Chapter 16

           ItwasquietandsunnyinthegardensatSuntouchHouse,andtheairsmelledofmowngrass.FromthetenniscourtscamethefaintpoppingofagameinprogressandonceIheardMiriamBancroft’svoiceraisedinexcitement.Flashoftannedlegsbeneathaflaringwhiteskirtandapuffofshell-pinkdustwherethedrivenballburieditselfinthebackofheropponent’scourt.Therewasapoliterippleofapplausefromtheseatedfigureswatching.Imademywaydowntowardsthecourts,flankedbyheavilyarmedsecuritymenwithblankfaces.

           TheplayersweretakingagamebreakwhenIarrived,feetplantedwideinfrontoftheirseats,headsdown.Asmyfeetcrunchedonthegravelsurround,MiriamBancroftlookedupthroughtangledblondehairandmetmyeye.Shesaidnothing,butherhandsworkedatthehandleofherracketandasmilesplitherlips.Heropponent,whoalsoglancedup,wasaslimyoungmanwithsomethingabouthimthatsuggestedhemightgenuinelybeasyoungashisbody.Helookedvaguelyfamiliar.

           Bancroftwasseatedatthemiddleofarowofdeckchairs,OumouPrescottonhisrightandamanandwomanI’dnevermetonhisleft.Hedidn’tgetupwhenIreachedhim;infacthebarelylookedatme.OnehandgesturedtotheseatnexttoPrescott.

           "Sitdown,Kovacs.It’sthelastgame."

           Itwitchedasmile,resistingthetemptationtokickhisteethdownhisthroat,andfoldedmyselfintothedeckchair.OumouPrescottleanedacrosstomeandmurmuredbehindherhand.

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