Dialogues of the Dead

237 'You do?' 'Yes. Can't see why you're so cynical about it. Nice story, nice name. Just think, you could have been called ...' He nipped open the play to the cast list: '.. . Sergius! Just imagine. Sergius Pomona! Then you'd really have had something to complain about!' 'My twin brother didn't seem to mind,' she said. 'You've got a twin?' 'Had. He died,' she said, spooning coffee into a cafetiere. 'Oh shit, I'm sorry, I didn't know ...' 'How could you? He gave me the Shakespeare you were looking at.' Serge. He recalled the inscription and blushed at the thought or his infantile jealousy. To cover his confusion he gabbled, 'Yes, of course, that explains the inscription, the Queen, May the first, Queen of the May, and he was the Clown Prince .. .' 'He was full of laughter,' she said quietly. 'Whenever I was down he could always cheer me up. It didn't seem too bad being called Raina while he was around.' 'I think it's a lovely name,' said Hat staunchly. 'And Sergius too. And I'm sure they were given to you with the best of inten tions. Being called after characters in a play, you didn't get that kind of romantic idea in my family!' 'Sweet of you,' she murmured. 'Yes, there was a time when I too used to think it romantic to hear my mother and father explaining that we were named after Raina and Sergius, who are the two supremely romantic characters in the play, because these were the parts my parents were playing when they conceived us. Then one day when I was sorting out some of their stuff, I came across a collection of old theatre programmes. And there it was. Arms and the Man at Oldham. The date fitted perfectly. The only thing was when I checked the cast list, it wasn't Freddie Pomona and Melanie Mackillop who were playing Sergius and Raina, it was two other people. My parents were playing Nicola, the head serving man, and Catherine, Raina's middle-aged mother. How's that for romantic, and do you take sugar?' 'A spoonful. Well, it's not really so terrible, is it? Improving on the past isn't exactly a capital crime.' 'I suppose not. Shaw would probably have liked it. The play's all about exploding inflated notions of romance and sacrifice and honour.' 'Then why so cynical?' She looked at him thoughtfully then said, 'Another rime, eh? Wetting my hair always loosens my tongue. Let's see if those chocs you brought are any good.' They went back into the sitting room. Rye opened the chocolate box, bit into one and nodded approvingly. 'Excellent,' she said. 'So how did you know I was ill?' 'Well, I was at the library today. ..' 'Why?' she demanded. 'Has something happened?' 'Yes,' he admitted. 'Strict confidence, OK?' 'Guide's honour,' she said. He told her about the new Dialogue. 'Oh God,' she said. 'I wondered when I heard about Johnson's death ...' 'What made you wonder?' he asked. 'I don't know. Just a feeling. And maybe because ...' What?' 'This connection with the library. I don't just mean the Dialogues turning up there, but these last three killings, there's been a kind of link. OK, it's tenuous, but it does create a sort of illogical sensitivity. ..' Suddenly she looked very vulnerable. 'Come on,' he said with an attempt at avuncular jocularity. 'Cheer up. No need for you to worry.' 'Really?' His reassurance worked insomuch as her evident vulnerability was instantly replaced by an air of nepotal admiration and trust. 'Oh, do tell why I shouldn't worry.' 'Well, because this guy, the Wordman, isn't one of your normal sexual psychos going around topping young women. So far there's only been one woman, Jax Ripley, and no sex. We don't know yet precisely what drum this lunatic's marching to, but there's nothing to suggest that someone like you is more likely to be in the firing line than, say, someone like me. As for the library thing, my notion is that the short story competition gave him the kind of way of slipping his Dialogues into the public consciousness which appealed to his warped mind ...'