BooksBarbecue
Back Limelight
Chapters (49)
  1. Cover
  2. Table of Contents
  3. Also by Graham Hurley
  4. LIMELIGHT
  5. Copyright
  6. Dedication
  7. Epigraph
  8. ONE
  9. TWO
  10. THREE
  11. FOUR
  12. FIVE
  13. SIX
  14. SEVEN
  15. EIGHT
  16. NINE
  17. TEN
  18. ELEVEN
  19. TWELVE
  20. THIRTEEN
  21. FOURTEEN
  22. FIFTEEN
  23. SIXTEEN
  24. SEVENTEEN
  25. EIGHTEEN
  26. NINETEEN
  27. TWENTY
  28. TWENTY-ONE
  29. TWENTY-TWO
  30. TWENTY-THREE
  31. TWENTY-FOUR
  32. TWENTY-FIVE
  33. TWENTY-SIX
  34. TWENTY-SEVEN
  35. TWENTY-EIGHT
  36. TWENTY-NINE
  37. THIRTY
  38. THIRTY-ONE
  39. THIRTY-TWO
  40. THIRTY-THREE
  41. THIRTY-FOUR
  42. THIRTY-FIVE
  43. THIRTY-SIX
  44. THIRTY-SEVEN
  45. THIRTY-EIGHT
  46. THIRTY-NINE
  47. FORTY
  48. FORTY-ONE
  49. AFTERWARDS

Andy McFaul, in those same jeans and that same green hoodie, is on his hands and knees on a sizeable expanse of lawn. In every respect but one, the grass looks perfect: perfectly laid, perfectly mowed, perfectly edged. For the man Christianne hinted at – ultra-rational, obsessed by the smallest detail – the lawn is a telling metaphor. So why has this same obsessive seen fit to sink a series of holes, lined with metal, in a random pattern that stretches from the line of crazy paving at the rear of the bungalow to the flower bed at the far end?

The answer appears moments later. Christianne is barefoot. She’s wearing a pair of shorts and a long-sleeved T-shirt. The pullover draped over her shoulders might be cashmere, but in the fading light it’s hard to be sure. She’s carrying a golf club, a putter, and I watch McFaul bring her to a halt maybe a dozen metres from the first hole. From the pocket of his jeans he produces a golf ball, then another, and he stands back while she tries to get her balance over the ball he’s laid at her feet. For a long moment, while she sways with her bodyweight, nothing happens. Then she takes a tentative, exploratory swing, and misses the ball completely. The fact that I can hear the soft ‘merde’ is a tribute to the silence of this place, but at McFaul’s muttered suggestion she tries again. Another struggle to get herself properly balanced. Another stroke that fails to connect.

McFaul is behind her now. Softly, he nuzzles the nape of her neck before putting his arms around her and taking control of the club. With two pairs of hands, the ball rolls steadily towards the hole. It doesn’t go in but it’s not far short. Christianne gazes at it, then shakes her head and turns back towards McFaul before burying her head on his shoulder.

Nearly an hour later, I find Evelyn downstairs. She’s had a bath, and she’s treated herself to a dress in soft greys and blues and I tell her she looks – and smells – fabulous. I fetch her coat from the hall and make sure she’s got the notes she’s been working on. Then, ever punctual, she nods towards the front door and offers me her arm.

‘Is it normal to feel this fluttery?’ She gestures down at her stomach.

‘Always.’ I give her arm a little squeeze. ‘Break a leg, eh?’

FOUR