Devil May Care - Sebastian Faulks [23]
Bond gathered himself. As he went into his service action, Gorner was jumping around, twirling his racquet, feinting to come in, then rapidly retreating. It was an old tactic, Bond knew, but not an easy one
to counter. He forced himself to watch the ball and smacked a hard first service down the centre. ‘Out,’
called Gorner.
‘I think not,’ said Bond. ‘I can show you the mark where it landed.’ He walked up to the net and pointed.
‘An old mark,’ said Gorner.
‘No. I saw my service land there. I deliberately left a margin for error. It’s at least six inches inside.’
‘My dear Mr Bond, if your idea of English fair play is to question a man at his own club, then please be my guest and play the point again.’ Gorner smacked the sole of his shoe with his racquet to remove any loose particles of dirt. ‘Go on.’
Bond’s first re-taken serve was long. He hit the second crisply, with slice, and was disappointed to see it hit the netcord and skew off into the tramlines.
‘Double fault,’ said Gorner. ‘Poetic justice, don’t you think?’
Bond was beginning to feel enraged. From the advantage court, he fired his best, angled serve wide to his opponent’s backhand. ‘Out,’ came the prompt and confident call.
As he wound up for his second, Gorner called,
‘Careful! Behind you.’
‘What?’
‘I thought I saw a ball just behind you.’
‘I’d prefer it if you left me to look out for these things.’
‘I understand, Mr Bond. But I could never forgive myself if my guest were to come to some harm. Please do carry on. Second service.’
Tennis, more than most games, is played in the mind. Anger is useless unless it can be channelled and kept under control – as a key to concentration. Bond knew he had to change his game against Gorner. For a start, he seemed to be having no luck at all. He had hit an inordinate number of netcords on his service, few of which had rebounded into play, whereas Gorner, even with his rather flat service, had not once touched the net. Furthermore, there was no point in Bond’s hitting the ball close to the line. Every shot he played from now on had to bounce at least two feet inside the court. With this in mind, he began to play more and more drop-shots, since no one can dispute that a ball which lands only a few feet over the net is in play. The drop-shot itself seldom wins the point in club tennis, however, and the player who produces it must at once go on to a high state of alert. Bond had learned this lesson at a heavy price from the speedy Wayland. Gorner was not so quick, and Bond was ready for all his attempted lob and flick replies, even punching several successful
volleys past the man he had finally dragged out of position.
Gorner now circled not once but twice before serving. At the top of the ball toss, he held his whitegloved hand for as long as he dared in front of the white tennis ball before hitting it. He became a jack-in-the-box while waiting to receive. He interrupted almost every service point of Bond’s with a move to swat away a ball that had conveniently rebounded from the back netting, or ‘fallen’ from his pocket. But the distractions only succeeded in making Bond concentrate harder until, in the eighth game of the set, he finally and for the first time in the match, with a sliced forehand volley, hit straight down the middle of the court – far from any line – broke Gorner’s service.
Bond hit two unreturnable first serves to go 30–love up, then netted an easy backhand volley. On the fourth point he was lobbed. Thirty–all. Serving into the forehand court, he had the choice of swinging it out wide or hitting flat down the middle. He chose neither. He punched an 80-per-center straight at Gorner’s ribs, so as to give him no width. Gorner, surprised by the change of line, spooned up his return and Bond collected the winning volley with relish. It was 40–30: set point to Bond. As