything that was happening to my mom.”
T
hey looked at the check that had just filled Polly’s purse by $50,000. She thought back to the conversation she had had with Bernadette when jogging through the hotel garden in Beijing. No, she would never need a single penny of Mint’s money, having earned more than ever this year – not only in the doubles competition with Bernadette but also with a few good runs in singles – and most probably a lot more than Mint. Polly could be the big spender and take Mint on a holiday before retreating to Canada over the winter. Just when she wanted to tell Mint about her idea, someone tapped her on the shoulder.
“It’s time, Polly,” Bernadette said coolly.
Polly sighed. One more week and she would have Bernadette off her back forever. But tonight she had promised to have a gym session with her.
“I’ll call you as soon as we are done and then we can go over to the other party,” Polly whispered into Mint’s ear, who nodded slightly. Polly could only hope that Bernadette didn’t catch the evil look Mint was throwing the older player. Her new girlfriend sure wasn’t happy that their evening was being interrupted by Bernadette.
The older player accompanied her to her room and waited until Polly had changed into her training clothes. The gym was located in the basement of the hotel and while they took the elevator downstairs, Polly could hear the music coming from the hallway.
“How much wine have you had?” Bernadette demanded to know.
“Not much,” Polly murmured, while Bernadette shooed her into the training room.
“Warm-up first,” Bernadette ordered, pulling out a mat from her bag.
“What’s this?” Polly asked, pointing at something in the bag.
“Nothing,” Bernadette retorted. “A souvenir.”
She quickly zipped the bag shut, hiding the old racquet that was inside.
“Where did you get it from?”
Bernadette looked up, annoyed with the inquisition. Then she paused for a moment. “My father,” she finally said.
Then she jumped up and began her warm-up routine.
***
It was a pretty good party, Monica had to admit. Candice and Agnes had done a great job again at finding a wonderful and exotic location. Monica was overlooking the sunken garden of the swanky but intimate palais on the banks of the Bosporus, checking the faces in the crowd for Morgana Doré. But the French player was nowhere to be seen. She began walking around the portico that contained the garden area until she reached a small round temple at the end of it. Two huge cargo ships crossed the Sea of Marmara, heading for the mouth of the Bosporus.
Suddenly, a loud shriek made her turn around. Clamor broke out as Antonia and Martina chased each other through the water fountain and splashed the other guests.
“Those two,” Monica grinned. The young couple had been together for almost two years now and Monica remembered how she set them up during a New Years Party she had hosted back then.
“I want to jump into that fountain with you,” a young voice next to her said. Monica turned around, raising her eyebrows. Gabriella had taken a spot at the balustrade, also watching the Italian and the Argentine. But she hadn’t talked to Monica. Next to Gabriella was none other than Sasha Mrachova.
Now, look what we have here, Monica thought. So, Lynn’s cryptic hints regarding a surprise couple actually held water. Gabriella and Sasha were an interesting match-up, to say the least. It was almost inexcusable for Monica to have only found out now, but for the past months she had been occupied with the trouble caused by Morgana and her Secret 8 source.
Morgana. Once more Monica scanned the crowd and this time she spotted the French girl on the other side of the garden, standing on the terrace and looking like she was also searching for someone. Monica began crawling through the packed crowd which was swaying to the music that Agnes was playing. Monica sighed at the obligatory French chansons that were part of every Year End party since a million years. Every year she forgot to talk her friend out of playing DJ at the party. But there was no time to hold her ears shut. With a little bit of luck she could reach Morgana before the French player left the terrace and disappeared in the crowd again.
Halfway through the garden an elbow obstructed her way. In front of her, Tom Richardson pulled out his cell phone.
“Ted, darling!” he screamed while Monica was trying to find a way through. “I’m sorry I couldn’t call you. My phone was in my bag which was in Zurich until now.”
“Please – ,” Monica yelled behind Tom, but the photographer didn’t hear. Why on earth had Agnes turned the volume up so loud?
“What? I can’t hear you, Teddy,” Tom blared into the phone. “What?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Tom!” Monica couldn’t believe it. She was stuck in the crowd with Tom swaying his arms around.
“The pictures?” Tom blared. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand a word, Ted. But I have an eye on the old girl. I promise.”
There was no way past the British guy, and in the distance she could see that Morgana was leaving the terrace. The French player was making a beeline towards the spring fountain. For a short moment the view was obstructed by the wildly gesticulating Brit and when Monica was able to peer through the crowd again she raised her eyebrows in surprise. Morgana Doré was talking to Mint Rickenbacher.
“What’s Mint doing here?” Monica asked herself aloud, only to be screamed down by Tom again.
“I simply can’t hear you, baby,” the photographer yelled. “Let’s talk later. You need to tell me about the pictures and I promise to keep an eye on her. Do you hear me? I can’t hear you.”
With a rough blow Monica finally pushed Tom aside and threw herself into the crowd again. Morgana and Mint were on the other side of the spring fountain. Through the water she could see Morgana grabbing Mint by the shoulders. “Where are they?” she could hear her scream over the music.
“In the gym!” Mint yelled back. “Polly will come over later.”
“Tell her to bring Bernadette,” Morgana told the American youngster. She sounded furious.
“Why?” Mint exclaimed. “I don’t want her here.”
“But I do,” Morgana said grimly. Monica had pricked up her ears as the French player wasn’t screaming this time. She had said it more to herself than to Mint.
“Call her,” Morgana ordered. Mint let her shoulders hang, but looking at Morgana’s determined face she pulled out her phone and called a number.
Monica waited. This was interesting. Morgana obviously wanted to talk to Bernadette, and she wasn’t happy. She was livid.
“Polly’s not answering,” Mint said after a while, but then straightened up.
“Polly? Hello?” Mint frowned. Apparently Polly was on the line now. “Hey, what’s going on?”
“What’s happening?” Morgana asked, too. She had leaned over to Mint and put her ear close to the phone.
“Polly?” Mint was screaming now. Her eyes grew wide.
“They are fighting,” she stammered, looking at Morgana. “It sounds like they are fighting.”
Morgana nodded. But before she could say anything Mint was pushing her way through the crowd towards the door. The crowd was dancing, quickly closing the gap behind Mint, and it was too late for Morgana to follow the young American. Monica watched Mint hurry out of the garden and bit her lip. Something was going on and again it felt like she couldn’t do anything about it. But then she swept the thought of Mint aside and stepped onto the marble edge of the fountain, balancing on it all around the water basin. This was her chance to get a hold of Morgana.
***
Candice slowly opened one eye. However, she stopped half-way as the sun shining through the window blinded her. She moaned a little and pulled the covers over her head. The party had gone until four in the morning and she felt as if she had drunk a whole fountain of wine and liquor.
Fountain. The last thing she remembered was Gabriella and Sasha causing the surprise of the evening and jumping naked into the water basin, with Lynn Pebblestone smugly overlooking the scene. Sh
e had defended her title as Queen of the Love Game, again being the only umpire to correctly name Sasha and Gabriella as a couple. How did she do it? A mystery Candice would never solve. At least not today with her head pounding.
She opened her eyes a second time and checked on Agnes lying next to her. Her French girlfriend looked just as knackered. Thank god there wasn’t much to do today. Everything was organized for a smooth start to the tennis in the early afternoon. They could snooze for another two hours.
Candice snuggled against Agnes, digging her nose into the soft hair and relaxing again – when the hotel room door rattled with loud bangs.
“Oh, really?” Candice moaned. Agnes twitched in her sleep. The banging didn’t stop.
“I just hope this is for a very good reason,” Candice growled and jumped out of bed. She slipped into her bathrobe and opened the door.
“Candice!” Tom gasped.
“What the fuck, Tom? It’s eight in the morning.”
Tom stared at her with a bewildered look. Had he taken drugs at the party yesterday, Candice wondered. But then the photographer reached out his arm and pointed to the window.
“Please,” he whispered and pushed Candice forward.
Candice and Agnes’s room was on the fourth floor, overlooking the backyard of the hotel which had a large square pool. The wind that had cooled the city a day before was just picking up again and made light waves on the water surface, tenderly rocking the lone figure in the middle of the pool.
Candice felt the air rush down her throat, and up again. All of a sudden, nothing seemed to move anymore – nothing but the water making small waves and long wisps of dark hair swaying in the surge like the arms of an octopus. The morning light shone brightly upon the scene – too brightly, illuminating the horror that was beginning to dawn upon Candice, and the growing number of hotel employees that came rushing to the pool, like a lamp in a dissection room.
Love Game - Season 2012 Page 38