Page 37 of Courting Trouble
That was, of course, if she could stay focused. And that should be no problem now that she was living with Cassie, right?
Thirty-Eight
Cassie manoeuvred the car carefully along the narrow lane. Ahead, the wrought-iron gates of The Larchfield Programme appeared, huge and imposing.You better be fucking good,they said.
But Cassie wasn’t bringing a tennis phenom. She was bringing Delilah.
Delilah sat beside her, stiff and quiet. Cassie could smell the fear. That was OK, though. Fear wasn’t always bad. If she wanted to get to where she said she did, she was going to need a bit.
But Cassie just didn’t want Delilah to be afraid of her. Which meant that Cassie needed to go back to whatever it was that Delilah seemed to respond to. Which did not include tantrums or consuming bananas like an unhinged gorilla. She needed to sort her shit out.
The gates creaked open as Cassie approached. A gold buggy stopped right in front of her, and out stepped Petra, her sharp gaze immediately assessing them both. She was wiry andsun-browned, her posture ramrod straight, as if she had a tennis racket shoved up her arse. She didn’t look that different, all told. But she also sort of did. Because the last time Cassie had seen her, she’d loved her. And that was now long gone. It made her look oddly… shorter?
‘Bringing a new recruit?’ she asked in her light Russian accent.
Cassie forced herself to meet that gaze without flinching. ‘Yup.’
Petra’s eyes flicked to Delilah, who was rigid with tension, then back to Cassie. ‘Who is she?’
Cassie’s heart skipped, but she kept her tone light. ‘Just someone I’m coaching.’ Which couldn’t have been truer. Cassie wasn’t going to call her a player. She didn’t like to lie.
Petra’s gaze sharpened, the faintest smile playing on her lips. ‘Someone? That’s not very specific.’
Cassie shrugged, unwilling to offer more. ‘She wants to improve her game. That’s all.’
Petra stepped closer, leaning down to the car window. Cassie told herself not to shrink.
‘This is a small place. If she’s going to be training here, I need to know what I’m dealing with,’ Petra said.
Cassie held Petra’s eyes evenly, steady as a rock. ‘Delilah’s here to train withme, not to audition for you. That’s what we agreed, right? Just a spot. No interference.’
Petra’s eyes narrowed, as if trying to see through Cassie’s head, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she gestured down the road. ‘I’ll need you to sign some paperwork, waivers and such, in the office. I’ll lead you there,’ she said.
That was unnecessary. Cassie knew the way; there was only one road. It was clearly some kind of silly little power trip that Cassie would ignore.
‘Thank you for this,’ Cassie said, forcing the words out.
Petra shrugged. ‘Call it debts paid.’
Cassie chuckled without humour. ‘If you like.’
Cassie followed Petra’s golf buggy down the road. As the car rolled over the gravel, the crunch beneath the tyres rang in Cassie’s ears. The camp spread out around them: tiny rustic cabins, a dozen or so tennis courts strung with fresh nets, the large wooden dining hall and the adjoining offices.
She tried not to let the sight unearth anything in her.
Delilah sighed beside her. ‘So… Petra’s terrifying,’ she said cheerily.
‘You won’t need to deal with her,’ Cassie said softly. She hoped it was true.
Thirty-Nine
Delilah sat on the wooden bench outside the office, surrounded by the squeak of trainers and the thud of balls. Through the window, she watched Cassie signing something, Petra hovering over her shoulder.
Watching them, you couldn’t miss the obvious. There was beef. But it was more than that. There was more than a falling out between coach and student here.
Unable to stop her curiosity, Delilah pulled out her phone and typed ‘Petra tennis coach’ in the search bar.
Her full name was Petra Androvich. She was a Russian player turned coach, and she was in her forties, Delilah was surprised to learn. She looked younger.
