says ‘Ed bought it. In
Germany
’ – in a deep, husky voice and gazes adoringly up at her brother.
‘Only place in the world to buy one,’ Florence pronounces and grabbing Laura’s hand marches her off to the women’s changing room with a‘see you guys shortly’ over her shoulder while Ed and I stare after her.
‘Where the hell did you find
her
?’ Ed grumbles, masking what is evidently a keen interest, and I have no option but todeliver my half of a makeshift cover story yet to be agreed with Florence.
‘Somebody’s high-powered assistant is all I know,’ I reply vaguely, and set course for the men’s changing room before he can plyme with more questions.
But in the changing room to my relief he prefers to loose off about Trump’s abrogation of Obama’s nuclear treaty with Iran.
‘America’s word is herewith and henceforth officially declared null and void,’ he announces. ‘Agreed?’
‘Agreed,’ I reply – and please just keep going until I’ve had a chance to nobble Florence, which I’m determined to do as soon as possible becausethe thought that Ed might take it into his head that I’m something other than a semi-employed businessman is beginning to get to me.
‘
And
as to what he just did in
Ottawa
’ – still on the subject of Trump while he hauls up his long shorts – ‘know what?’
‘What?’
‘He actually made Russia look good on Iran, which must be a first for anybody’s bloody money,’ he says with grim satisfaction.
‘Outrageous,’I agree, thinking the sooner Florence and I are out on court the happier I’ll be – and maybe she’s heard something about Rosebud that I haven’t, so ask her that too.
‘
And
us Brits so desperate for free trade with America that we’ll be saying
yes
Donald,
no
Donald, kiss-your-arse-please Donald all the way to Armageddon’ – raising his head to give me the full, unblinking stare. ‘Well, won’t we,Nat? Go on.’
So I agree for the second or is it the third time, noting only that he doesn’t usually start setting the world to rights until we’re sitting over our lagers at the
Stammtisch
. But he isn’t done yet, which happens to suit me fine:
‘The man’s a pure hater. Hates Europe, he’s said so. Hates Iran, hates Canada, hates treaties. Who does he love?’
‘How about golf?’ I suggest.
Courtthree is draughty and run down. It occupies its own shed at the back of the Club, so no spectators, no passers-by, which I assumed was why Ed had booked it. This was Laura’s treat, and he didn’t want anyone staring. We hang around waiting for the girls. Here again Ed might have raised the thorny question of how Florence and I came to know each other, but I encourage him to keep on about Iran.
The women’s changing-room door is opened from inside. Alone in her finery Laura strides unevenly on to the catwalk: brand-new shorts, spotless chequered trainers, Che Guevara T-shirt, professional-standard racquet still in its wrapping.
Now enter Florence, not in office fatigues, not in presentational trouser suit or rain-drenched leathers: just a liberated, slender, self-assured young woman withshort skirt and the shiny white thighs of Ed’s adolescence. I steal a look at him. Rather than appear impressed, he has put on his most uninterested face. My own reaction is one of humorous indignation: Florence, you are not supposed to look like that. Then I get hold of myself and become a responsible home-based husband and father again.
We pair off the only way that makes sense. Laura and Edversus Florence and Nat. In practice this means Laura stands with her nose in the net and whacks at anything that comes her way, and Ed retrieves whatever she doesn’t fluff. It also means that between rallies Florence and I have ample opportunity for a covert word.
‘You’re somebody’s high-powered assistant,’ I tell her, as she scoops up a shuttle from the back of the court. ‘That’s all I knowabout you. I’m a friend of your
Germany
’ – in a deep, husky voice and gazes adoringly up at her brother.
‘Only place in the world to buy one,’ Florence pronounces and grabbing Laura’s hand marches her off to the women’s changing room with a‘see you guys shortly’ over her shoulder while Ed and I stare after her.
‘Where the hell did you find
her
?’ Ed grumbles, masking what is evidently a keen interest, and I have no option but todeliver my half of a makeshift cover story yet to be agreed with Florence.
‘Somebody’s high-powered assistant is all I know,’ I reply vaguely, and set course for the men’s changing room before he can plyme with more questions.
But in the changing room to my relief he prefers to loose off about Trump’s abrogation of Obama’s nuclear treaty with Iran.
‘America’s word is herewith and henceforth officially declared null and void,’ he announces. ‘Agreed?’
‘Agreed,’ I reply – and please just keep going until I’ve had a chance to nobble Florence, which I’m determined to do as soon as possible becausethe thought that Ed might take it into his head that I’m something other than a semi-employed businessman is beginning to get to me.
‘
And
as to what he just did in
Ottawa
’ – still on the subject of Trump while he hauls up his long shorts – ‘know what?’
‘What?’
‘He actually made Russia look good on Iran, which must be a first for anybody’s bloody money,’ he says with grim satisfaction.
‘Outrageous,’I agree, thinking the sooner Florence and I are out on court the happier I’ll be – and maybe she’s heard something about Rosebud that I haven’t, so ask her that too.
‘
And
us Brits so desperate for free trade with America that we’ll be saying
yes
Donald,
no
Donald, kiss-your-arse-please Donald all the way to Armageddon’ – raising his head to give me the full, unblinking stare. ‘Well, won’t we,Nat? Go on.’
So I agree for the second or is it the third time, noting only that he doesn’t usually start setting the world to rights until we’re sitting over our lagers at the
Stammtisch
. But he isn’t done yet, which happens to suit me fine:
‘The man’s a pure hater. Hates Europe, he’s said so. Hates Iran, hates Canada, hates treaties. Who does he love?’
‘How about golf?’ I suggest.
Courtthree is draughty and run down. It occupies its own shed at the back of the Club, so no spectators, no passers-by, which I assumed was why Ed had booked it. This was Laura’s treat, and he didn’t want anyone staring. We hang around waiting for the girls. Here again Ed might have raised the thorny question of how Florence and I came to know each other, but I encourage him to keep on about Iran.
The women’s changing-room door is opened from inside. Alone in her finery Laura strides unevenly on to the catwalk: brand-new shorts, spotless chequered trainers, Che Guevara T-shirt, professional-standard racquet still in its wrapping.
Now enter Florence, not in office fatigues, not in presentational trouser suit or rain-drenched leathers: just a liberated, slender, self-assured young woman withshort skirt and the shiny white thighs of Ed’s adolescence. I steal a look at him. Rather than appear impressed, he has put on his most uninterested face. My own reaction is one of humorous indignation: Florence, you are not supposed to look like that. Then I get hold of myself and become a responsible home-based husband and father again.
We pair off the only way that makes sense. Laura and Edversus Florence and Nat. In practice this means Laura stands with her nose in the net and whacks at anything that comes her way, and Ed retrieves whatever she doesn’t fluff. It also means that between rallies Florence and I have ample opportunity for a covert word.
‘You’re somebody’s high-powered assistant,’ I tell her, as she scoops up a shuttle from the back of the court. ‘That’s all I knowabout you. I’m a friend of your
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