He let go of the guy’s wrist and watched him scrabble about on the lawn, gathering up his tickets. The crowd surrounding the two men suddenly gasped and then roared, as Keller won a point on the big screen in front of them. The commentary echoed across the lawn as the pundits filled the seconds between points.

‘That’s a great shot from Keller,’ an Australian voice said. ‘Incredible precision for the first game. Brave, too.’

CHAPTER 25

FOSTER HALF TURNED towards the screen. The camera zoomed in on Keller. She looked focused and calm. Foster wished he felt the same way.

‘Yes, I think we can see the umpire taking a second look at that, as it hits the line,’ said a second, English voice as a slow-mo played through on the screen. ‘But you can see chalk dust fly up as the ball lands, so it was a good call from the line judge.’

The crowd around Foster and the tout had gone back to watching the big screen, too, happy to disengage from the momentary unpleasantness.

‘Big day for Noah Saunders,’ the commentary continued. ‘He’s been given the umpire’s chair for the final at short notice, due to Rachel Clapham being taken ill. He comes from a tennis family. His brother was a talented player, but sadly he took his own life a year ago today.’

Keller bounced the ball on the service line, and the crowd hushed. The commentator continued in quiet tones.

‘Yes, it must have been a roller coaster of a year for Noah Saunders, and it’s good to see him in the chair today.’

Keller fired into the net and the crowd on the lawn groaned.

‘Helluva bruise on his neck, mind you,’ said the Australian. ‘Looks like he’s been in the wars.’

Someone in the TV gallery must have been listening because the picture cut to a view of the umpire, and a livid purple bruise on the side of his neck. And in that moment Foster’s instinct was triggered. He was about to turn back to Centre Court when he felt the presence of someone behind him, and turned to see a broad-shouldered security guard at his back. Another guard arrived behind the ticket tout.

‘Is everything okay, gentlemen?’

The tout swore under his breath.

‘Fine,’ Foster said. ‘I need to get back inside Centre.’

The guards didn’t move.

‘Can I ask what the altercation was about, sir?’

He was professional, and his courteous attitude seemed genuine enough. But Foster didn’t have time for it.

‘This guy’s touting. I saw him, and he ran.’