The Corpse on the Court Read Free Page B

Jude to any of his friends. And she enjoyed seeing him in a context where he so clearly felt at ease.
    On the court Reggie Playfair and his partner were playing their semi-final match. And they were finding the going tougher than they had in the previous round. Their opponents were both fit men in their thirties and though, according to Piers, they were ‘giving away a lot in the handicap’ (whatever that meant), they were making few mistakes and slowly grinding down the older pair. His partner was coping with the pressure better, but there was now an air of desperation about the way Reggie hurled his ageing body around the court.
    In spite of everything Piers had told her and the information overload supplied by Wally Edgington-Bewley, Jude still hadn’t grasped the basic rules of real tennis. During the rallies, she could vaguely understand what was going on, but the scoring and the reasons why the players kept changing ends left her completely baffled. She didn’t mind, though. Calmed by Chardonnay, she settled into cheerful incomprehension and let her mind wander.
    Suddenly there was a commotion at the far end of the court. Jude missed the first impact, but it looked as though Reggie Playfair had slipped and crashed into the side wall. The consternation among the spectators, however, suggested something more serious. Oenone seemed frozen in shock. George Hazlitt was instantly up from his bench and in charge of the situation. ‘Henry, you’re a doctor. Go and check him out. I’ll get the defibrillator.’ And the professional was suddenly running up the passageway alongside the court.
    At the far end, on the painted floor, Reggie Playfair lay very still.

TWO
    A s it turned out, the defibrillator wasn’t needed. After a couple of moments of agonizing stillness, life returned to Reggie Playfair. He sat up, propping himself against the wall, and looked with some befuddlement at the ministering George Hazlitt and the doctor called Henry. Oenone had also rushed on to the court, her paralysis of shock dissipating when she saw her husband move.
    The doctor gave Reggie a fairly detailed examination, though from the dedans Jude couldn’t hear what he was saying. There was still tension in the spectators muttering around her, but they had relaxed a bit when they realized there wasn’t a corpse on the court.
    Reggie Playfair’s rising to his feet was a cue for a round of applause. He shook himself, waved and bowed towards the dedans, as if to indicate that the crisis was over. Then he picked up his racket from the floor and called out, ‘Sorry about that little hiatus. Now what was the score?’
    There ensued quite an argument between Reggie, the doctor and George Hazlitt. The player was insisting that he was fine to carry on, that he didn’t want to let down ‘his old mate’ of a playing partner and that next time he’d ‘remember where the bloody walls are’.
    It was George Hazlitt who finally dissuaded him from continuing. As the court’s professional, he was responsible for the players’ safety. And since quite a few of the members were in their seventies and even eighties, it was a responsibility that he took very seriously.
    So Reggie and his partners’ opponents were declared the winners of the game, and the little group filed off the court towards the dedans. Oenone was holding her husband’s arm, but he shook free of her, not wishing to look as if he needed support. ‘God, I need a drink after that,’ he announced.
    â€˜I’m not sure that that would be a good idea,’ said Henry the doctor.
    â€˜What the hell do you mean?’
    â€˜I think that might be what caused the problem in the first place.’
    â€˜Sorry?’
    â€˜I think the wine you’d already drunk might have made you unsteady, which is why you lost your footing and fell against the wall.’
    This was a moment that could have erupted