The Corpse on the Court

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‘Forty-fifteen! Chase more than a yard worse!’ called out the young marker, and the pairs of white-clad players changed ends.

To Jude his words made about as much sense as if she’d stumbled into a science fiction alternative universe. She knew the game they were playing was called ‘real tennis’ and that ‘real’ in this context meant ‘royal’. She even knew, because Piers had told her, that in America the game was called ‘court tennis’. But though he had spent painstaking hours spelling them out to her, she still hadn’t a clue what the rules were.

To be fair, it was the first time she’d been inside a real tennis court. Up until that moment her knowledge of the game had been entirely theoretical. ‘It’ll all make sense when you actually see the place,’ Piers kept telling her airily. So far his optimistic view was not being borne out. Maybe if he were sitting beside her in what she had been assured was called the ‘dedans’, he might have been able to provide a running commentary on what was going on. But Piers Targett was one of the four players on court, clearly engrossed in this incomprehensible contest.

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