His job never ended. At least, that was Filip’s perspective, as he’d made the time to check on the equipment and even the pitch prior to heading over to the tent where his players, and presumably all of the representatives for India, were already located. However, even with all his work checking on things, his dress slacks and vest were spotless, as was the tip of his cane as he used it to push open the doorway of the tent. The British flag was as pristine as always, on display around the bulk of the cane, and he returned to using it as he strolled into the activity and up to where his players were gathered. “Ready for what we’re here for?,” he asked dryly, knowing they’d know he wasn’t referring to all the mingling that was scheduled in their current location.

He’d inclined his head toward Ms. Chaudhary as well, respecting his fellow coach as well as her players. India was playing well, but he was determined to show them that England wasn’t just a team of pretty faces. His players were doing well, of course, and he expected nothing less from them. Nor did he expect the Indian team to slack off. There wouldn’t be any pride in winning an unfair match.

Nor was he against signing a few autographs of his own.