Eleven years later, after her own defeat in the semi-finals, Spencer had watched Ashley Davies’ victory. There had been nothing similar in the style of her mother and the style of the new champion. When Paula Carlin played, it is meticulous, with cold control and an accent on form. Ashley played played like a fireball – all emotion and muscle. Often, Spencer had speculated on what results would be if the two women were to meet across a net. Where her mother brought her pride, Ashley brought her excitement. Watching her, she could understand the sense of sexuality onlookers experienced during a bullfight. Indeed, there was a thirst for blood in her style that both alarmed and fascinated.

Ashley had pursued her for months, but she had held her off. Her reputation with women and men, her temper, her flamboyance, and nonconformity had both attracted and repulsed her. Though the attraction was strong, and her heart was already lost, Spencer had sensibly listened to her head. Always reminding herself that this is not what her mom wants, this is not what she wants, this is not what society easily accepts, this is not her, – no, she can’t be in love with a woman. That was her mantra until that day in May.

Ashley had been like a goddess – beautiful, mythological with a strength and power that even the biased Italian crowd couldn’t resist. Some cheered her, some cheerfully cursed her. She’d given them the sweat they had come to see. And the show.

Ashley had taken the championship in three frenzied sets. That night Spencer had given Ashley both herself and her love. For the first in her life she had allowed her heart complete freedom. Like a blossom kept in the sheltered, controlled climate of a hothouse, she took to the sun and storm wildly. Days were steamier and more passionate – nights both turbulent and tender. Then the season had ended.

Now, as Spencer practiced in the early morning lull on court five, the memories stirred, sweet and bitter as old wine. Fast rides on back roads, hot beaches, dim hotel rooms, foolish laughter, crazy loving. Betrayal.

“If you dream like that this afternoon, Jankovic’s going to wipe you out of the quarter-finals.”