Skinner's rules

26

Skinner had decided to take Yobatu by surprise. There would be no preliminary visit, but a full scale raid and interrogation.

Sarah awoke at 10.00 a.m. to find herself alone in Bob’s king-size pine bed. There was a note on the bedside table. Robert, she thought, your handwriting is bad enough for you to have made it big in medicine.

The message was brief but multi-purpose: ‘Morning, love. Tell Andy for me I’ve gone to see the man about a warrant for our visit tomorrow. I’ll be back for one o’clock. I’ve booked a starting time on No. 2. We tee off at 1:36. Tell Alex she’s partnering Andy. Luv, B.’

‘That’s great,’ Sarah muttered, but with a smile on her lips. ‘I’ve got either a migraine or a hangover, and he wants to play golf.’

Alex’s head appeared round the bedroom door. Her big eyes were clear, and her hair was as tousled as ever. ‘Hi, Sarah. You awake? I’m doing a fry-up.’

Sarah’s head was clear and painless by the time Bob returned. The healing process had been helped by a brisk walk along Gullane beach, a great mile-long stretch of golden sand. The weather continued cold, crisp and bright, with a light breeze blowing from the north-west.

They drove off from the first tee of Gullane Golf club’s number two course at 1.36 p.m. precisely, Bob and Andy hitting drives across a wind which was refreshing and just beginning to swing round from the north.

By the time that they holed out on the exposed twelfth green, the most distant part of any of the three fine links courses laid out on Gullane Hill, the blue sky had gone. The wind had risen and the clouds looked to be heavy with snow. As Alex sank the winning putt on the sloping eighteenth green, the first flakes were beginning to fall.

Later, Bob and Andy, each of whom had been forced by circumstances to become expert in the kitchen, prepared dinner. Alex offered to help but was banished by a wave of her father’s hand.

‘Just don’t get too close to him, Andy,’ she said as she left. ‘Pops isn’t exactly the handiest man around the house.’ She pointed to a crockery shelf which hung at an odd angle on the wall. ‘He’s been promising to fix that for years. Don’t stand underneath it. The lot could come down on you!’

The meal, when it came, was dominated by seafood. Langoustine bisque, cooked and frozen two months earlier, was followed by four thick salmon steaks baked with prawns and served with courgettes, baby corn and a tossed salad of iceberg lettuce, peppers, tomatoes and olives.

Instead of dessert, Bob produced a wheel of Stilton, and a bowl of black grapes on ice. He programmed the Amadeus recording of Haydn’s ‘Emperor’ quartet on his CD player, and as the glorious strings swelled from the Cyrus speakers, he smiled around the table.

‘You know,’ he said, squeezing Sarah’s hand, ‘this is turning out to be the best weekend I’ve had for a long, long, time. And if tomorrow goes the way I think it might, well it could, just about, top the lot.’