The Singles Game
Page 77
‘I get it,’ Charlie said quietly. She, too, had been awed by the families her father taught at Birchwood. It was more than their wealth: it was as though they had internalized their privilege at birth and moved through life with such a relaxed, graceful ease. The world was theirs for the taking, so they took.
‘Katie stood up for me when her family disapproved of us, and even though she didn’t need to work, she’s a kick-ass photographer these days and it was all her own doing. She’s pretty impressive, actually.’
‘So why aren’t you with her?’
Dan turned to look at her. ‘Because at the end of the day, there was no way that Katherine Sinclair of Park Avenue and East Hampton was going to marry Dan Rayburn from Marion, Virginia, whose parents owned a hardware shop and who didn’t have a passport until he’d graduated from college. Duke or no Duke, she knew who I was.’
Charlie was quiet for a moment. ‘Her loss,’ she murmured, careful not to meet Dan’s eye.
His smile was tinged with sadness. ‘Yeah, I’m sure. Anyway, I can see from Facebook that she married Lachlan Dobbs III in Bermuda six months after we broke up. Had two boys in two years, both with Roman numerals after their names. They are currently building a home next to her parents’ in Amagansett, and they just moved from Gramercy to a modest little ten-million-dollar townhouse on Seventy-Fourth between Park and Madison. Not that I keep track.’
Charlie laughed, and it was all she could do not to reach across the aisle and hug him. ‘I can see that. Very restrained. I’m impressed.’ Before Charlie could remind him that he was, in fact, sipping Evian aboard a plush private jet en route to spend a few days aboard one of the world’s most luxurious mega-yachts, voices rang out from the stairs.
‘Well, well, look who made the cut!’ Natalya trilled out, holding the gathers of her maxi dress in the crook of her elbow as she gingerly stepped aboard in four-inch platform espadrilles. Benjy, following behind her, smashed his head into the doorframe. His hands were the size of Ping-Pong paddles.
‘Natalya,’ Charlie murmured, determined not to let herself get ruffled. ‘And Benjy. How are you? No training camp for you?’
‘Still officially the off-season,’ he said, lowering his enormous body into one of the seats across the aisle from Dan. ‘I’ve been told this little sailboat we’ll be visiting has quite the gym, so I’ll still get my workouts in.’ He looked up and met Charlie’s gaze. ‘I didn’t know you were coming this year. Terrific. Anyone traveling with you?’
Charlie motioned to Dan and introduced them. Natalya was busy staring out her window and yakking in Russian into her phone.
‘Anyone else?’ he asked.
‘Marco is meeting us tonight at the port. They’re sending the plane back to London for him and a couple of other people.’
‘Mmmm, got it,’ Benjy murmured.
‘Marco’s coming, huh?’ Dan said quietly. ‘I’ve got my nannying work cut out for me.’
Charlie turned to him and feigned indignation. ‘Really?’
‘You heard Todd. There won’t be any middle-of-the-night visits, let’s just put it that way. Coach’s orders.’
‘What, are you standing sentry outside my door?’
‘Whatever it takes.’
Eleanor McKinley, the young Canadian who’d beaten Charlie in the first round of the French Open, walked onto the plane and nodded to everyone.
Charlie forced herself to wave. The girl’s mother, wearing an elegant pantsuit and carrying a Louis Vuitton tote, sat next to Eleanor and began whispering in her ear. As soon as they were settled, Rinaldo, Marco’s biggest on-court nemesis and closest friend on the tour, strode aboard.
‘Hey, Rinaldo,’ Charlie said, standing up to kiss both his cheeks. ‘No Elena today?’
He shook his head. ‘Home with the baby.’
The flight to Naples was short, under two hours, and the chauffeured Suburban that took them to the marina was sumptuous. Still, nothing prepared Charlie for the sight that awaited them when they approached the dock where Lady Lotus proudly floated. She was a sleek, two-year-old, 280-foot mega-yacht that was commissioned by a wealthy entrepreneur from China who was reputed to hate both boats and water. Supposedly he had bought the yacht because he understood it was a Western status symbol, but rumor was he had done little more than sit on the sparkling new decks, barefoot and clad in a designer suit and tie, as the boat bobbed in the marina. Only guests who chartered the yacht – nearly all celebrities, due to the $750,000 per week rental fee – ever actually left the harbor. This week Bono had chartered the boat and invited aboard six of the highest-profile tennis players and another dozen or so uber-wealthy tennis fans for a charity tennis competition. Aboard the yacht. On a floating tennis court that doubled as a helipad. These guests were paying three hundred thousand dollars each to spend two days aboard the yacht, watch the pros play a few games, and, if they wanted, pull out their own rackets and have a hit with the world’s best. All the money went to AIDS prevention and treatment in Africa. It was an annual Bono tradition and, naturally, one of the most coveted invitations in both tennis and philanthropy circles.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Dan muttered under his breath as a tall blond deckhand in a short-sleeved polo and navy shorts held open the car door.
At least two dozen crew lined up shoulder to shoulder across the hull, hands crossed behind their backs and smiling as the group made their way to the gangway. There, after removing their shoes and placing them in individual woven baskets that already bore their names, Charlie and Dan filed onto the main deck, where a steward offered them cool, citrus-scented towels and a Crest-ad smile. Her white polo was embroidered with LADY LOTUS, and she wore a crisp navy skirt that showed off her deeply tanned legs. Everywhere Charlie turned, another matching deckhand or steward with dazzling teeth and shiny hair smiled back at her.
‘Welcome, Ms Silver. Mr Rayburn. My name is Johanna. We are so happy to have you aboard,’ a girl no older than nineteen or twenty said to Charlie and Dan. ‘I just wanted to ensure you are aware that we have you assigned to bunk together? Due to space considerations?’ The girl looked momentarily concerned.
‘Yes, of course,’ Dan said, silencing Charlie’s anticipated protest. It was hard to imagine there wasn’t an extra room somewhere on this floating city.
‘Katie stood up for me when her family disapproved of us, and even though she didn’t need to work, she’s a kick-ass photographer these days and it was all her own doing. She’s pretty impressive, actually.’
‘So why aren’t you with her?’
Dan turned to look at her. ‘Because at the end of the day, there was no way that Katherine Sinclair of Park Avenue and East Hampton was going to marry Dan Rayburn from Marion, Virginia, whose parents owned a hardware shop and who didn’t have a passport until he’d graduated from college. Duke or no Duke, she knew who I was.’
Charlie was quiet for a moment. ‘Her loss,’ she murmured, careful not to meet Dan’s eye.
His smile was tinged with sadness. ‘Yeah, I’m sure. Anyway, I can see from Facebook that she married Lachlan Dobbs III in Bermuda six months after we broke up. Had two boys in two years, both with Roman numerals after their names. They are currently building a home next to her parents’ in Amagansett, and they just moved from Gramercy to a modest little ten-million-dollar townhouse on Seventy-Fourth between Park and Madison. Not that I keep track.’
Charlie laughed, and it was all she could do not to reach across the aisle and hug him. ‘I can see that. Very restrained. I’m impressed.’ Before Charlie could remind him that he was, in fact, sipping Evian aboard a plush private jet en route to spend a few days aboard one of the world’s most luxurious mega-yachts, voices rang out from the stairs.
‘Well, well, look who made the cut!’ Natalya trilled out, holding the gathers of her maxi dress in the crook of her elbow as she gingerly stepped aboard in four-inch platform espadrilles. Benjy, following behind her, smashed his head into the doorframe. His hands were the size of Ping-Pong paddles.
‘Natalya,’ Charlie murmured, determined not to let herself get ruffled. ‘And Benjy. How are you? No training camp for you?’
‘Still officially the off-season,’ he said, lowering his enormous body into one of the seats across the aisle from Dan. ‘I’ve been told this little sailboat we’ll be visiting has quite the gym, so I’ll still get my workouts in.’ He looked up and met Charlie’s gaze. ‘I didn’t know you were coming this year. Terrific. Anyone traveling with you?’
Charlie motioned to Dan and introduced them. Natalya was busy staring out her window and yakking in Russian into her phone.
‘Anyone else?’ he asked.
‘Marco is meeting us tonight at the port. They’re sending the plane back to London for him and a couple of other people.’
‘Mmmm, got it,’ Benjy murmured.
‘Marco’s coming, huh?’ Dan said quietly. ‘I’ve got my nannying work cut out for me.’
Charlie turned to him and feigned indignation. ‘Really?’
‘You heard Todd. There won’t be any middle-of-the-night visits, let’s just put it that way. Coach’s orders.’
‘What, are you standing sentry outside my door?’
‘Whatever it takes.’
Eleanor McKinley, the young Canadian who’d beaten Charlie in the first round of the French Open, walked onto the plane and nodded to everyone.
Charlie forced herself to wave. The girl’s mother, wearing an elegant pantsuit and carrying a Louis Vuitton tote, sat next to Eleanor and began whispering in her ear. As soon as they were settled, Rinaldo, Marco’s biggest on-court nemesis and closest friend on the tour, strode aboard.
‘Hey, Rinaldo,’ Charlie said, standing up to kiss both his cheeks. ‘No Elena today?’
He shook his head. ‘Home with the baby.’
The flight to Naples was short, under two hours, and the chauffeured Suburban that took them to the marina was sumptuous. Still, nothing prepared Charlie for the sight that awaited them when they approached the dock where Lady Lotus proudly floated. She was a sleek, two-year-old, 280-foot mega-yacht that was commissioned by a wealthy entrepreneur from China who was reputed to hate both boats and water. Supposedly he had bought the yacht because he understood it was a Western status symbol, but rumor was he had done little more than sit on the sparkling new decks, barefoot and clad in a designer suit and tie, as the boat bobbed in the marina. Only guests who chartered the yacht – nearly all celebrities, due to the $750,000 per week rental fee – ever actually left the harbor. This week Bono had chartered the boat and invited aboard six of the highest-profile tennis players and another dozen or so uber-wealthy tennis fans for a charity tennis competition. Aboard the yacht. On a floating tennis court that doubled as a helipad. These guests were paying three hundred thousand dollars each to spend two days aboard the yacht, watch the pros play a few games, and, if they wanted, pull out their own rackets and have a hit with the world’s best. All the money went to AIDS prevention and treatment in Africa. It was an annual Bono tradition and, naturally, one of the most coveted invitations in both tennis and philanthropy circles.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Dan muttered under his breath as a tall blond deckhand in a short-sleeved polo and navy shorts held open the car door.
At least two dozen crew lined up shoulder to shoulder across the hull, hands crossed behind their backs and smiling as the group made their way to the gangway. There, after removing their shoes and placing them in individual woven baskets that already bore their names, Charlie and Dan filed onto the main deck, where a steward offered them cool, citrus-scented towels and a Crest-ad smile. Her white polo was embroidered with LADY LOTUS, and she wore a crisp navy skirt that showed off her deeply tanned legs. Everywhere Charlie turned, another matching deckhand or steward with dazzling teeth and shiny hair smiled back at her.
‘Welcome, Ms Silver. Mr Rayburn. My name is Johanna. We are so happy to have you aboard,’ a girl no older than nineteen or twenty said to Charlie and Dan. ‘I just wanted to ensure you are aware that we have you assigned to bunk together? Due to space considerations?’ The girl looked momentarily concerned.
‘Yes, of course,’ Dan said, silencing Charlie’s anticipated protest. It was hard to imagine there wasn’t an extra room somewhere on this floating city.
