Alina glanced around Tova’s choice of restaurant as she entered. It was in a Victorian cottage in a quiet part of Melbourne marked only by a discreet gold-coloured plaque on the door. It was like walking into someone’s living room. But she was greeted politely by a waiter wearing a red suit and a yellow bow-tie and shown down the timber-floored hallway to a tiny room with three tables. Tova was already there, and she stood to greet Alina. The other tables were empty. When they were seated again, the waiter handed them menus handwritten on stiff card, and poured a glass of wine for Tova from the bottle that rested in an ice bucket next to the table.
“No wine for me, thank you,” Alina said. “I’ll have a sparkling mineral water when you’re ready.”
The waiter nodded and disappeared.
“I took the liberty of ordering a local Yarra Valley chardonnay. Do you drink wine?”
“I think I had a glass of something when I was home last,” Alina said. “I don’t drink at all during the tennis season.”
“Why is that?” Tova arched an eyebrow. “Many players allow themselves the small pleasure of an occasional drink.”
“My nutrition coach generally picks my food choices. They do not include empty calories.”
Tova inclined her head. “So be it.”
Alina bit her lip. In any other universe, this intimate little restaurant would have the feel of a date. A beautiful woman on the other side of the table. Soft music and candles. It was a romantic place, not the sort of place a journalist would take someone for an interview. She glanced at the menu. The three options per course offered eclectic dining choices. There was no chicken or steak.
Tova was right. There was no reason for her not to enjoy some good food, interesting conversation and yes, even a small glass of wine. This is not a date. Tova was probably softening her up, building a rapport so that she would talk more freely. Tova’s words of earlier came back: Players switch allegiances all the time.
What if she approached another country for citizenship? She knew there were fast track programs for sportspeople. The United States, a European country, Australia? What if, as well as developing her tennis potential to the fullest, she was free to be herself? State her opinions freely? Have more control over her own career and the fitness choices made to achieve it? Be free of state control in so many things. Date whomever she wanted without fear of censure or repercussion. And her family? What of them? Were families allowed to migrate too? Would her mother and brother even want to?
Tova stared at her with a quizzical expression. “Penny for them?”
“What?”
“A penny for your thoughts. You seemed suddenly so far away.”
“I was thinking of my mother. She lives in a small town. She has heat and power and a small garden to grow vegetables. Because of me, she’s well off. She is content where she is.”
“Does she ever come and watch you play?”
“Yes, sometimes. I paid for her to come to Wimbledon last year.”
“You reached the semi-finals.”
“The last semi-final I’ve reached. You don’t need to say it.”
“I wasn’t going to. Has your mother met Mikhail?”
“No. There’s no need for that. Mikhail… Mikhail is…” She couldn’t bring herself to continue. Viva had said Tova was trustworthy. Tova herself had said Alina could veto anything she didn’t want in print.
Tova watched her across the table. She radiated a calmness, a stillness that was reassuring. The urge to talk, finally to spill what was in her heart without fear swelled in her chest. The words rose in her throat, until it seemed they would either erupt out into the quiet air or choke her. She glanced around. The other two tables were still empty. There was no one to hear, no one except Tova, sitting so quiet, her eyes radiating empathy.
“Are you ready to order?” The waiter’s words startled her. She hadn’t heard his soft-footed approach.
“Do you need more time?” Tova asked.
Time. More time for what? She shook her head and studied the card. Food was food. Chicken or steak? She stifled a laugh. Neither of those were on the menu. Which was the healthiest option… Did it even matter? She looked again with fresh eyes. “I’ll have the duck pancakes and then the sea perch. Thank you.”
Tova ordered oysters with a caviar topping and then lamb shanks with wasabi mash.
The waiter departed.
“The service is relaxed here,” Tova said. “It will be fifteen minutes or so before our entrées arrive. You have time to talk.”
Nerves jumped in her belly, an anticipation worse than any match point. “May I have a glass of wine?”
Tova lifted the bottle from the ice bucket and poured Alina a glass.
Alina took a large gulp. The dry wine registered on her taste buds and she took another, smaller, sip. She set the glass down.
“Mikhail,” Tova prompted.
“I was advised by my agent that it would be beneficial for me to date Mikhail. Show my more human side. And glamourous couples get a lot of press.”
“Why Mikhail?” If Tova was pleased to finally get some personal details, she wasn’t showing it. Her expression was serene and inviting. A small smile crinkled her eyes.
“We’ve known each other a long time and we share the same agent. For me, it is just for show. For him though, I think he wishes it to be real.” She shot Tova a glance. “Be kind to him, please, if you mention him in your article. He is a good person, if a bit—”
“Predictable? Overbearing?”
“Yes, both of those.”
“Do you date anyone for real?”
“No.” The pressure in her throat eased. Tova was not going to put her on the spot. “Tennis is my life, and dating—falling in love—is a distraction I can’t afford.”
“That’s not necessarily true. Plenty of players have relationships or marriages. Michi Cleaver is married to her coach. Jelena Kovic travels with her long-time girlfriend. Serena Williams is married with a child.”
“I don’t think I could do that. Love is such an all-encompassing emotion. Something would have to give so that love could take its place.”
“When were you last in love?”
Alina’s hand trembled on the stem of the wine glass, and she tightened her grip and took a sip to steady herself. “A long time ago. When I was seventeen.”
“At the Delacourt Academy?”
“Yes. There was another junior player there. An American. We fell in love.”
“What happened?” Tova turned her wineglass a quarter turn and studied the contents as if they were somehow new and strange.
“We kept our relationship secret, and I don’t think anyone ever found out—except my coach of course. He told me to end the relationship. He said it wasn’t acceptable in my country, and it could be dangerous both for me and my family. I’ve always believed I didn’t have any choice.”
“Do you still see them?”
Them. Could she do this? She took another sip of wine. The glass was nearly empty. If she did this, if she confirmed what Tova so obviously suspected, then there would be no going back. Oh, she could veto any mention of it, but if she said the words aloud to another person, then she couldn’t keep them inside ever again.