Love Game - Season 2012 (41 page)

Ted nodded.

“But why did you take them in the first
place?”

“I didn’t take them,” Ted retorted. “I
tried to save them, but I lost them in New York. And then Bernadette found
them, right? Did she give them to you then?”

Polly shook her head and held up her hands
to slow Ted down.

“Why do you keep asking about Bernadette?
She has nothing to do with it.”

“But how did you get hold of the pictures
then?” Ted wondered. “Who gave them to you?”

“I did.”

Mint had gotten up and come over from the
bar. Ted turned around and looked at the American for a moment. He squinted his
eyes, looking at her face, then he understood.

“You were at the hotel!” he blurted out.
“You let me in through the balcony door.”

Mint nodded.

“What were you doing at the hotel?” Polly
jumped in.

“I told you already. I tried to save the
pictures,” Ted said angrily. Then he hesitated, looking for words. “Someone
took them and had planned to publish them.”

“Who?” Mint asked, sitting down next to
Polly. But Ted shook his head and shut his lips tightly.

“It’s not important, as the person changed
his mind,” he finally revealed. “But by then it was too late. The pictures were
gone.”

He sighed, looking Mint and Polly over.
“Why did you give the pictures to the girls? Anonymously! It scared the shit
out of us.”

Polly turned around to Mint and looked at
her. She had asked the American the same question two weeks ago in Beijing but
the American had only shrugged. Now Mint grew tense.

“At first I thought it was funny,” she said
quietly. “And then I thought they would like them somehow. They are actually
really good pictures.”

She threw Polly a quick side glance and bit
her lip.

“I’m sorry,” she added. “I didn’t want to
scare anybody.”

Polly looked at Ted who seemed a bit lost,
having his eyes closed and trying to steady his breath. He seemed really
relieved, Polly thought with a chuckle. Interesting that he had suspected
Bernadette though.

She put her arm around Mint’s shoulder.
“Well, we are glad that you’re not the pervert we thought you were,” she winked
at the British player. “Now we only have to figure out what to do with the
pictures.”

Ted opened his eyes and ruminated over the
question.

“Delete them,” he finally said. Polly saw
how Mint opened her mouth to protest, but then closed it quickly. They ordered
drinks and sipped them slowly, while Polly helped Mint to delete all the
pictures from her phone and her laptop.

***

“None left,” Mint said quietly and turned
the computer around for Ted to have a look.

“Thank you,” he said. Then he shook his
head, amazed by the twists and turns this story had taken since he had first
set eyes on the red-haired photo journalist named Tom Richardson. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Polly answered.

“Were there other pictures of other
couples?” Mint suddenly asked.

Ted shook his head and looked the young
player over. “What was your favourite picture?”

He couldn’t tell in the low light of the
restaurant but he thought Mint blushed for a moment. “The one with Amanda and
Elise.”

“Of course,” Ted giggled. “It’s a wonderful
shot, isn’t it?”

“Was,” Mint remarked.

“Well, thanks to you Amanda and Elise have
a copy of it,” Ted said. “I know they like it, too.”

He saw how Mint smiled a bit. He also saw
how Polly glanced at the American.

“We’ll have to go now,” the young Canadian
said, checking her watch.

“Gym session with Bernadette?” Ted guessed
and Polly nodded. Ted couldn’t help but notice that Mint looked peeved. He
grinned and wondered how long these two had been together now.

The two young players got up, packed the
laptop while Ted began dialing Tom’s number. He had to tell his boyfriend about
the fortunate turn of events and that all the time they had been completely wrong
– about Anastasia
and
about Bernadette. He couldn’t get a signal and
finally remembered that Tom was already on his way to Istanbul for the Year End
Championships. Ted sighed. He would call Tom later. The girls said goodbye and
Ted watched them step outside into the cold Moscow night. Preoccupied by
solving the picture problem he hadn’t noticed that it had begun to snow. Thick
flakes glided down onto the ground and rolled out a white carpet for the two
young women.

Polly put an arm around Mint, sheltering
her from the cold, and they walked past the window front. Under a street light
they waited for the traffic signal to turn green so they could walk over to the
hotel on the other side. They had forgotten about pictures, about the other
girls and Ted. In the milky light of the lamp Mint put her arms around Polly
and they slowly kissed.

Ted leaned his head on one hand and watched
them with a big smile. How sweet young love was, he thought. Then he quickly
took out his cell phone and snapped a picture of the two girls. He would give
it to them when he would see them next.

“At least the American values romantic
memorabilia,” he said to himself, while Mint and Polly made it to the other
side.

***

Morgana Doré crouched over her laptop and
looked at the e-mails that had popped up after opening her inbox.

There was a new e-mail from Larissa, which
wasn’t surprising. They had continued writing each other as usual after the
telephone call as Morgana thought it not wise to let her source in on the
intrigue that was going on. But in the afternoon another e-mail had arrived –
also from Larissa Perkins. However, from a different e-mail address.

“They’re really trying everything to
convince me,” Morgana mumbled while opening the new e-mail.

Please contact me when you come to Florida
in the off-season. I would love to meet in person to clear all doubts that I am
Larissa Perkins.

Morgana frowned. This was interesting.

During the U.S. hardcourt season she had
spent a few weeks of preparation in Florida and had tried to set up a meeting
with her source to whom she had been writing since spring. It had never worked
out. Either Larissa was too busy or not at home when Morgana had time to visit.
She also realized that she had never spoken to her source on the phone back
then.

And now the person Morgana believed was
impersonating Larissa to steer Morgana off course was offering her just that.
She knew where Larissa’s animal shelter was located. She had found it online.
The new e-mail was written from the animal shelter’s e-mail address, while
Larissa, the source, had only ever written from a private e-mail address.
Morgana gulped. A sneaking suspicion crept up on her.

She filtered the e-mails of her source and
began reading through the old letters. There was the conversation from the
summer when Larissa, the source, kept finding excuses to avoid a meeting.

Sorry for calling off our meeting, but I
need to take one of the dogs to the vets. Sorry, I’ll be visiting friends over
the weekend and won’t be back until late Sunday evening. Sorry, but I’ve asked
to my neighbor to take care of the pets so we can meet for a coffee but she
doesn’t have time. Sorry, but – .

Morgana stopped. Then she went back one
e-mail.

I’ve asked to a neighbor to take care of
the pet home.

She read the sentence again. And again and
again.

“
Merde
,” she finally whispered. “
Merde
.”

I’ve asked to
. Larissa was perhaps not a very educated person, but
she was American and no native English speaker would make such a mistake. Why
hadn’t she seen it before, Morgana gasped. How could she fail to notice this
blatant hint that her source wasn’t American, as she said she was.

Reading the words over again it slowly
dawned on her.

In French, asking a neighbor, would be
demander
à un voisin
. To Morgana’s French ear, adding one little word didn’t sound
wrong. She had simply read it in a French way, mixing the two languages and
thereby overlooking the obvious.

Morgana leaned back and inhaled deeply. She
realized something else. Her source, posing as a native English speaker, had to
be in fact a French speaker as well.

Bernadette had given her the e-mail
address, Morgana remembered. And Bernadette spoke French. It was in fact her
native tongue – a fact unbeknownst to most people on the tour nowadays.

“Bernadette LeBlanc,” Morgana mumbled,
remembering the nickname Bernadette had a decade ago. “The Defector.”

LATE NIGHT

RACQUETEERING

Istanbul, Turkey

Mint took a seat in the upper stands of the
Sinan Erdem Dome and looked across the court. Two staff members were fixing the
poles into the ground and preparing the net for the first practice on the new
court.

Mint yawned. She and Polly had arrived late
last night on a flight from Moscow where Polly and Bernadette had won the
final. All was going well for the doubles team. They had made the cut for the
Year End Championships and would compete with the three other best teams in the
world.

All was going well for Mint, too. The kiss
in the cold Moscow night had been the best thing that had happened in a while.
Polly’s lips had been warm and smooth. Even if there hadn’t been the touch of
her mouth, the Canadian girl’s smile would have been enough to have warmed
Mint’s heart for the whole week they had spent in Russia.

Leaning onto her knees Mint remembered how
she and Polly rushed over the snowy street – hobbled, she should say, with
Polly taking her hand and holding it inside her tracksuit pocket to keep it
warm. They had run through the hotel lobby, giggling and smiling and still
holding hands and not caring what the other guests thought. In the hotel room
it wasn’t cold anymore, but they pretended it was. They got under the bed
covers and continued kissing and giggling and ruffling each other’s hair. And
that’s all they did. In hindsight Mint was surprised that she hadn’t pushed for
more – like she usually did. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to sleep with
Polly. She was in fact thinking about the Canadian non-stop. But it also felt
like a bigger step than usual. A much bigger step. Polly wasn’t one of those
girls whose name Mint had forgotten before they even left her room in the
morning. They could talk and talk for hours. In fact, it felt like Polly knew
her inside-out already as Mint had trusted her with her worst secrets.

Trust. That stupid word caused Mint
headaches. Especially when uttered by therapists. They usually added the word
‘issues’ to elucidate to Mint whatever they believed was bugging her. Stupid.

Here she was, and she wasn’t running away
from anything. She wasn’t pushing either. She was waiting for the good stuff to
happen and she was looking forward to spending time with Polly in the cold
country in the North. Because wherever Polly was it couldn’t be that cold. If
it got to chilly they would simply slip under a blanket, and Mint would fall
asleep in Polly’s arms and would make it a habit to wake up just a few minutes
before the alarm rang, so she could wait for the grey eyes to open and look at
her in the morning light.

Down on the court Antonia and Martina had
begun to hit balls over the net, waiting for Polly and Bernadette to practice
with them. Just when Mint started wondering where the doubles team was someone
stepped down the stairs next to her.

“Thanks to you, Polly is late,” Bernadette
said without looking at Mint. She watched Martina and Antonia.

“What?” Mint looked at the older Canadian
player and shook her head. “We came here together. On time.”

“Unfortunately, Polly left her head in
bed,” Bernadette hissed. “And with her head also her spare clothes and shoes in
the hotel.”

Mint swallowed hard. “Why didn’t you say
anything? I could have taken a cab back and gotten her stuff.”

“Too late,” Bernadette replied, almost
triumphantly to underline Mint’s uselessness. “I sent her over to get it
herself. She needs to learn a lesson. Won’t forget her clothes in the future.”

Mint clenched her teeth but didn’t say
anything. A lesson? Who did Bernadette think she was?

“I also booked a separate room for Polly,”
Bernadette added smugly.

“Excuse me?” Mint almost jumped up from her
chair. “Polly and I will be rooming together. You can’t make her take another
room.”