The Tennis Coach – Part 2: Advantage

The drills were slow and exacting and rather beautiful. She had him stand and hold a split-step for ten minutes. She had him recite the rules of the game, line by line, correcting each slip with a tap of the racket on the court. She fed him ball after ball and called each correction in a low, flat voice: Shoulder. Knees. Breathe. She walked behind him and set his grip with two cool fingers, adjusted his elbow, tilted his chin. Her authority was total and tender, and the great empty court rang with her voice.

Every half hour: "Does Mr Brandt wish to continue?" "Yes, Coach." "Say it clearly." "I do. Thank you."

"The Coach does not require thanks." But she bounced a ball once, and smiled.

By one, he was exhausted and floating, the particular peace of a body that has been told exactly what to do for hours.

"Deuce," said Marguerite, softly.

It was her word, and she used it for them both. The visor came off. The jacket came off. She walked round the net, sat on the court beside him and spread a towel across their knees.

"How are you?"

"Advantage you," said Leo, with a shaky laugh. "As ever."

"You were superb." She kissed his forehead. "A very fine pupil."

"Will there be another lesson?"

"Every Tuesday, after the juniors." She leaned back against the net post. "I am drafting a new training programme. It is considerably stricter."

"I'll bring my own water bottle," said Leo.

"You'll bring a notebook," said Marguerite. "There will be notes."

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