The Corpse on the Court

the house next door, Woodside Cottage.

About the same time, in Bayswater, Jude announced, ‘I must get back to Fethering.’

They were sitting in the bay window of Piers Targett’s second-floor flat, looking through the trees of the central square to the matching terrace of tall, white-painted Victorian villas opposite. The room they sat in ran the whole width of the building, had a kitchen area at the back, separated by a free-standing work surface from an apparently artless collection of armchairs and sofas and the dining table in the window. It had undergone the careful attention of an expensive interior designer and, thanks to the daily ministrations of Piers’ Lithuanian cleaner, every surface was immaculately dust-free.

The flat had an air of anonymity about it, particularly to the eyes of someone like Jude, whose front room at Woodside Cottage was a messy assemblage of furniture, each item draped with a rug or throw, and shelves cluttered with an apparently random collection of bric-a-brac from many countries. And yet every item there held a memory for Jude.

In Piers’ flat every prompt to recollection seemed to have been hygienically removed. His kitchen looked as if it had never undergone the indignity of having food cooked in it. He ate out all the time, and his fridge played host only to bottles of champagne and white wine. A floor-to-ceiling rack next to it offered a comparable selection of reds.

And though the walls in the living room and bedroom featured some very well-chosen paintings, Jude got the impression that they reflected the taste of the interior designer rather than the flat’s tenant. If Piers Targett were to move out the next day, the incoming resident would find no clue to the fact that he had ever lived there.

It struck Jude yet again that she knew very little about her lover’s past and background, but this did not cause her any anxiety. She recognized in Piers a kindred spirit. Nobody knew much about her past or background either. That gave them both a sense of freedom. If their relationship developed in the long term, then some filling in of their backstories would inevitably be required, but that could wait. For the moment they were both enjoying the present too much to care about the past. Or indeed the future.

‘What, today?’ asked Piers. He looked up from texting on his beloved iPhone. ‘You want to go back to Fethering today?’

‘I think I’d better.’

‘Well, that’s fine. . so long as you promise you’ll be back here pretty damned quick.’

‘I promise. . though I will have to keep going back to Fethering.’

‘To enjoy the pleasures of — ’ Piers shuddered — ‘country life.’

‘Not that so much. Just to catch up with my clients. . and friends,’ said Jude, again thinking of one friend in particular. She had kept meaning to ring Carole over the last two weeks, but the more time went on, the more difficult she knew the eventual conversation would be. So, uncharacteristically, she shirked it. And of course she had been very preoccupied by falling in love with Piers.

‘Anyway, as I say, no problem,’ said Piers. ‘In fact, I’ve got some meetings today.’

‘Work?’

He nodded, but didn’t volunteer anything else. Piers Targett hadn’t actually been evasive about what he did for a living. He had talked — ‘airily’ again — about being ‘semi-retired’ and having ‘fingers in lots of pies’, but he hadn’t specified what fillings those pies might have. Wherever his money came from, he didn’t seem to lack for it. Decades had passed since Jude had been to as many expensive restaurants as she had in the previous fortnight.

‘Well, look, Piers, I think I should certainly stay down in Fethering tonight. .’

‘OK. But give me a call this evening. Let me know your plans.’ He abandoned his iPhone as his reassuringly large hand encompassed her chubby one. ‘I don’t think I’ll react well to being apart from you.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll call.’

‘I hope you haven’t regarded your time as being wasted. .’

Jude leant across impulsively and kissed Piers’ deliciously fleshy lips. ‘Far from it,’ she murmured.

‘Apart from anything else, you have been introduced to the arcane mysteries of real tennis. .’

‘True.’

‘. . of which you now have a complete and total understanding.’

‘Rather less true, I’m afraid.’

‘Only a matter of time.’

‘Look, I’m an overweight woman in my fifties. .’

‘Nonsense! You are a perfectly rounded, wonderfully sensual woman whose age is entirely irrelevant. You, as the French would put it, “fit your skin”.’

‘You silver-tongued devil.’

‘I only speak as I find. Anyway, you do have to try real tennis. Anyone who is in a relationship with me has to try real tennis.’ An idea came to him. He grinned. ‘I know what. I’ll get on to the professionals and book a court for later this week. No point in hanging about, you can have your introduction then.’

‘Well, I-’

‘Don’t argue with me, Jude. There is no escape. You are going to have the experience of playing on a real tennis court.’

She grinned. ‘Well, I’ll give it a go.’

‘You won’t regret it. Soon you’ll be laying chases with the best of them.’

‘Sorry. Haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.’

‘But I thought I explained the rules to you last night.’

Jude grimaced wryly. ‘I think it’s that word “chase”. The minute I hear it, I feel as if I’ve just been given an overdose of Mogadon.’

‘Ah.’ Piers grinned boyishly. ‘My mistake for trying to explain the rules when you’re sleepy. But now of course you’re wide awake! Well, the thing about laying a chase is that those parallel lines on the court-’

‘No!’ Jude put her hands over her ears in mock-protest. ‘No! No! No!’

At which they both collapsed in giggles. When those had died down, Jude said, ‘On the subject of real tennis. .’

‘Hm?’

‘One thing struck me. .’

‘What?’

‘Why do you play at Lockleigh House?’

‘Because I love the game. Surely you must’ve noticed that by now?’

‘Yes, I had noticed it — and I think your love for the game hovers very near the edge of obsession.’

Piers conceded her point with a spread of his hands. ‘Guilty as charged.’

‘But that wasn’t my question. I was asking, given the fact that you live in Bayswater, why do you go all the way down to the south coast to play tennis? You’ve told me there are courts in London. . at Queen’s Club. . at Lord’s. Hampton Court’s not that far away.’

‘Oh, it takes ages to get membership at Lord’s.’

There was a note in his voice that Jude hadn’t heard before in their two-week’s acquaintanceship. A note of evasiveness. She pounced on it immediately. ‘What do you really mean?’

Piers didn’t attempt to deny or bluster his way out. He just grinned and said ruefully, ‘Not much gets past you, does it, Jude?’

‘I like to think not.’

‘I used to live near Clincham,’ he said. ‘Little village called Goffham. That’s when I joined the Lockleigh House Club. Only a quarter of an hour away then. I used to play a lot. Three, four times a week, matches against other clubs, even trips to foreign courts. Don’t do it so much now. I’m not down there so often.’

Again Jude was acute to the nuance. ‘Not “so often”? You mean you do still go down there sometimes?’

‘Yes. Occasionally.’ He could tell from her quizzical brown eyes that she wanted more information. ‘I’ve still got a house down there. Where I used to live when I was married.’

Though she knew he must have been married, his words still gave her a little shock, perhaps in anticipation of all the other information they’d have to process through at some point. ‘Are you divorced?’ she asked.

‘No. We just don’t see each other.’