Grand Slam (32 page)

Emilio won the semifinals match against John Connor. Connor didn't win another game after Emilio's fightback. It was the most thrilling thing I'd ever witnessed. And that was all very well and wonderful, but now I had to confess to Emilio that I still didn't have his lucky charm. That I'd borrowed a fake one to trick him into winning the match. I wondered how he'd take it.

I sent a message with Teresa that I'd meet Emilio at his hotel for dinner, assuming he'd want to have dinner with me. Sharon and I met the lucky-charm lady back at the loo, and she threw her arms around me.

‘I can't believe I helped Emilio Méndez win that match!'

‘Yep, you sure did. But don't tell anyone just yet, will you? He thinks I had the real one.'

She zipped her mouth.

Then Sharon handed me back to Andrew. I asked Andrew to take me home so I could pack and tell Mum my plans. On the way I tried to call Jack, but it went straight to voicemail.

I said to Andrew, ‘I ordered a rollaway bed for you. Or are you supposed to be in the actual same bed as me?'

He gave me an exasperated Jack look.

‘You can have the big bed if you want.'

‘I'm cool.'

I bet he was. If he'd had Jack-type experiences in his career, that probably included some sleeping-in-the-jungle time, which was rarely comfortable and usually terrifying. I knew. I'd done it.

As we pulled into Mum and Dad's street, Emilio called me.

‘Congratulations to the best tennis player in the world!'

‘Where are you, Emily? I want
mi amuleto
!'

‘Didn't you see Teresa?'

‘Yes, Teresa is here.'

‘She was supposed to give you a message.'

‘She did not.'

I clicked my tongue, annoyed. ‘Doesn't matter. I sent a message to say I'll meet you back at the hotel in time for dinner. Okay?'

‘Please hurry, Emily.'

I told Mum I was moving into Crown hotel for the rest of the tournament. ‘Just three nights.'

She pursed her lips, trying to find a reason why it wasn't the right thing to do. Well, Mum, it's either that or you'll be scrambling eggs for my bodyguard. She'd probably like that.

‘But I'll be back and forth.' Breaking into Mrs Booth's house again. ‘By the way, are you going to church on Sunday?'

‘Yes, dear. Of course.'

‘How are you getting there?'

‘Well, I did think your chauffeur could take us, but we've been offered a lift.'

‘By . . .'

‘Imelda. Mrs Booth.'

‘Yes! I mean, that's nice of her.' So, Sunday morning it would be. I'd have the lucky charm in my hot little hand for the men's final on Sunday evening. Oh my God, it was all nearly over.

Back at the hotel, I stood next to Andrew at Emilio's door and knocked, bracing myself for his anguish. I heard him running. I sucked in a great breath and blew it out. When he opened the door, he looked at me, at Andrew, stepped forward and looked along the passageway.

‘Who were you expecting? Vladimir Vavilov?'

‘No, it is just . . .' He looked at my hands, which were empty. ‘Where is it?'

I put my hands on his arms. ‘I have to tell you something.'

It wasn't so bad. At first, when I told him what I'd done, he'd backed away from me, like I was the most evil thing he'd ever encountered. But I said over and over that I knew where his real one was, that I'd get it, and to distract him, I told him how clever he was – the best tennis player
ever
. I reminded him about his incredible achievement that afternoon. He calmed down, but I didn't think he fully trusted me. If I were Emilio, I wouldn't trust me either.

For dinner, Andrew sat at the table next to Emilio's and mine. I invited him to join us but he shook his head. ‘Thanks anyway.'

‘You won't listen to the shit we say, will you?'

He gave me a smile, but didn't say ‘Mum's the word' or anything like that.

Emilio was subdued, didn't have much to say. He was still brooding about the trick. Why couldn't he see the positive in it? He'd won the semifinal, thanks to what he thought was the real lucky charm. He went to the men's and I checked my phone. Still no word from Jack. I leaned toward Andrew. ‘Have you heard from Jack?'

‘Not today.'

I checked my voicemail again in case there was a new message I hadn't heard. Just an old one from Jack saying, ‘We need to meet.' And that was it. Mr Cool. So unlike me. If
I
was that desperate to see
him
, I'd have left ten messages, each one getting shittier and more panicky.

I went to dial his number but Emilio arrived back at the table, having paid the bill, and now, he said, it was time for bed.

When the hotel lift doors opened for us to enter, Emilio said to Andrew, ‘Please, just Emily.'

Andrew gave me raised eyebrows, which were probably about Emilio's request, but could also have meant,
Why are you letting this dipshit call you Emily?

‘Can you follow in the next one?' I waved my arm at the empty lift. ‘No murderers here.'

Andrew didn't want to wait for the next one, I could tell, but he stepped back and the doors closed.

Emilio leaned heavily against the wall, rested his head back and closed his eyes. ‘Emily, tomorrow is Saturday, and the day after is the men's final.'

‘I know, Emilio. You need to get plenty of rest.'

‘I'm feeling . . . worried.'

‘I can imagine.'

‘I do not know what is happening to me. I do not feel the same.'

‘Well, you've already shown you don't need your lucky charm. Just look how well you played today!'

He shook his head. ‘Maybe I do need it.
Mi amuleto
.'

‘I really don't —'

‘You do not understand.'

‘Yes, I do. I know how important this is to you.'

‘No, you do not. All the others. I have beaten them before. I have never beaten Vladimir Vavilov. Not ever.'

‘But you will!'

‘Not with this.' He pointed to his head and his heart. ‘Not with these feelings and thoughts.'

I didn't say anything because nothing useful came to mind. The lift doors opened and Emilio walked out, headed down the passage to his room. I trailed after him but stopped to wait for Andrew.

Emilio turned. ‘Come, Emily. I need you to help me.'

Two more days, I thought. In two days this will be over. Emilio will have won the tournament and my life will be different, but in a good way. Or Emilio will lose the tournament and I'll be lynched in Bourke Street Mall. My life as I know it is over because of a tennis match.

‘Emily!'

‘Please don't order me like that, Emilio.'

‘But you did not come when I said.'

I walked slowly toward him. ‘I'm not a puppet. If you want something from me, then please ask.'

I heard the lift ping and Andrew stepped out. I held up a hand for him to wait.

‘No girlfriend has caused me so much problems.' Emilio turned to the door of his suite, pushed the key in the slot. ‘Sometimes I wonder why I bother with you.'

‘
What?
' As the door swung closed, I shoved it open, stomping after him into the room. ‘Emilio, I've done everything you've asked of me. Everything!'

He sat on his bed, put his face in his hands. ‘I do not know what is wrong with me.'

There was a knock. Andrew. I ran to the door.

He looked past me into the room. ‘I need to check it out.'

‘It's clear in here.' I stepped closer and said in a low voice, ‘He's upset. I just need a minute.'

I let the door close and returned to Emilio. ‘I'll get your charm before Sunday.'

He shook his head, put his face in his hands.

I knelt on the floor in front of him. ‘It will be all right.' I meant it.

Emilio took my hand and kissed it. ‘Please stay with me tonight, Emily. I do not want to be alone.'

‘Uh-uh. No, Emilio. I'm not staying.'

‘Then stay with me until I sleep. Please? I do not sleep so well these days.' He made sad puppy dog eyes, squeezed my hand in his strong, warm one. ‘Please, my darling, caring Emilita.'

‘All right. Just until you fall asleep. Now, go clean your teeth.'

He smiled, went into the bathroom.

I sat on the sofa, thought about calling Jack. But within a few minutes Emilio was calling out to me, ‘I am ready!'

He was in bed, the covers low, exposing that magnificent torso. He opened his arms. ‘Come.'

I walked to the other side of the bed and perched on the edge of it, fully dressed, handbag still slung over my shoulder. ‘I'll sit here until you fall asleep.'

He patted the bed. ‘Lie with me.'

‘No, I'm not lying on the bed.'

He pouted.

‘Oh, all right.' I kicked off my shoes, threw my handbag on the chair in the corner. Just a few minutes. I couldn't be longer because Andrew would be waiting. I lay facing Emilio, as far from him as I could get without falling off the bed. He flipped onto his side and, with his eyes closed, reached out and softly stroked my cheek. I tensed, but it did feel nice. God, I was tired.

‘Ah,
ángel. Mi bonita ángel rubia
,' he whispered.

Emilio stayed on his side of the bed like a good boy. He continued to stroke my face and hair, ever so lightly, and my eyelids fluttered closed as I fought the weariness. Finally, I gave into it, and felt myself sink deeper into the soft bed, my body becoming heavier, my breath deepening, thinking about what Emilio may have just said.
Bonita ángel . . . rubia . . .
Just a few minutes shut-eye . . .

I'd thought it was Emilio's snoring that woke me but as I lay there on my back, listening to the bang, bang, bang, I realised it was someone at the door. Thump, thump, thump. Louder this time. And, God, I could hear my phone ringing in my bag. What was the time? I sat up and looked around. Oh, bloody hell, it was 3 a.m. How long had I been asleep? Emilio looked like Adonis, but sounded like the God of Thunder. I shook my head and stumbled out of the bedroom, flicking on the table lamp. I walked to the door, yawning, rubbing my eyes, knowing I'd find a pissed-off Andrew on the other side.

But it was Jack, wearing a suit and tie.

‘Oh!' I yawned.

He glanced past me. ‘Sorry to wake you.'

‘Where's Andrew?'

‘He's been calling you and knocking on this door for hours.'

‘God, really? I didn't hear a thing.'

‘He thought breaking it down should be a last resort. Calling me was the second last. He didn't want you in trouble.'

Okay, I was officially guilt-ridden. Emilio's snoring rumbled around the room.

‘It's not how it looks.'

‘How does it look?'

Bloody hell. ‘Hold on.' I ran to get a room key from the coffee table.

Jack stood at the door, holding it open, waiting for me. I pushed past him and he let the door close; we stood in the corridor. I could see Andrew a little way up, standing outside our room. I gave him a little wave, said, ‘Sorry, Andrew,' but I wasn't sure if he heard me. He turned and went into our room.

‘You were about to tell me what I'm supposed to think of this.' His eyes flicked over me. My skirt was twisted and my T-shirt wrinkled. I couldn't begin to imagine what my hair looked like. I probably had panda eyes.

Waving a hand over my clothes and trying to keep the sarcasm from my voice, I said, ‘Obviously, I fell asleep. Fully clothed. I'm tired, Jack. Emilio's not easy to work with.'

‘Why? What does he want you to do for him?'

‘That doesn't deserve a response,' I snapped.

We faced off. He stared into my eyes and I stared right back. I won.

He looked away. ‘Maybe you should have an early night.'

‘Yes, I should.'

‘I needed to see you.'

‘What about?'

He glanced around. ‘About my suspicions, which are in line with yours.'

‘Really? What?'

He lowered his voice. ‘We're watching Martin McGann and the Ukrainians. Like you, I think they're involved in some kind of conspiracy. Against Dega and JD.'

‘I don't know, Jack. Sounds a bit pathetic to me.'

He leaned away from me. ‘I'll ignore that.'

‘Whatever.'

He drew a deep breath, choosing to follow his own advice and ignore my barbs. ‘The Russian driver called me with a date to check at the Russian club.'

The angry sparks from us both died down.

‘The man who employed the Ukrainians.'

‘Yes. There was a visit that night from someone who fitted the description the driver gave me.'

‘And?'

‘The guy works for Martin McGann.'

‘Really? And do you think Teresa's involved?'

‘I don't know. McGann could be using her for information.'

We stood there for a while. As we looked at each other, I felt the remaining anger drain away. I didn't want to fight with Jack. I wanted us to love each other. At least, love each other physically, if the other type wasn't possible.

‘Are you going to Bass Strait?'

‘Yes. I need to.'

I didn't want him to. ‘I think JD's making it up to get you out of the way so you won't interfere with Emilio's chances.'

Jack's anger clearly hadn't drained away with mine, and he snapped, ‘I'm not an idiot, Erica.' The expression on my face must have touched him though, because his tone softened when he said, ‘I wouldn't be going if I didn't think there was reasonable cause for concern.'

‘When will you leave?'

The lift doors opened down the passage. We both watched as Sharon Stone stepped out of it. Killer dress, heels, nipples, et cetera, and the purportedly drained anger flooded my body, so much so it prickled my skin. She saw me, gave a small, disapproving shake of her head.

Jack held up a finger, ‘One minute. Wait downstairs.'

She walked back into the lift without saying something shitty like, ‘
Please
would be nice' (like I would), and before I had a chance to poke my tongue at her. And before I had a chance to say something snarky about Sharon and ask where they'd been dressed like that, Jack stepped close, forcing me back. He put his hands on the wall either side of my face, leaned in, mouth right next to my ear. ‘I believe something is also planned for the tennis. Something that's likely to emerge on Sunday.'

‘During the men's finals?'

‘I don't know, but I do know I'm not the only one who'd like to never see or hear of Emilio Méndez again.'

Oh, that was just nasty, and within me a battle was taking place. Weariness, the green-eyed monster and an anger-induced demon fought to take over my body. Together they pushed him back and forced me to say, ‘You know this for sure?'

He gave me a long look. ‘Nothing proven, no.'

I yawned. ‘Okay, well, if there's anything more I need to know, give me a buzz.' I stepped toward Emilio's room.

‘What are you doing?'

‘Going back in there to get my things, then I'm going to bed with Andrew.'

‘No, you're not.' He took my arm.

I tried to snatch it away but he held on.

‘Don't tell me what I can and can't do.'

‘I'm taking you to my place and you'll stay there with Andrew until this is over.'

‘Like hell, Jack. That's not your call. I'm doing my job, which has nothing to do with you.' I struggled to free my arm. This was a place we'd been before. He wasn't used to not getting his way and the last time we faced off like this it wasn't pleasant. ‘You're hurting me.'

He eased his grip, then released me. ‘I'm not arguing with you. Get your things and leave with me now.'

‘Or what?'

‘Or I'll carry you out of here.'

I stood taller, squared my shoulders. ‘Don't threaten me like that.'

‘It's not a threat —'

‘I'm not yours to boss around. It's just sex with us, right? I'm free to do whatever the hell I want. As are you.' I pointed to the lift. ‘You'd better get going. Your other bed-pal's waiting.'

He took a small step back, like he'd been pushed. His chest heaved and he opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He turned and walked away. And I shut my eyes, so tired of it all. Right now I didn't care what JD or Martin McGann or the Russians or anyone wanted or needed or were up to.

I let myself back into Emilio's room. He was now sleeping quietly. I walked across the room and stood at the window, the panoramic city before me. I leaned my forehead against the glass. One tear plopped onto the floor and I stared at the small, wet circle. I pushed away from the window and looked out, but the view was gone. Instead, my reflection stared back at me and I was intrigued by the sight of it. My hair was a fright. I didn't have mascara panda eyes, but they were smudged with fatigue. My clothes looked like they'd just emerged from a donation bag.

‘What are you doing, Erica?'

Reflection Erica rolled her eyes.
Well, your mother bosses you around, your cat bosses you around, your boss treats you like shit, you're letting a man who calls you Emily boss you around. And you've just let your best friend walk out of your life – the one who you
should
let boss you around to keep you safe. That
is
what just happened isn't it? Jack just walked out of your life?

I hadn't thought about Jack like that before.
Best friend.
Lucy was my best friend. Wasn't she? Did Jack just walk out of my life? No. Surely not. It's just a misunderstanding that'll work itself out. Right?
Right?

I raced across the room, snatched up my shoes and bag. I ran for the door, letting it slam behind me, and flew down the corridor. I pushed the elevator button over and over until it arrived. Inside I tidied myself: put my shoes on, patted down my hair, pulled at the wrinkles in my clothes, wiped under my eyes for any traces of mascara. I checked Reflection Erica in the mirror.

‘It's not worth it,' I told her.

She raised an eyebrow.

‘All of this. It's not worth losing Jack over.'

She nodded agreement.

At ground level the lift door opened and I shot out of it, scanning the lobby. There was Jack, striding toward the exit. Why was he only just ahead of me? Had he stopped somewhere? I was about to call out to him, run to him, but he stopped by a lounge chair and looked down at the person sitting in it. Sharon Stone stood and I stopped like I'd just run into a wall. I'd forgotten about her. As Jack held the door for her, she glanced over her shoulder and our eyes met briefly. Sharon carried on through the door, lightly touching Jack's arm as she passed, and together they left the hotel.