While everyone is glowing after two hours of forehand drills, as I leave the courts, I am forced to concede that Rose may have been right about the leggings. Steam is coming off my head and, even after heroic levels of rehydration, my face is almost camouflaged against the clay. I urgently need to get back to the apartment, jump in the shower and blast it onto the coldest possible setting. But a voice calls out as I open the gate.
‘How did you get on, Jules?’
I look up and see Sam grinning as he walks towards me along the path.
‘Oh, good,’ I reply, self-consciously.
He looks cheerful and energised, with a sheen of sweat on his forehead. My eyes drop to his lips, which are a little flushed, and something warm dissolves in my stomach, like caramelising sugar. As he gets closer, the smell of him almost overtakes me. ‘The coaches were all lovely although I suspect you lot had it tougher in the advanced class.’
‘No, they were all really nice over there too,’ he smiles.
‘I still feel like I’ve been put through my paces though.’
‘I think everyone’s earned their complimentary drink today, that’s for sure,’ he replies.
‘What complimentary drink?’
‘All players get one. I think it’s a bit of a marketing tool, a way to introduce us to the bar . . .’
‘I couldn’t possibly sit around like this. I am disgusting,’
I say, pulling out my sweaty T-shirt.
‘We’realldisgusting. Anyway, it’s compulsory. You don’t pass the course unless you partake in the beer afterwards.’
I throw him a sceptical look. ‘They told you that, did they?’
‘I’m sure it’s in the small print somewhere.’
I am persuaded to stay for a drink because, in Jeff’s words, it would be rude not to. The bar is in an attractive, al fresco area directly overlooking the padel courts. They’re all full, either with families playing with small children or energetic young men hitting the kind of hard, powerful shots against the glass walls that simply demand to be watched.
An area has been sectioned off for those of us on the tennis course, where bottles of rosé sit in chilling coolers alongside icy wine glasses perspiring in the heat. Our group stays for a while, chatting amongst ourselves and other players on the course. But when they begin to drift away and only a handful are left talking to two women from Argentina, I excuse myself to go to the bathroom, with a view to leaving immediately afterwards. When I return, only Sam is left.
‘Where did everyone go?’ I ask, bewildered.
‘To get a head start on the shower.’
I sigh. ‘Does that mean everyone’s beaten me to it?’
‘Probably. You might as well finish this with me,’ he smiles, topping up my glass with the last splash of rosé.
‘Oh, I don’t know. I—’
‘Jules?’
I look up and meet his eyes. They are so intensely green in this light that they look almost ethereal.
‘I know you’re feel awkward after what happened but—’
‘I don’t,’ I interrupt, with an innocent shrug.
‘Good. Because I’d hate it if we were here for several days in this lovely place and you were in any way uncomfortable.’
‘No. Not at all.’ I sound so unnatural I’m almost squeaking. He holds my eyes for a second before a smile filters onto his face.
‘Glad to hear it,’ he says as he pushes the glass towards me.
Chapter 35
