Read Online Devil May Care by Sebastian Faulks - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sebastian Faulks
Ads: Link
Gorner began to look fallible. He twice hit his fizzing forehand long, and for the first time in the match Bond had a break point, at 30–40. Gorner served wide to the backhand, but Bond hit a solid cross-court return and got himself into the rally. He then hit deep to the base line and Gorner spooned up a half-court ball off the backhand. This was Bond’s chance. He closed in, kept his eye on the ball, and whipped a forehand topspin winner down the line. ‘Out,’ called Gorner. ‘Deuce.’
Gorner was into his service procedure again before Bond had time to protest. Gorner won the game and the set: 6–3. As they changed ends and Bond went back to serve for the first game of the second set, he went over to where he thought his forehand drive had bounced. There was a clear scuff mark three inches inside the sideline.
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 ata 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 white gloved 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.
Gorner was into his service procedure again before Bond had time to protest. Gorner won the game and the set: 6–3. As they changed ends and Bond went back to serve for the first game of the second set, he went over to where he thought his forehand drive had bounced. There was a clear scuff mark three inches inside the sideline.
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 ata 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 white gloved 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.
Similar Books
