Black Butterfly Read Online Free PDF

make sure–that it was what is called a touching ball. In other words, I would have to send the white rocketing away from the pink to avoid hitting it and making a foul, thus handing my opponent the upper hand and, very probably, the match.
    Melissa ffawthawte leaned against the panelled walls, one finger placed idly on the metal scorer. ‘Oh dear,’ she murmured. ‘And you were doing so well.’
    To my surprise, I found my heart was racing and I took a few deep breaths to calm myself. After all, it was only a game. There was nothing at stake except my pride.
    I drummed my fingers against the cushion. Somewhere a clock chimed.
    There was just a chance that, if I could put enough screw onthe white ball as I cued it away from the pink, it might curve round and sink the black into the pocket. I wiped perspiration from my forehead and looked again at the balls: the black on the jaws of the pocket, the pink and the white cheek-by-jowl close by.
    I took the chalk from my pocket and stroked it distractedly once, twice, three times over the tip of the cue. Then I put the little cube back in my trousers and bent down to play the shot.
    Holding the cue high, as though spearing a fish, I brought it down with tremendous power onto the top of the white. There was a curious noise, like marbles jostling together. Too hard! I’d hit the damn thing too hard!
    The ball raced away down the table and hit the far cushion.
    Melissa ffawthawte made a tiny, excited noise in her throat.
    But the strength with which I’d hit the ball meant that it bounced off the cushion and veered back up the table.
    It rolled–rolled–rolled–and hit the black!
    My heart leaped.
    The black collided with the blue but revolved towards the pocket.
    I swallowed. My throat was like paper.
    The ball rotated on its axis like a tiny planet, hovered in the soft green jaws–and stopped.
    My face fell.
    Melissa ffawthawte whooped with joy. She threw her cue into the air and caught it again–but I suddenly stayed her with a gesture and pointed to the table.
    Because the disturbed blue ball was still travelling.
    As we watched, it rolled softly, gently, towards the middle pocket and–with an understated clunk– vanished from sight.
    I burst into spontaneous laughter. The blue ball was worth five points! I could still win! I didn’t even look at Miss ffawthawte as I cleared the rest of the table swiftly and efficiently: yellow, green, brown, blue, pink and the final black, a tinglingly satisfying long pot that travelled smoothly down the baize into the bottom right pocket.
    There was a deathly silence.
    Then Melissa ffawthawte swung towards me, eyes blazing. She took her cue in both hands and, with a snarl of rage, snapped it in two. Whitish splinters peppered the green cloth of the table.
    ‘Congratulations,’ she managed.
    I shrugged. ‘Well, you know. Just a fluke.’ I held out my hand. ‘I enjoyed that. Perhaps we can play again some time.’
    She looked down at my hand as though it was some species of crawling reptile, then moved towards the door.
    ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I believe there was some talk of a prize?’
    Melissa ffawthawte turned in the doorway. ‘Perhaps, Mr Box,’ she hissed, ‘you’ll find your reward in heaven.’
    She stalked from the room, slamming the door behind her.
     
    Stepping outside, I made my way back through the camp, happy as Larry, buoyed by my narrow victory. I barely registered the industrious activity of the Scouts thronging the meadow. By the time I’d reached the footbridge, my mind wasalready focusing, with delicious anticipation, on the next day and my appointment with Miss Beveridge. Then, with a jolt, I reminded myself of the reason for our meeting. The interment of Christopher Miracle.

.4.
SNOBBERY WITH VIOLETS
    ‘F unerals, it may surprise you to learn, my dear Miss Beveridge, are awfully sexy.’
    ‘Sir?’
    I checked my appearance in the hall mirror, carefully placing a sombre Homburg onto my white locks. The