Topspin (17 page)

Ed’s face hurt from all the smiling and sucking up he’d been forced to do since the end of the EGM. He gave every appearance of being a good loser, but inside he was eaten up with humiliation, unable to get images of Jack’s scathing expression out of his head. He still didn’t understand how he could have been stupid enough to call the meeting without satisfying himself that it was actually legal. It was all Stella’s fault, of course. The one thing he’d trusted her to do and she’d blown it! Well, she’d get what was coming to her soon enough and she obviously knew it. That’s why she’d been avoiding him ever since the meeting ended. Well, let her! She wouldn’t be able to avoid him when they got home, and then she’d pay a heavy price for letting him down.

But in the meantime he needed to save face. He knew what people thought of him at the club. The things they said about him behind his back. He was pushy. He rode roughshod over people’s feelings. He wanted to take over the club for egotistical reasons. He suffered from small man syndrome. He’d heard it all over the years but it still rankled. If they only knew what he’d had to endure as a kid, perhaps they’d cut him a little slack.

Ed had been born so prematurely that the medical team who delivered him didn’t hold out much hope of him surviving. But he was a fighter, and survive he did. His father was ecstatic. After three successive girls he finally had the son he’d always wanted.

But his joy soon turned to frustration when Ed showed no signs of developing into the strapping lad he’d dreamed of fathering. His parents were both taller than average, and all his sisters towered over Ed. Even though his father knew Ed’s growth was stunted by his premature entry into the world, he had trouble living with that fact and blamed his son for his unimpressive physique. He tried to bully him into taking an interest in football and took a belt to him when he came out on the losing side in the boxing ring.

Ed took the punishments without showing any emotion, but all the time he was burning up with resentment inside. The verbal abuse got to him in a way that his father’s belt never could. Ed felt a fierce ambition to succeed incubating deep inside of him. One day he’d show his father what he was made of and force him to admit to being proud of him.

He left school—another area where he’d failed to cover himself in glory—as soon as he legally could, and he set about building up a property empire. He used a legacy from his grandfather to buy his first run-down terraced house in Southend and converted it into flats. Cheap housing, at rents as high as he could get away with charging, brought him early financial success. He went to see his parents, driving up to their modest house in a brand new car, convinced they’d be impressed by all he’d achieved in such a short space of time. But his father simply looked at him as though he was a stranger and took himself off to the pub without saying a word.

Undeterred, Ed worked harder than ever. The more he earned the more he flaunted it in front of a father who, right up to the day he died, never once told Ed he was proud of his achievements.

Stella. His face clouded when he thought about his perfidious wife. She didn’t know his true reasons for wanting to take over Porchfield and nor did she need to. What she did know was what drove him as a man. How damaged he still felt by his father’s physical and mental cruelty. But was she supporting him? Was she at his side now, telling him that she was proud he’d had the courage to try to improve the club? Hell no! Right now she was laughing like she didn’t have a care in the world while Jack-fucking-Regent twirled her round the dance floor.

Millie walked up to him, smiling as she delivered a litany of complaints about Jack’s performance today. Saying all the things his wife ought to be putting into words.

“We won’t give up, Ed,” she said earnestly. “Mike and I both think this club urgently needs someone with your strength to bring it up to date. We’ll make it happen together.”

“Come with me,” he said urgently, dragging her by the hand from the room.

Millie obediently followed Ed into the office. He locked the door behind them and pulled her straight into his arms. Millie wasn’t a looker like his Stella. There were deep crevices running from the sides of her nose, blending with the vertical lines round her thin lips, and the corners of her eyes were patterned with ugly crows’ feet. Her body wasn’t much to write home about either. But none of that mattered to Ed. Millie had sexual appetites that her husband had no interest in satisfying and was happy to let Ed take up the slack. She was always up for it and her timing today was perfect. Ed could think of no better way to restore his damaged pride than through a healthy dose of Millie’s adoration.

He pushed her against the filing cabinet, heedless of the fact that the corner was probably digging sharply into her buttocks. His breath was coming in short gasps as he grappled with her skirt, clumsily pushing it up around her hips. Millie helped him to maneuver it out of the way and then dealt with his trousers. They fell around his ankles and he left them there, too aroused to step out of them.

“I need you, Millie,” he groaned. “Really, really bad.”

“I know you’re hurting,” she said soothingly. “That’s why I came to look for you. Poor baby, you were only trying to help the club, and look how they repaid you.”

“I don’t know why I bothered,” he said, reaching for her tiny breasts.

“Because you’re such a caring person.” She arched her back and pushed herself more firmly into his hands. He bent his head and feasted on one of her nipples. “But I’ll always be here for you, you know that.”

“Stella should have realized about the rule infringement,” he said, raising his head from her breast long enough to voice his complaint. Bad-mouthing his wife while preparing to fuck her supposed best friend turned them both on.

“How will you punish her?” Millie asked breathlessly, guiding him into her.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Forget about her, Ed, it’s me you really want.” There was a malicious glint in Millie’s eye as she lifted her hips to accommodate him. “That’s right, let me have it hard.”

She clawed at his back, exhorting him to greater heights, making him feel invincible. He thrust into her, feeling in control again, anticipating the moment when he would hold his wife at his mercy in just the same way. Climaxing quickly he groaned, his earlier discomfort replaced with a calm assurance in his own abilities. He knew Millie hadn’t been ready but was too far gone to wait for her. She wouldn’t mind. She always put his interests before her own. Was it too much to expect that his wife, who lived in the lap of luxury thanks entirely to his efforts, might feel the same way?

Millie fastened her lips round his flaccid penis, and he was proud when he felt it springing back to life almost immediately. That was the thing about Millie. She always knew what he needed without him having to spell it out. When had he last managed it twice with Stella? His wife would have a lot to answer for when he got her home, Ed decided, on the point of ejaculating at the back of Millie’s throat. She’d swallow it. That was another thing about Stella that got to him. She always replaced her lips with her hand at the last minute, even though she knew that wasn’t what he wanted her to do.

Jack had moved back to the bar after dancing with Stella. If he stayed in the main room, he’d be forced onto the dance floor again and wasn’t in the mood to make a fool of himself. He was chatting with the group of men without really hearing what they were saying, preoccupied and unable to shake off a feeling of unease. Ever since seeing Claire and Rod emerging from the grounds almost at the same time, he knew something wasn’t right. Her reaction when Rod had sauntered into the clubhouse had been bizarre, to say the least. She was suffering from something, but he didn’t believe it was the heat. Jack recalled the urgency with which she’d left after the tournament lunch the other day, and how in anyone else he’d have attributed her behavior to an affair.

The evidence was mounting and Jack froze as the nature of his thoughts struck home. It couldn’t be that. He shook his head to dispel the ridiculous notion, refusing to entertain the idea. There must be some other explanation. Claire was the exception that proved the rule. If she turned out to be no better than the rest, no better than his cheating bitch of a wife, then he really would lose all faith. No, it was all just one big coincidence, and he was sure that if he broached the subject with Claire she’d provide a rational explanation and put his mind at ease.

But he wouldn’t do that. Not yet, at any rate. If he’d got the wrong idea, then all he’d do was mess up his friendship with his two closest friends for no good reason. But still he felt uncomfortable. Jack accepted a large scotch on the rocks from Karl with an absent nod of thanks, still preoccupied with thoughts of Claire. He’d survived his years in the East End by trusting his instincts, and right now they were telling him something wasn’t right with her. Still, it was none of his business and he could only hope that he’d got the wrong end of the stick. God alone knew what it would do to Joe if he hadn’t.

“What’s with Angela’s husband, then?” Karl asked.

“Who knows,” Jack said, shrugging. “Best to keep well out of that one.”

“Yes, probably, but Jodie is worried for her. Angie’s been kind to her since she joined the club and Jodie wants to help her, if she can.”

Jack raised a brow. “I didn’t realize that you and Jodie took so much interest in Angie’s affairs.”

“Pillow talk,” Karl said with a broad grin.

“I might have known.” Jack laughed. “I’ll give it a month.”

“This one’s different.”

“That’s what you always say.”

“Hey, have you heard about Palmer’s latest wheeze?” Gordon asked, joining the group.

Jack frowned. “What’s he cooked up this time?”

“He’s suggesting that we all go off to Bisham Abbey for some intense coaching and a bonding session. He’s asked Trina to help him set it up.”

“We wouldn’t need to bond if he hadn’t put the cat among the pigeons in the first place,” Joe said. “Besides, Bisham Abbey costs an arm and a leg.”

“He reckons he can get us a deal.”

“When does he plan for us to go?” Jack asked.

“In a couple of weeks, if he can swing it.”

“Hmm.” Jack pondered for a moment. “It’s not such a bad idea.”

Gordon raised a brow. “I thought you’d be dead against it.”

“For once he’s come up with something plausible. We could all do with a break, and Bisham Abbey is supposed to be the last word in tennis innovation. Anyway, I reckon Palmer is counting on me saying no, and I have no intention of playing into his hands.”

“What do you mean?” Joe asked.

“Well, he’s already implying that those of us in the men’s team don’t accept challenges for our places. If we turn down the opportunity of professional coaching he’ll put it about that we’re not only elitist but antisocial, too.”

Joe frowned. “Surely he wouldn’t go that far.”

“Trust me, mate, I know the guy, and that’s precisely what he’d do.”

“All right then, if the plan comes to fruition we’ll go,” Joe said. “It’ll do Claire good to have a break, and if I have enough notice I can probably arrange the time off.”

“Good.” Jack felt uneasy at the prospect of Claire away from home without Joe.

Jack’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He moved away from the bar and flipped it open, surprised to see Cyril’s number on the display.

“Hello, mate,” he said, “what gives?”

“A word to the wise, Jack. The Turks have turned Wilf and Kevin off.”

“Bloody hell, that’s a bit extreme.”

“That’s what I thought, but you know what that mob is like for discipline. Once they found out they’d been doing their own business in London, they weren’t having it. They ought to have known how it’d be but they’re too fucking thick. Problem is, no one else’ll take them on now, and so they’ve been turned into loose cannon with a huge grudge to bear. And the word on the street is that they’re blaming you for everything that’s happened to them.”

“What else is new?” Jack rolled his eyes in weary resignation.

“But there’s more, Jack. Some bastard’s told them where you are. I haven’t found out who it was yet, but when I do I’ll wring his fucking neck.”

“Don’t worry, Cyril, I’ll stay alert.”

“See that you do, son, ’cause they don’t fight fair.”

Jack chuckled. “Tell me something I don’t know.”