Page 13 of Match Point

‘I have very specific requirements.’

I narrow my eyes at him. ‘Really.’

‘Really.’

I fold my arms. ‘Go on then. What are your specific requirements?’

He takes a slow sip of his drink before setting down his glass and launching into his answer: ‘It can’t be a hotel room, because that’s too impersonal, and it has to be a flat, not a house because that’s too big when it’s just me, but there needs to be a garden or at least some kind of outdoor space. It also needs to be a maisonette, so I don’t have to share a front door with anyone, and it needs to be close to the All England Lawn Tennis Club and the Village so I can get a drink when I need one. Most importantly, if there’s somewhere available on Lingfield Road, I’ll be staying there and nowhere else. Non-negotiable.’

By the time he comes to the end of his list, my mouth is hanging open. Firstly, I’m bowled over by the detail of his answer, having only been treated to short, snippy remarks from him so far, and secondly, there is NO CHANCE that that was all real. It can’t be. It’s too ridiculous. Tennis players take part in tournaments all over the world, he surely can’t find places that match those exact requirements every time he plays. He’s just trying to be difficult.

‘You made that last bit up,’ I blurt out accusingly.

He shakes his head. ‘Nope.’

‘So, you’re telling me that despite the fact that you could stay anywhere in London that you like, you refuse to move out of my one-bedroom flat because it’s on Lingfield Road?’

‘Yes,’ he confirms. ‘Oh, and the wall art.’

‘Sorry?’

‘The cherry blossom wall art in the living room. I like that.’

I stare at him, baffled. ‘Okay, I’m flattered you like my work, but Kieran, if Lingfield Road is that important to you for whatever reason, then maybe you can see if anyone else who lives there would like to rent their place out to you. The flat upstairs is empty. We can get in touch with Mrs Perry and see if—’

‘What do you mean your work?’ he asks, his eyebrows pulled together.

‘Huh?’

‘You said you were flattered I liked your work.’

‘Yeah, because you said you liked the wall art,’ I explain impatiently. ‘Did you hear what I said? I really think if you asked around—’

‘You painted the cherry blossom?’ he interrupts.

‘Yes!’

‘Are you an artist?’

‘No. Well, I want to be. I mean, that was kind of the whole point of me going to the Lake District. I wanted to start working on my graphic novel there. That’s why it’s so bad that the cottage has fallen through – literally,’ I murmur, running a hand through my hair.

‘Artists can work from anywhere.’

‘Yeah, well, this artist can’t,’ I snap. ‘I need to be in the Lake District. How did we get onto this? I think we should focus on the problem of where you’re going to stay.’

‘Where you’re going to stay,’ he corrects firmly. ‘I’ve already been very clear that I’m not moving.’

‘It’s my flat!’

‘You rented it out to me.’

‘You can stay anywhere!’

‘I don’t want to stay anywhere else,’ he says through gritted teeth, glancing nervously at the table behind me as the volume of my voice rises in conjunction with my growing anger at this unreasonable, stubborn prick.

‘Why is Lingfield Road so important?’

‘Look, there’s got to be someone you can stay with—’

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