Devil May Care

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Authors: Sebastian Faulks
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net and began to measure it carefully with the metal yardstick that hung from the end. ‘You think I am wasting my time with this, Mr Bond, but I invite you to consider. At our level, almost every shot passes only a few inches over the net, and perhaps once each game the ball will actually strike the netcord. Add in the ‘‘lets’’ from services and the figure is higher. In a close match there are perhaps two hundred points and a typical winning margin of less than ten. Yet of those two hundred points perhaps thirty, including services, are affected by the net – more than three times enough to win the match! One should therefore leave nothing to chance.’
    ‘I’m impressed by your logic,’ said Bond. He swung his racquet a few times to loosen his shoulder. Gorner adjusted the net by slightly tightening the chain that was attached to the central vertical tape and hooked to a bar in a hole in the ground. He then slapped the netcord three times with his racquet.
    
    There was no handle, Bond noticed, to raise or lower the net from the post. The netcord itself ran down the post and disappeared beneath a small metal plate into the ground – presumably on to a wheel where it was pre-tensioned by the staff. This left the central tape and chain for fine-tuning purposes.
    ‘Good,’ said Gorner. ‘Will you spin?’
    Bond twirled the racquet in his hand. ‘Rough or smooth?’ he said.
    ‘Skin,’ said Gorner. He leaned over and inspected Bond’s racquet. ‘Skin it is. I’ll serve.’
    Bond walked back to the receiving position, wondering what a ‘skin’ was, unable to suppress the thought that the slang term might apply equally to rough or smooth.
    Although they had taken a few practice serves, this was the first chance Bond had had to see Gorner’s action properly. ‘Watch the ball,’ he muttered to himself.
    This was easier said than done. Gorner bounced the tennis ball in front of him with his racquet once, twice, three times, then started to turn round, like a dog when it makes its bed. When he’d completed a 360-degree circle, he threw the ball high with his left hand and kept the arm, with its large white glove, extended until the last second – when the racquet
    
    smashed through and sent the ball thudding down the centre line. So put out was Bond by the whole procedure that he had barely moved.
    ‘Fifteen,’ said Gorner, and moved swiftly to the advantage court.
    Forcing himself to concentrate and not to watch the circling rigmarole, Bond dug his toes into the beaten earth. His backhand return was cut off by Gorner, who had moved swiftly to the net and slammed his volley into the far corner. ‘ Thirty.’
    Bond won only one point in the first game. Gorner opened a bottle of Evian from the fridge and poured some into a glass, from which he took a single sip. He made a gesture with his left hand towards the fridge, as though inviting Bond to do likewise. As he did so, the buttoned cuff of his shirt separated for a moment from the white glove. When he moved off
    again, Gorner playfully smacked the net twice more, as though for good luck.
    Trying to put out of his mind what he had seen of Gorner’s hair-covered wrist, Bond walked back to serve. One’s first service game is always important in setting the tone for a match. Bond, who had a strong first service, decided to throttle back a little and concentrate on accuracy. He pushed Gorner wide on both sides, but whenever he came in for the volley
    
    found himself adroitly lobbed. At 30–40 down, he twice served into the top of the net and saw the ball rebound on to his own side. Double fault: a craven way to lose one’s service.
    It was difficult for Bond to find a way to break up Gorner’s rhythm. He remembered with Wayland in Barbados that he could sometimes slow the game down, mix it up and make the young man overhit in his desire to attack. Gorner made no such mistakes. His slashed forehand was hard for Bond to

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