Chapter Text
Chapter One
30 December 2017 - pre-tournament meeting
The Brisbane International, Brisbane
Catherine Bourke, or Chatty Cathy as she was sometimes called in whispered tones, stood at the front of the room, pontificating laboriously on her expectations for the tournament. Her demeanour was that of a woman in charge, and indeed, no one could argue with the authority of the Tennis Australia CEO – even the tournament director.
To Bill Collins, she was majestic. Imperial. The essence of all that was great about the government and management of the sport.
To Elizabeth Bennet, she was laying it on a touch thick.
Nevertheless, Elizabeth had her assignment: producer for one of the broadcast partners for the Australian tennis season. Just how Bill landed an executive job with Tennis Australia, after having fumbled his way through at Channel Four beside Elizabeth and Charlotte, was confounding. Why him? Charlotte was more senior than Bill, and she was streets ahead in experience and talent. Why hadn’t TA poached her?
It’s who you know, not what you know, Elizabeth reminded herself. If only she’d buddied up with the executive producers, she could have been in Perth preparing for the Hopman Cup gig and exploring a city she’d never seen. Federer was at the Hopman Cup. Federer!
As it was, she was at the Brisbane International. Her hometown tournament. With Bill Collins lording his good fortune over his former colleagues, the smug git.
‘And a final reminder to you all that William Darcy is the marquee player at this year’s tournament. The headliner. He and his team are to be afforded every courtesy, and every request shall be met. There shall be no cause for complaint from him, and before Channel Four asks, you are permitted one promotional interview with him. Questions for courtside interviews must be approved by me first.’
Elizabeth frowned. She didn’t know why William Darcy was the ‘marquee player’: he wasn’t the top seed or even the most popular player booked to play. She knew that he was considered an outside chance for the Open, ranked twenty-first in the world and yet to start his comeback after a six month lay off. He was a real unknown lately, so viewers wanted to hear from him. And there was the comeback kid angle she’d work if she got to interview him … but to issue such an edict for only one player?
‘We typically have less than three minutes from when a match ends, to the interview. Will you be available after every match he wins, if he wins, to ensure the viewers get questions relevant to the match?’
Collins gulped. Catherine Bourke merely pursed her lips before speaking as if a direct question hadn’t been posed to her. ‘As I was saying …’
30 December 2017 - players’ party
Brisbane International, Brisbane
How dared he?
Of all the baseless, false, and humiliating things he could have said, he accused her of sleeping her way into the job.
‘I’m always suspicious of the ones who laugh and smile their way through work. What was she, again? Producer, or production assistant? I wouldn’t have thought her to be a producer just looking at her – I wonder how long she’s been in the job.’
His off-sider smirked, and eyed the room critically. ‘I know this is Catherine’s pet project, turning this event into something worthy of attending, but perhaps you should speak with her about the standard of the broadcast employees. Surely she has some say with the network. The staff should fill in a questionnaire before they start: what are your qualifications, and were your prospects enhanced by bed hopping?’
They were soon joined by a man with boundless enthusiasm. He looked to be having the time of his life. He rubbed his hands together and bounced on the balls of his feet. ‘Another year, just started! Time for a new beginning, eh Darcy?’
The woman rolled her eyes. ‘Charlie, please. Save your enthusiasm for Melbourne. You know Darcy is only here because he has to be, or he’d be penalised.’
‘It’s still a good field,’ this Charlie persisted. If it weren’t for the conversation she’d just overheard, and the sound of her own brain exploding in her head, Elizabeth might have been swayed by his relentless optimism. ‘We should take this as seriously as the Masters, Carrie.’
‘Look around you, Charles. We’re surrounded by try-hards and has-beens. The only decent thing here is the champagne, and that has to be Catherine’s doing.’
How rich, coming from Team Darcy! He was the biggest try-hard in the room, and by the end of the summer, they would know if he was the greatest flop in recent history.
She wished it was the latter. That would serve the arrogant arse right!
‘Dearest Charlotte, shall I relate to you the fascinating conversation I just overheard?’
‘Judging by that gleam in your eye, I’m going to hear about it one way or another.’
Elizabeth smiled. By the time she finished relaying her version of the conversation, she and Charlotte were laughing.
‘When my brightest star commands an audience, I know there’s a story afoot. Care to let me in on the secret?’ Eddie Gardiner, executive producer and Elizabeth’s favourite boss, listened intently and responded with humour and incredulity in all the right places.
Mollified, and satisfied that she had the sympathetic ear of her boss and colleagues, Elizabeth avoided Team Darcy for the rest of the night. She even indulged in a sneaky glass of champagne, once the official part of the evening was over.
8 January 2018 - media day
Kooyong Classic, Melbourne
Elizabeth was revising the scripts for the day’s promos and running her eye over questions for the interview with William Darcy. Her phone was constantly buzzing, her executive producer had come down gastro at the worst possible time, and there was not enough caffeine in the whole of coffee-drenched Melbourne to help her frazzled nerves fire. With her phone practically glued to her ear, Elizabeth ran out of the service tunnels of Rod Laver Arena and almost barrelled into Joshua Wickham.
‘You could at least buy me a drink before you run me over,’ he said with a grin and a wink.
Breathless from either the cheeky wink or the run, Elizabeth murmured an apology, her cheeks hot. Wickham hitched his racquet bag higher on his shoulder and kept walking in the direction of the practice courts. He was in Melbourne early for the qualifiers, she knew.
Elizabeth let out a long breath and kept going, firing off instructions to the presenters and hoping, praying, that she could get over to Kooyong in time for the interview with William Darcy. She grumbled about Chatty Cathy’s interference or - as Eddie Gardiner had phrased it - her polite demand that Darcy be featured in a segment for the Kooyong Classic. This sort of treatment was usually reserved for Australian players, or the Big Four. Darcy was neither Australian nor a member of the Big Four.
Elizabeth just hoped they’d be able to rehash some of it for the Australian Open.
No such luck. Thirty minutes late, William Darcy was boorish and boring. The man refused to talk of anything remotely interesting or substantial. He recycled his responses from other interviews. There were a few moments when Elizabeth dared to hope he would talk about his preparations, his team, his goals, but Carrie would redirect the interview back to her approved script.
I’m so bloody glad I hauled ass to get here just for this, Elizabeth thought darkly.
Irritated, and determined not to cry from sheer frustration, Elizabeth offered an alternative. ‘We might take a quick break from the questions. Could we get some footage of Darcy on the court?’
The planned three-minute segment on Darcy’s return to the tour and to Kooyong, his chances at taking home a maiden Slam, and his role as a player representative with the ATP, was altered on the run. They could only use a sum total of eighteen seconds of him speaking directly to the camera.
The rest was filled with a recap on his career to date, and his run to the semi finals in Brisbane. They took some pictures from his Instagram and Twitter feeds, even though they were clearly cultivated by someone on his team – undoubtedly Carrie, the PR and social media micromanager. There wasn’t anything personal, or anything that might appeal to the Australian public. Not a single photo of him hugging a koala, or even trying a Vegemite sandwich. Elizabeth trawled the network’s archives for anything suitable. Thankfully, his fitness coach was willing to be interviewed, and Darcy deigned to be filmed on the practice court.
‘Thank God for Charles Bingley,’ Elizabeth muttered after Team Darcy had left.
13 January 2018 - media and promo day
The Australian Open, Melbourne
Promo day. It had the potential to be fun. All the seeds were scheduled to shuffle through that very door, sit in that very seat, and have those very lights shine down on them as they shot promos for the tournament.
Some seeds were given the bare minimum attention and could be done in a matter of minutes, while others would take up to an hour or more. The likes of Djokovic, Federer, Nadal, Williams (both of them), Kerber, Halep, Pliskova - the title contenders - also did voice overs. Popular players, outside chances, and homegrown talent also got the special treatment. Someone had the bright idea of scheduling first Kyrgios and then Darcy, right after each other.
Two entitled brats, Elizabeth thought. Line them up! It’s going to be a long day.
And it was. There was no time for a coffee break, much less a lunch break.
‘Where are you off to, Elizabeth? We’re nowhere near finished!’ called Charlotte as Elizabeth ducked out of the studio mid-afternoon.
‘I’m going to the little nun’s room, nosey!’
Charlotte had the decency to look apologetic, but still called down the hall, ‘Don’t take too long! Caity Morland talked too much and went over time. And don’t even get me started on this Carrie Bingley sending through a rider for Darcy! Thank god for Elinor Dashwood. Most sensible creature I’ve ever dealt with, although it helped that Edward Ferrars showed up early. They seemed to distract each other, at least until Lucy Steele showed up. Things got a bit frosty then.’
‘Darcy has a rider?’
Charlotte waved away Elizabeth’s comment. ‘It’s nothing much. Collins happened to be around and jumped at the chance to make sure everything was sorted.’
Elizabeth was affronted on behalf of the production team. It may have coloured her approach that afternoon.
She may have been more assertive, more pressing, than she should have been. Then again, the questions could have gone in a different direction if it weren’t for Carrie Bingley’s interference.
‘No personal questions,’ she had said, ad nauseam.
When everything was set and ready for Darcy’s turn in front of the camera, Carrie stared intently at the feedback. She frequently stopped filming so she could adjust Darcy’s shirt or his hair, or position him to sit at a more flattering angle. She wanted the lighting changed because there was too much shadow over his face. Elizabeth couldn’t contain her disbelief and huffed. He couldn’t have been more lit up if they’d rigged up a stadium spotlight.
Darcy seemed amused by it all. For a brief moment, she thought Darcy might have broken role and been human: there was the hint of a smile lurking around his eyes. ‘But of course, how I look is more important than what I say.’
Carrie laughed - laughed, the wonders! ‘Let me do my job without you whinging about it.’
‘I would hate to stand in the way of a perfect shot,’ Darcy drawled.
‘The perfect object requires the perfect shot.’
They laughed like it was some old joke between them but Elizabeth was nauseated. It did, however, give her hope that he might be more approachable, but that was dashed seconds later when Mia King resumed her questions.
‘You were one of the hottest players on tour last year. Two titles, the quarter finals in Melbourne and the semis in Miami. Before that, the finals of the Shanghai Masters … you were in great form.’ Mia leant forward excitedly. There was no reciprocal enthusiasm from her subject, but Mia continued on, regardless, ‘But then … you pulled out of Queen’s without notice and basically dropped off the radar for six months. What happened?’
Carrie quickly smothered that line of questioning. ‘Darcy won’t be answering any questions about last year’s grass season or the American and Asian swings.’
Mia’s smile dimmed slightly. ‘You parted ways with your long time coach Victor Younge almost six months ago and haven’t replaced him. Do you think you’ll bring on someone new in the future?’
Carrie’s lightheartedness had disappeared. Her voice was curt and clipped as she barked, ‘No personal questions.’
Mia checked her notes, and tried again. ‘Your father was one of the big names of the late eighties, alongside the likes of Lendl and Becker. Although he didn’t win any Slams, he was ranked number three in the world at the height of his career and he retired with fifteen titles to his name. You’ve hovered just outside the top ten for a while now and won eight ATP titles so far. Do you feel any pressure to better his record?’
‘No personal questions.’
Darcy looked more annoyed than upset about his father being mentioned. Elizabeth slipped Mia a hastily written note.
‘You decided to come to Australia for your lead up to the Open, forgoing your usual stint in the Middle East. Given that your training camp is based in Dubai, why did you pick Australia?’
‘No personal questions!’
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. ‘It wasn’t a personal question,’ she bit out through gritted teeth. ‘It’s directly relevant to his playing.’
‘Move on,’ Carrie replied, not taking her eyes off the feedback.
‘What are your pre-game rituals?’
‘I can’t imagine how that would be of interest to anyone, Ms King,’ Darcy murmured with a quiet smile.
‘Do you think you’ll start playing doubles again, after what happened with Joshua Wickham?’ Mia’s eyes bulged and she quickly added, ‘I mean, whatever it was that happened.’
‘No personal questions!’
Elizabeth signalled to Mia to wrap up, ready to give it up as a hopeless case, but apparently Mia still had questions.
‘There’s been a lot of focus on the “Frequent Flyers”, a name bestowed by your fitness coach. They travel almost everywhere with you but by your own admission, they all work for you. We don’t see your friends or your girlfriend. Will that ever change, do you think?’
‘No personal -’
‘No, it’s ok. I’ll answer that.’ Darcy finally decided to exert some authority and speak on his own behalf. Elizabeth blinked. ‘The “Frequent Flyers” are my friends and one of them also happens to be family. As for a partner, a significant other …’ Darcy paused, and his eyes roved around the room until they landed somewhere over Mia’s shoulder, beside Elizabeth. ‘I would hope that if there was someone in the future, they would come to my big matches and support me, but have no comment to the media.’
How bizarre that the question that was objectively personal was the question Darcy decided to answer. Elizabeth couldn’t fathom it, or him.
The interview continued on, with Mia making every attempt to drag something - anything - else from the unmoving object in front of her. Her efforts were met with pointed stares and brusque responses.
‘The world is not entitled to know my private affairs. I share what I think is relevant.’
Finally, deflated, Mia made eye contact with Elizabeth and gave a slight shrug. Elizabeth called it, and directed Darcy through to the sound booth where Charlotte was waiting.
13 January 2018
The Australian Open, Melbourne
‘I’ve just come from a meeting with Collins.’
‘Oh, happy day!’ Elizabeth mock trilled.
Charlotte rolled her eyes. ‘He’s not so bad, if you don’t push back on everything he says.’
‘That level of fool shouldn’t be tolerated anywhere,’ Elizabeth said and put down the practice courts schedule she’d been reviewing. ‘But tell me, what does the star recruit of TA have to say this time?’
‘He gave me this,’ Charlotte said, brandishing a stack of papers flagged with post-it notes. ‘It’s an eight page memo on all the things wrong with the promos, how they can be fixed, and guidelines for future segments.’
‘What?’ Elizabeth asked, dropping her clip folder to the table with a loud clatter. ‘What’s wrong with what we have?’
‘The memo is from Catherine Bourke. The post-it notes are his contributions. Look, some of it is warranted - don’t give me that look! Objectively speaking, there’s room for improvement. But by and large, it’s ridiculous.’
Elizabeth flipped through the memo. Certain phrases caught her eye. ‘“Lack of engagement.” Well … huh. “Distinct absence of polish.” Oh, please. “And in spite of Channel Four’s commitment to training its junior staff, which ordinarily would be commendable if conducted in an appropriate manner, it is unpardonable to attempt such risky manoeuvres on the eve of the largest event on the Australian tennis calendar.” Heh. I mean, that’s cute.’
‘That’s a headache,’ Charlotte moaned. ‘Eddie is pissed off but he isn’t giving much away.’
‘What’s the plan?’
Charlotte flopped into the chair beside Elizabeth and threw her head back, closing her eyes and groaning. ‘Back to the studio to get it right this time.’
Charlotte yawned. Elizabeth knew the feeling. There would be time enough to sleep after the Open.
‘So it’s our fault some of the players were awful subjects? We can’t force them to talk or open a vein and pour their hearts out to us.’
Charlotte peered at Elizabeth through a cracked eye. ‘I know where you’re going, and I strongly suggest you stop treating him like the scourge of the earth. Darcy wasn’t the only one who was uncooperative.’
‘He was downright boring.’
‘I don’t blame him. Mia wasn’t on her game, and some of the questions were too much like gossip. Tell me, what did we ask him that he hasn’t been asked a hundred times before?’
‘He didn’t have to be such a dick about it,’ Elizabeth huffed, rolling her eyes. ‘A little professional courtesy wouldn’t go astray.’
Charlotte raised an eyebrow. ‘Indeed,’ she said, pointedly.
‘Don’t give me that. You know I didn’t start it.’
‘Yeah? What happened, other than petty slights stemming from an insult to your vanity?’
‘My vanity?’ Elizabeth covered her shock quickly. ‘This has nothing to do with me disliking the man which, I might add, is justified and based on an affront to my professionalism and my person. It’s very much about Chatty Cathy and her pet stooge coming over the top of us.’
Charlotte gave her a look that said she wasn’t buying it. ‘Catherine has very generously arranged for a few players to come back and reshoot. What about a word association game?’ she suggested, changing topics. ‘About other players and the tour. Keep it relevant and for god’s sake, no gossip! And do that pretty packaging you’re so fond of, like reel of rapid fire questions.’