Devil May Care

‘Fifteen–love.’
    He netted his first serve, but hit a deep second withtopspin. Gorner’s return was short and Bond was able to pressure him into a backhand mistake.
    Following his plan, he swung the next serve out wide and stunned Gorner’s return with a drop volley, giving himself three match points.
    Now for the middle line, he thought. He threw the ball a little lower than usual, and slightly further in front of him, then hit with all his power, flat down the centre. It bounced in the corner of the service box and curved away from Gorner’s flailing racquet to hit the back netting half-way up. It lodged there, whitish grey, smudged with red.
    Bond went to the net and held out his hand. Gorner came to meet him and, for the first time since they had met, looked him in the eye.
    The relief and elation of victory evaporated as Bond felt the intense and violent hatred of the eyes that bored into him.
    ‘I look forward to a rematch,’ said Gorner. ‘In the very near future. I do not think you will be so fortunate a second time.’
    He went to gather his belongings without another word.

6. Quite a Girl
    When he emerged from the shower, Bond found no trace of Gorner in the changing room, though on top of his racquet was a white envelope, stiff with banknotes. On it was written: ‘ À bientôt. ’
    Bond tracked down Scarlett to one of the upstairs bars, where she sat on a stool in the window, innocently sipping a drink.
    ‘Did you enjoy your game, James?’
    ‘Good exercise. I think I lost a few pounds. Not as many as Gorner.’
    ‘But you did win?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And are you going to take me out to lunch to celebrate?’
    Bond pushed back his hair, which was still damp from the shower, and smiled at the girl’s earnest expression. ‘Let’s have a drink first,’ he said.
    Bond joined Scarlett in the window, bringing a fresh citron pressé for her, a litre of Vittel and a bottled beer for himself.
    Scarlett crossed her legs and turned to Bond. ‘It all seemed to come right for you just at the end.’
    ‘You were watching?’
    ‘From a safe distance. I didn’t want Gorner or Chagrin to see me.’
    Bond nodded.
    ‘The thing is,’ said Scarlett, with an enigmatic smile, ‘that you seemed to have no luck at all until the last three games.’
    ‘That can happen in any sport,’ said Bond. ‘Golf, tennis …’
    ‘Well, it seemed more than a coincidence to me,’ said Scarlett, ‘so I did some investigation.’
    ‘You did what?’
    ‘Every time you hit the ball into the netcord, it seemed to rebound out of play. Gorner’s shots never seemed to touch the net. I became suspicious.’
    Bond leaned forward, intrigued despite himself. ‘And?’
    ‘I noticed that your court was the only one without a handle on the net post to tighten the net – that the cord just ran down out of sight.’
    ‘Yes, I presume there’s a wheel let into the ground there.’
    Scarlett laughed. ‘Not so fast, James. I worked out whereabouts indoors would be directly under the net post and went to have a look. I reckoned it would be a small storeroom to one side of the indoor courts. I found my way to the room and looked through the glass in the door. And there was Mr Chagrin, watching television.’
    ‘Television?’
    ‘Yes, on closed circuit, like the ones in the entry hall. But in this room there’s a monitor with a console which allows you to follow any of the games going on outside. You know, like the director’s room in a television studio. And Chagrin was watching your game.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘There was a brass handle attached to a wheel in the concrete wall. It seemed to have something that looked very like a netcord running down to it. Depending on who was serving, Chagrin could turn the handle one way or the other to raise or lower it. Very simple – just an extra long netcord.’
    ‘So that’s why Gorner insisted on playing on Court Two.’
    ‘Chagrin waited till he could see on the screen that your back was turned,’ said Scarlett. ‘He’d got the cord wound so tight when you were serving that any shot of yours that touched it just flew out.’
    ‘And Gorner kept hitting it with his racquet between games. Presumably that was some sort of signal. So what did you do?’
    ‘I ran upstairs and looked around till I found someone I knew. A young man called Max, who works for Rothschild’s. He’s asked me out a few times and I knew he’d want to help. Obviously the staff are all in on Gorner’s