Chapter 2 - Tennis prodigy

The air crackled with aristocracy at Wimbledon. Ladies with impossibly long legs and hair like spun gold flitted about, each a walking trophy wife boasting about their offspring’s genius. Valerie Spencer, a vision in a crisp dress and pearls, surveyed the scene with a practiced smile. Her own daughter, the apple of her eye, Charlotte, was a blonde bombshell currently dominating the U18 court. This wasn’t just any tournament; it was a stepping stone to Oxford and the perfect life Valerie envisioned for her daughter.

“Goodness, Valerie, how does Charlotte do it all?” chirped Emma Bradley, a diplomat’s wife whose children built bridges instead of lobbing tennis balls. “She must have no time for those pesky boys!”

Suddenly, a voice cut through the social chatter. A dark-haired man, all sharp suits and movie-star charm, leaned in from the next table. “Bravo, Madame! Your daughter plays with the grace of a gazelle!” Beside him, a striking young woman with a pout and a hint of a Russian accent offered a strained smile.

Valerie, momentarily thrown by the man’s French accent and the undeniable tension between the couple, managed a reply. “Thank you, kind sir. We appreciate that.” Her gaze flicked to the woman, a spark of competitiveness igniting within. “May I inquire, do you follow the tournament often?”

“Alas, no, Madame,” he replied, his French now tinged with a hint of amusement. “Business brings me here, but I confess, a good match is hard to resist. This is my wife, Maria.”

Valerie offered a polite nod to Maria, then turned back to the Frenchman. “And you are...?”

“Clémence Carnot,” the woman beside him surprised them both by speaking up. “A lawyer, at your service.”

A thrill shot through Valerie. Married or not, Clémence exuded a certain je ne sais quoi. “Why don’t you join us, Clémence?” she purred, a mischievous glint in her eye. “There’s always room for another sophisticated mind at our table.”

Valerie basked in the awkwardness radiating off Maria. The younger woman seemed lost in the conversation, a nervous flutter behind her forced smile. It was a delicious opportunity for Valerie to flex her social muscles, to be the undisputed queen of this little gathering. Little did Valerie know, Maria was merely an expensive escort and clueless to the elaborate game unfolding.

Clémence, on the other hand, was a captivating enigma. His conversation flowed effortlessly, peppered with insightful commentary on the game. He would seamlessly switch between French and English, then conversing with Maria in fluent Russian that left the ladies at the table wide-eyed.

They were interrupted by the arrival of Charlotte Spencer. At eighteen, she was an English rose in full bloom. With her blonde hair and cheeks still flushed from her victory on the court, she entered in a crisp white skirt and t-shirt, a picture of youthful athleticism. A wave of congratulations washed over her from the table, causing a rosy blush to bloom on her cheeks. Valerie, overflowing with pride, leaned over and enfolded her daughter in a hug. Clémence watched the young athlete with a flicker of intrigue in his dark eyes.

The conversation naturally turned to Charlotte’s future. Valerie, ever the proud mother, eagerly fielded questions while Charlotte bashfully swatted them away. Finally, Charlotte, gaining some confidence, surprised everyone. “Actually,” she said, “I want to be a lawyer. That is my passion.”

“A lawyer!” Valerie exclaimed, perhaps a touch more surprised than necessary. “Why, of course, darling! And speaking of lawyers, we have one right here at our table.” She gestured towards Clémence with a flourish.

Clémence raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his dark eyes. “Indeed, at your service, Miss Spencer. Though perhaps a more ... noble career might tempt you? I confess, I always harbored a secret desire to be a tennis star myself.”

Charlotte, still slightly flustered, found herself blushing again. “Well,” she said in her posh voice, but with newfound determination, “to be honest, I’ve always admired lawyers. International law, that’s my thing.”

“International law,” Clémence repeated, a thoughtful smile playing on his lips. “Well, Miss Spencer, it seems we have a connection then. I work for a firm in Paris. Perhaps your mother and I can discuss some ... networking opportunities.”

Valerie, pleasantly surprised at this unexpected coincidence, beamed. “Oh, Clémence, that’s wonderful! What good fortune. You seem like just the right chap to know, with Charlotte’s aspirations.”

Charlotte couldn’t help but steal another glance at the intriguing Frenchman. He certainly seemed clever, and the idea of a connection in Paris sent a little thrill through her.

Just then, Emma Bradley, a woman at the table whose husband was a criminal lawyer, interjected, “Well, I don’t know about law.” She cast a sideways glance at Clémence. “My husband sees some dreadful cases. I don’t know if they are suitable for decent people to work on.”

“Oh really?” Clémence inquired, his voice maintaining a casual tone. “I deal with mergers and acquisitions, but criminal law sounds fascinating to me.”

Emma hesitated, then mumbled, “Well, I ... sorry I shouldn’t raise this at this table, it’s disturbing amid all this happy talk.”

Charlotte, however, leaned forward, her youthful curiosity piqued. “Oh, do go on,” she urged.

Emma sighed. “Well, my husband told me about a case,” she began, lowering her voice. “They had to represent this utterly repugnant, vile fiend of a man. He ... had his horrible way with this young girl, and then ... took photos of her while she was unconscious and threatened her with sharing them. The poor girl was so strong and he was prosecuted, but my husband, he had to act for him! He said the man was such a creep.”