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Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sarah and Dylan ran down the steps of Orlov’s building and onto the busy London sidewalk, where the sound of squealing buses, honking cars, and chattering pedestrians hit them like the sun that shone brightly on this sweltering July day.
Sarah felt like a little girl, full of freedom. The commuters were swarming like insects in the heat, talking loudly on their phones, heads buried in their iPads. But Sarah felt as wide as the ocean – as if a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Dylan pulled her close and they kissed, causing the manic world to fall away.
She gazed into his eyes. “So what happens now?”
He caressed her cheek. “We’ve got one more piece of unfinished business. Come on…”
Dylan stuck out his hand for a cab, and they both climbed inside.
“Where to, guv?” the driver asked.
“Fenchurch United soccer club, please,” Dylan said.
Sarah frowned. “Why there?”
“Old time’s sake… you’ll see.”
He put his arm around her and they snuggled together in the back of the cab, until the driver pulled up outside Fenchurch United’s home-ground. Sarah had been here once before as a child, but it was totally different now – back then they’d been a second-rate team with a dilapidated stadium. But now… Truthfully, for such an expensive venue, it didn’t look that impressive to Sarah. It was enormous, but functional and industrial. The surroundings of the stadium were made of asphalt – car parks, bus stations, and fast-food stalls. The structure itself was made of grey toughened plastic, and the open-air roof was crisscrossed with a steel lattice, making it look like a futuristic factory. The front of the building was glass like a department store, but the huge plastic letters that spelled out ‘Fenchurch United’ along the top reminded Sarah that no shopping would be done here – not unless she wanted to buy their ridiculously overpriced merchandise.
Dylan told the taxi driver to take them around the back, where Sarah realised there was a much smaller ‘directors’ entrance’. Dylan paid the driver and they made their way over to the glass doors and walked inside. It was much more impressive in here – more low-key and corporate than what Sarah imagined the public lobby probably looked like. In fact, it felt as if they’d strolled into a very expensive gym.
The
suited man behind the reception desk glanced up. “Good afternoon, Mr Quinlan. I wasn’t aware that you were coming today.”
Dylan threw him a confident grin. “Hiya, Stanley. I’ve just had a meeting with Mr Orlov and I wanted to show my girlfriend around. Okay?”
Sarah held his hand and glowed with pride at being introduced as his girlfriend.
Stanley was a pro – he’d been given this job because of his ability to schmooze the wealthy clients who came his way. He was young and handsome – but not so much as to intimidate the middle-aged men of soccer who he dealt with daily. He smiled professionally at Dylan. “Of course, Mr Quinlan. There are no stadium tours occurring at the moment, so please feel free… do you need a guide?”
“Oh no, thanks. We’ll be fine alone.”
Stanley pressed a button to release the locked door that led to the rest of the stadium. “Have a nice time, madam,” he said to Sarah.
“Thanks,” she said, smiling shyly.
The sun shone down brightly on the huge pitch today, but the steep surrounding eighty-thousand plastic seats were shaded by the vast steel open-air roof. Sarah could see on the other side of the ground that some of the red seats had been replaced with white ones, to spell out ‘Fenchurch United’. She assumed the white ones on this side also spelled something, but she was too nearby to decipher the words. The bright green field in the centre was exposed and it glistened like emeralds. Sarah vaguely remembered coming here as a child with her dad, but the atmosphere back then had been noisy with cheers and chants. It’d been exciting and overwhelming. Today it was as lifeless as an old photo in a childhood scrapbook. But it was certainly much more upmarket since the recent refurbishment – thanks to all that Russian money…
They sat on the front row of the public seating, where – if there’d been a match on – they would’ve had a perfect view.
Dylan put his arm around her. “You been here before, sweetheart?”
“Once when I was a little girl. Dad brought me. It was just a fading local soccer club in those days – I didn’t recognise it from the outside at all. But here… yeah, it does bring back memories.”
“I’ve been here a ton of times during my negotiations with Orlov, but you know what I was thinking about the whole time I was here?”
Sarah blushed – hoping he was going to say her. She smirked. “Er… were you thinking about how much you wish Bob Jones had scored that penalty in extra time during the FA Cup match?”
He laughed. “No. I was thinking of you. When we were back in college, your dad loved this club. And you were a fan by default – by heritage!”
She smiled nostalgically. “I was always obsessed with finding out the results back in college, wasn’t I? I guess it was my way of feeling connected to my home while I was away in America.”
“I know. I always miss my home whenever I’m away on business.” He sat up straight, tensing his muscles. “But now my business here is over.”
Sarah’s heart sank with terror. Was he breaking up with her? “Really?”
