by Claire Merle
At the top of the wal she grabbed a pointed iron pole.
Then she slid through the thin gap between spikes, gathered up the rope and dropped it over the other side.
Beneath her, scattered between the thicket of horse chest-nuts, oaks and sycamores were a thousand bluebels. Their deep violet-blue heads bobbed in the dappled sunshine.
Ana smiled. With a last look back at the quiet Community road, she gripped the rope and abseiled down into the Project.
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Acknowledgements
My deepest thanks to my editor, Susila Baybars, whose My deepest thanks to my editor, Susila Baybars, whose insight and inteligence guided me through revisions, asking al the right questions and generously alowing me to explore the answers in some unexpected ways.
I would like to thank everyone at Antony Harwood, especialy Jo Wiliamson my agent extraordinaire, who was the first to love Ana and Cole the way I do, and whose constant support and enthusiasm is al a girl could want.
To the Faber team – Rebecca, Lizzie, Susan, Laura, Donna and everyone behind the scenes that I haven’t yet met – thank you!
Thanks to Cassandra Griffin and Leandra Walace, who read the earliest drafts of The Glimpse. Your advice and encouragement was invaluable. Likewise thanks to al my QT
friends who helped out at various stages, particularly Julie Fedderson, Rachel Wickham, Ruth Kolman, B. L. Holiday, Cate Peace and Jennifer L. Armentrout. And
‘aloha’ to my new critique group, Mina, Tioka and Sandra. Looking forward to working with you guys on the next one!
Thanks to my Mum who always welcomed strange people into her house – rock bands and film crews –
while I pursued my ‘artistic ambitions’; and Dad who infiltrated this story on several levels and who was probably responsible for the 2018 Colapse.
Thanks to my sister Kate Lewis, and my dear friend Andrea Kapos. Your constant support, insight and encouragement over the years wil always be deeply appreciated.
appreciated.
Finaly my thanks and love to my three boys – my eldest son, Sean, who graciously accepted that when Mummy’s writing she can no longer hear what he’s saying; my youngest, West, whose afternoon naps and good nature alowed me to keep drafting and revising through those pre-nursery years; and my husband, Claude, whose belief in me has never waned despite the fact that he’s had to rely on my garbled ramblings as to what this book is about, and won’t read The Glimpse until it’s released in French.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Table of Contents
Prologue
Table of Contents
Prologue