towards the tennis court like a great black hand as the players took up their positions. Rannaldini had service. Trembling, Kitty waited to receive. Opposite her at the net, skipping from foot to foot in her Grecian dress like an avenging Juno, crouched Hermione.
Lysander had lost all his bounce. He wanted a stiff drink and this match to be over as quickly as possible so he could make it up with Georgie before she left. She’d already put on a cardigan and gathered up her racquets. He could see her pretending to listen to Meredith’s patter as she watched Guy plying Rachel with champagne and compliments as they discussed saving the rhino.
In a quarter of an hour Rannaldini and Hermione were leading 5–0. They had followed a deliberate policy of hitting the ball at Kitty. Like a child fending off blows, she missed everything, apologies pouring from her whitening lips. Lysander simply wasn’t trying.
‘Your little friend certainly cracks under pressure,’ Guy called out scornfully to Georgie.
As the players changed ends, Rannaldini beckoned Natasha.
‘We’ll be through in a few minutes. Run and tell Mrs Brimscombe to put the kettle on.’
Bastard, thought Georgie. Lysander and Kitty looked so cast down and Hermione so smug.
‘Horsey, horsey,’ she suddenly called out to Lysander as he slouched past her. Then as he swung round, she smiled, whispering: ‘Don’t let the old bat get away with it.’
Blissful to be forgiven, Lysander sauntered back to the base line. Next moment an ace whistled past Hermione’s pink sweat band. Changing sides, Lysander curved into a perfect bow, threw up the ball and blasted it across the net — just out, which was lucky for Rannaldini who’d been staring at Rachel and hadn’t even seen it. The second service was even faster.
‘Out, fifteen-all,’ snapped Rannaldini as he walked back to the base line.
Lysander didn’t budge. ‘That serve was in.’
‘It was out,’ snarled Rannaldini.
‘It was in — sir. If you’re going to cheat, there’s no point in playing.’
Kitty quailed. Rannaldini’s face contorted in rage. The spectators exchanged glances of gleeful anticipation.
‘That ball was in, Rannaldini,’ agreed Bob who was umpiring the final. ‘I saw the chalk rise.’
On cue, Maggie came bounding on to the court, nose brown from digging, pink tongue lolling, frantically searching for her master. In a fury, Rannaldini picked up a ball and served it at her, only just missing, sending her fleeing in terror from the court. Instantly Lysander bounded over the net, seizing Rannaldini by the lapels of his cream polo shirt.
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’
‘
‘Not in the way you control your bitches,’ retorted Lysander so only Rannaldini and Hermione could hear. ‘You ought to be suspended for excessive use of the whip. Your partner can hardly sit down today.’
Hermione froze — speechless and open-mouthed — like a photograph of herself reaching top C.
‘Keety ’as been sneaking,’ said Rannaldini in a fury.
‘Not at all.’ Lysander scooped up a ball. ‘You should keep the windows of your indoor school shut on hot summer afternoons.’
It took all Bob’s tact to get them to play on.
To Lysander’s relief that Georgie had forgiven him was added a cold fury with Rannaldini, and his game took on a sustained brilliance as, with great leaps, he intercepted the viciously powerful bombardment Rannaldini was directing at his terrified wife. Hermione, worried how much Lysander had overheard, had been totally put off her game.
‘That tea’s going to be very stewed,’ crowed Georgie twenty minutes later. ‘Hermione’s quite fat, isn’t she?’
‘Kind Bob always turns down the scales when she comes home from tours,’ said Marigold. ‘Oh, good shot, Kitty.’ The spectators gave a great cheer. ‘They’ve caught up at last.’
At six-all they went into a tie-break.
‘Well done, Kitty. Take it slowly. You’re doing brilliantly,’ said Lysander, as, like a cat washing its ears, he wiped the sweat from his forehead with an inside arm.
Rannaldini kicked off and won his first serve. Watching his brute strength as he uncoiled like a cracked whip, Lysander was unpleasantly reminded of his behaviour in the indoor school. Fired up, Lysander served two aces, and somehow Kitty got Hermione’s next serve back. Bounding in front of Hermione, Rannaldini poached her ball. But, in trying to pass Lysander, he left his own side exposed. Unpassed, Lysander powered the ball away into the farthest corner. Hermione now served to Lysander, promptly netted his return, and turned dark red as Rannaldini swore viciously at her under his breath.
‘Kitty and Lysander lead 4–1,’ said Bob, not without satisfaction. The spectators were cheering every point.
Kitty managed to lob her service in to Hermione, who was so upset by Rannaldini’s invective that she hit it straight to Lysander who whipped a top-spin pass down the backhand. Rannaldini didn’t get near it.
‘Someone’s soon going to have to save the Rhino-ldini,’ drawled Flora.
The crowd, except Rachel and Guy, howled with laughter. Rannaldini was so furious that he ran in, hitting such a vicious return to Kitty’s service that she ducked to avoid being killed.
‘Temper, temper,’ said Lysander. Then to Kitty, ‘You OK, babe? We’ve got him on the run.’
Rannaldini promptly aced Kitty, making it 5–3. A heart-stopping rally followed, which had the crowd on their feet yelling with excitement. Seeing his wife quivering like a strawberry jelly in the middle of the court, Rannaldini opened his shoulders and fired the ball down the tramlines.
‘Well played, partner,’ panted Hermione.
‘Run, Kitty,’ begged Lysander.
Like a little hippo, Kitty lumbered across the court, slicing the ball with a stretched-out racquet, so it just toppled over the net, and Rannaldini, who was now reaching for a towel, had no time to catch it.
‘6–3! Well done, we can do it,’ whooped Lysander.
‘Great play, Kitty,’ called out Natasha who had taken Ferdie’s lecture to heart.
How can I love a man who is such a terrible loser? thought Flora in despair.
It was Lysander to serve again. Crouching at the net, Kitty felt stabbing pains in her tummy, but was more aware of Hermione crouching on the back line. There was no goodwill in that beautiful face now, just hatred. Her return came straight at Kitty, hitting her glasses, sending them flying. Blindly Kitty groped for them.
‘In front of you,’ shouted the crowd.
Racing up, Lysander disengaged them from the net.
‘You OK, sweetheart?’
She’s got gorgeous eyes, he thought irrationally, as he handed her glasses back to her. Ferdie must get her into contact lenses.
Strolling back to the base line, he bounced the ball longer than usual, until a hush fell over the court. It was still set point. Rannaldini took service, blasting it at Kitty, who, shaken, mishit it. The pink ball sailed up in the air.
‘Brilliant,’ howled Lysander. ‘Terrific return, Kitty.’
‘Mine,’ shouted Rannaldini, shoving Hermione aside and coiling himself up for a pulverizing smash. Alas, he was an inch too short. The ball cleared the top of his racquet, dropping a centimetre inside the back line. The crowd erupted.
‘Game, set, match and tournament to Kitty and Lysander,’ said Bob in ill-disguised delight.
Rannaldini’s face was expressionless as he shook hands, but Kitty gasped with pain as his grip almost broke her fingers. With the sun gone, it was suddenly chilly. A screech owl screamed from the depths of the wood. As people gathered round clapping Lysander and Kitty on the back, the pavilion telephone rang. Only members of the family knew the number. Natasha got there first.
‘Wolfie,’ she gave a scream of delight, ‘where
‘D’you want a word with Dad?’ Natasha went on, as Rannaldini held out his hand. ‘Oh, right.’ Then,
