Читать книгу Match Pointe - Indigo Bloome - Страница 22

When Eloise met up with Ivan again in the US, it was clear that he had all but lost his spark for tennis and niggling strains in his hamstring and Achilles had become cause for concern. Although she still danced for him before each game, he watched her perform as a distant bystander rather than with his previous rapture at her skill and precision. She felt sorry for him, sensing that his loss at Wimbledon was still raw, which was confirmed by Caesar, who explained that this malaise caused him to miss the Australian Open earlier in the year. It seemed Ivan’s motivation was at rock bottom and everyone was questioning whether this tournament might indeed mark the end of his tennis career.

It was within this apathetic atmosphere that the US Open began with little gusto for either of them. Ivan didn’t ask her to attend any matches at Flushing Meadows, so she busied herself around New York City’s incredible museums. SoHo had always been a firm favourite and one of the few places she liked to do some boutique shopping. One afternoon she took a tour of the Lincoln Center for Performing Arts to go ‘behind the scenes’ of the New York City Ballet. Needless to say it felt very strange being on the other side of the fence as a tourist rather than as a dancer! However, more often than not – other than her early morning jog around Central Park before it became too busy and hot – she stayed within the confines of the iconic Caesar Towers Hotel, keeping her body toned with swimming and working out at the gym. The sporadic messages she shared with Noah were without doubt the highlight of her day.

Eloise didn’t pay much attention to Ivan’s matches, vaguely aware that he was struggling through the tournament on a wing and a prayer. She was concentrating on some intermittent sprint training on the running machine in the hotel’s gym when the sports news caught her eye – causing her to misjudge her steps, topple off the conveyer belt and land awkwardly on her weak left ankle. She sat on the carpet, momentarily befuddled, as she absorbed the reality that Noah had just been awarded the match over Ivan – who had forfeited the match in the fourth set, unable to continue due to a hamstring injury.

She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Ivan limping up to the net to shake Noah’s hand, Noah placing his arm around Ivan’s shoulder in genuine sympathy for such a misfortune. Noah was through to the finals of the US Open! Her new ‘best friend’, the twenty-four-year-old slightly French Aussie who drank martinis and pints and who was quite partial to smoking on the odd occasion! She was forced to admit to herself that she hadn’t honestly believed it was possible for someone so laid-back to ever reach the pinnacle of his sport; from her perspective, he just didn’t seem to take it seriously enough. Although she had to concede, he was steadily climbing up the ranks with each match he played, which must be exciting for him.

All of a sudden, the final of the US Open held far greater significance to her than it had mere moments before. Not only would Noah be playing in his first grand-slam final, but Ivan’s status as Number One was also potentially at risk.

Throwing a towel around her neck and ignoring the pain in her ankle, she quickly returned to her suite to shower. Afterwards, she flicked the TV to the channel dedicated to the US Open. A reporter was interviewing Stephan Nordstrom, who had made it through in straight sets to the final against Noah.

His face and his deep authoritative voice immediately captivated Eloise, and her belly pulled tight at the sight of him.

The only thing that distracted her was the buzz at the door as the concierge delivered a message to her room. The gold-embossed envelope announced that it was from the one and only Caesar.

Dear Eloise,

This message is to inform you that should Stephan Nordstrom win the US Open, he will immediately become Number One in the ATP men’s rankings. Arrangements will be made for your transfer to him within twenty-four hours of the end of the match, should he agree to this. Should Noah Levique win the final, there will be no change in ranking and you will remain assigned to Ivan Borisov until otherwise notified.

You may wish to acquaint yourself with the copy of your contract that I have included with this letter. My solicitor has highlighted the specific clauses you would be expected to uphold should such a transfer of Mastership occur.

My driver will pick you up from reception at 3pm tomorrow to escort you to my private suite at Arthur Ashe Stadium so we can enjoy this momentous match together.

May the best man win.

Caesar

As Eloise placed the note from Caesar on the desk in her suite, sounds of the interview with Stephan echoed in the background. She had signed up to Caesar’s game of human chess, and now he was making his next move. The thought that she was merely his pawn sent shudders down her spine, though she couldn’t decide whether they were from excitement or fear.

She wondered whether Noah had any hope at all against the formidable Stephan Nordstrom. She sent her friend a text message, congratulating him on reaching the finals and wishing him the very best of luck.

On the spur of the moment, she decided to quickly dress and go out to source a snow dome from one of the tourist shops to commemorate the occasion. She chose a dome featuring New York’s skyline, with King Kong holding a large tennis racquet on top of the Empire State Building. The ever-helpful concierge kindly organised its express delivery to Noah’s hotel and she once again cherished the memories of the special week they’d shared.

The next afternoon Eloise ensured she was impeccably attired for meeting with Caesar. She prepared with the same fastidious care as she had always done for the stage, and felt suitably glamorous as she was escorted into the enormous luxury limousine waiting for her.

Looking out at the stadium from Caesar’s private suite, she felt like she was in a bubble, not really part of the commotion of the crowd but still able to sense its raw energy. It was a far cry from the polite decorum on display at Wimbledon – the spectators nowhere near as homogenised, most of them flamboyantly showing off their uniqueness. Music was blaring from the speakers; some people were smoking joints, entwined in each other’s arms; others were jiving to the sounds on their headphones. You could literally feel the vibrant pulse of New York City pumping through your body. On her way to join Caesar she’d even passed a couple of brawling men who were in the process of being escorted out of the stadium by security.

Despite feeling a little removed from the action, she was glad to be witnessing the commotion from safely behind tinted glass panels, in air-conditioned comfort. Otherwise she could easily have believed she was in a modern-day Colosseum, awaiting the arrival of lions and gladiators.

This thought made her immediately aware of what was at stake, the dichotomy of her feelings causing her muscles to tense in anticipation of what the result might be. Though she would love for Noah to win, she couldn’t deny her personal desire for a change in her own circumstances; after the coldness of Ivan a new Number One would be more than welcome.

The reality was that her life could be vastly different in a matter of hours, depending on who won this match, and it finally hit her with such force that she inadvertently lost her grip on the crystal glass of Krug. A waiter arrived swiftly at her side, offering another before cleaning up the expensive mess she had made.

Caesar watched her every move from the corner of the room like a hawk sitting on a perch. She truly was a beauty to behold; there was no denying her attractiveness to every male in her midst, even those more than double her age, like himself. But Eloise was far too innocent a creature for him; these days, his relationships with women meant only sex, never love. Besides he despised the look of older men with much younger women hanging off their arms. He thought them pathetic and believed such relationships merely provided an entrée to financial grief.

There had only ever been one true love in Caesar’s life, and that had been many, many years ago. Even though the relationship had been brief, his heart had been crushed so completely he had never recovered enough to trust or love another woman again.

However, it didn’t stop him from admiring the graceful curves beneath Eloise’s pale pink wrap-around dress. One could never deny she was a ballerina; it was just that today she wore a more elegant outfit, appropriate to the circumstances.

Caesar found himself reflecting that it was a shame his father wasn’t here; he’d always appreciated beauty, even though he’d never really respected women. (This remained a sore point between father and son – though Caesar had to admit he was growing more cynical about relationships himself these days.)

The relentless onset of Alzheimer’s ensured that Antonio King was now essentially a prisoner within the grounds of his Sussex mansion, under the constant care of Nurse Victoria. Caesar tried to mask the constant worry he carried for his father, his ever-present poker face allowing him to effectively shield his true feelings from others. Winning substantial amounts of money always proved an excellent distraction for Caesar, so whenever his emotions threatened him, he deliberately increased the stakes, hoping the euphoria of winning would provide the ultimate high and deaden the feeling of loneliness that sometimes seeped through.

More than his many other business dealings, his intriguing Number One Strategy was proving an excellent tonic for his emotional state. The smile returned to his face as he considered the money he had made already, knowing that was only a pittance compared with what was to come, particularly after today’s match was won.

And Eloise was just where he wanted her for this momentous match. She was ever discreet and softly spoken in conversation – features he always appreciated in a woman yet rarely found – but he was fascinated that she had mentioned nothing to him of her week in London with Noah. He wondered if she honestly believed he wasn’t aware of her every move on any given day.

He sighed inwardly. She might be beautiful, but she was still so young and unworldly. Even so, as long as she honoured her end of the deal, he would always honour his.

In the meantime, however, there was far too much at stake for her to be roaming around aimlessly as she had been with Noah Levique – of all people – when Ivan disappeared into an emotional hole after his loss at Wimbledon. Caesar’s sources had mentioned nothing of a relationship between Noah and Eloise before she was offered the contract. Only time would tell if she was being secretive or merely naive in her actions; he didn’t know her well enough yet to say. But either way, if she honestly believed her contract with him allowed her that much freedom – with a tennis player he didn’t represent, no less – she was sorely mistaken. This was the sort of inside information he depended on – indeed, was betting on, and not insignificantly! It was time to stalk his prey a little more closely …

‘Lovely to see you again, Eloise. How are you?’

‘Very well, thanks, Caesar. And you?’

‘Couldn’t be better. Nothing more exciting than the potential changing of the guard, don’t you think?’ There was a twinkle in his eyes as he said the words and nodded to the waiter to refill her glass.

Talking to Caesar when her life could be about to change was making Eloise nervous, so she made a deliberate attempt to remain as polite and calm as possible, carefully considering her answers before she spoke.

‘How have things been with Ivan?’ he asked.

‘Well, as you’d be aware, he hasn’t quite been himself since the loss at Wimbledon, and now with his injury and all …’

‘I know. Poor chap, things haven’t gone his way recently. So what’s been keeping you occupied?’

Eloise’s nerves shifted a gear but fortunately her voice remained steady.

‘Taking in the sights; there’s always plenty to do in New York.’

She offered nothing more, and he decided to let the matter rest, for now. ‘Indeed there is. So tell me, what are your thoughts on these two players?’

‘I’m no expert on tennis, Caesar; you’d know far better than I would.’

He silently congratulated her on her answer: sticking to generalities rather than getting personal. Perhaps she had more intelligence than he’d given her credit for.

‘Yes, yes, quite right.’ He chuckled. ‘Then let me phrase my question more succinctly. Would you prefer a change, or for your circumstances to remain as they are?’

She paused before answering, unsure of what he was hoping to hear. ‘My preference is irrelevant, Caesar. I will accept whatever happens; that’s the commitment I’ve made.’

‘I’m very pleased to hear that you’re taking the contract as seriously as I am. I’m not one for deviations once something has been agreed. Enjoy the game, Eloise; heaven knows I shall.’

With a clink of his glass and a cheerful wink that belied the veiled threat in his words, he excused himself to go and chat with his other guests as the pre-match tension rose steadily around them.

The knots in Eloise’s stomach tightened as the two players entered the stadium and applause instantly erupted. Noah came out first, and the crowd enthusiastically welcomed the new kid on the block. Though he was smiling and waving, everyone could sense his nervousness at being in his first grand-slam final. Eloise beamed with pride, hoping he’d received her message and small gift. Caesar didn’t miss a single twitch of her expressive face from the other side of the room.

The cheering changed when Stephan Nordstrom appeared on the court, sporting his sponsored Maui Jim sunglasses. The newly appointed tennis superstar acknowledged the crowd with a brief nod before immediately getting down to the business of ensuring the brands of his clothes, racquets and even his drink bottles were facing the right way for maximum exposure. It took three attempts for him to find the racquet with the perfect string tension, then he carefully placed the other two back in his sponsored sports bag, ensuring they were in the exact position he wanted them. Some might have called him obsessive–compulsive – and many had, often – but the sponsors Caesar had secured on his behalf would handsomely reward such meticulousness.

Once these actions were performed, he sat perfectly still, more focused than a neurosurgeon about to make his first incision. It was as if the crowd no longer existed in his mind. The look on his face made it clear that Nordstrom was here for one reason only.

To dominate and to win.

Eloise’s nerves electrified as she was torn between her excitement at the prospect of a new Number One particularly a Swedish god like Stephan – and wanting to protect her gorgeous Noah from such a tour de force. Though beaming at Noah, she found herself drawn to Stephan, wondering if he was as domineering in person as he was on court. She watched in awe along with thousands of other fans as he sat trance-like in his seat before the announcer summoned the players onto the court for their warm-up.

Eloise desperately hoped the knot in her stomach would ease when play commenced.

Nothing could have been further from the truth.