Dialogues of the Dead

241 'French, German - Penn's fluent in that, of course - bit of Spanish, Italian, the usual stuff. But it doesn't matter. They don't have to know a language to play in it so long as there's a dictionary in the library. That's part of the fun, it seems. It's like poker. One will produce a word which looks like it might be Slovakian, say, then defy the other to challenge him. Is it a bluff or has he swotted up a bit of Slovak the day before, and is now trying to provoke a challenge? Then out comes the dictionary and it's lose a go and fifty points if it's a false word, and the same if it's an unsuccessful challenge.' 'What a pair of sad plonkers,' muttered Hat. 'Why do you say that?' she asked, looking at him curiously. 'Two consenting adults, and they play in private, they're not trying to impress anyone.' 'They seem to have impressed you. Ever try it yourself?' 'Wouldn't have minded, but I've never been asked,' she said. 'Story of my life, really. Lots of interesting games going on, but nobody asks me to play.' Was this a hint? An invitation? Or just a tease? He drank some coffee to moisten his suddenly dry throat as he tried to work out whether the time was ripe for a move. His body certainly thought it was. He could feel his flesh beginning to overheat. 'You all right, Hat?' said Rye, looking at him with some con cern. 'You're looking very flushed.' 'Oh yes, I'm fine,' he said. But even as he spoke, it occurred to him he was far from fine and that this heat had more to do with debility than desire. 'You don't look fine, not unless you always start flushing in patches at this time in the evening,' she said. 'In fact you look like what I felt like at work yesterday.' 'You mean I've caught your lurgy?' said Hat, choking back a cough. 'I knew we had a lot in common.' 'Please. I hate a plucky trooper. You feel OK to drive home?' It occurred to Hat that if he played his cards right, he could claim sanctuary here, then he recalled that Rye herself was only just recovering from the bug. In romantic fiction, the patient often got the nurse on to his bed. On the other hand, he suspected that all a pair of patients would get on was each other's nerves. 'Yeah, no problem. So what's the prognosis?' 'Well, you'll feel a lot worse before you begin to feel better, but the good news is that it may be nasty but it's short.' 'So I should be OK for the weekend then?' She smiled at him and said, 'It's your show, Hat. But if we have to cancel again, I may start wondering if fate isn't trying to tell us something.' 'You leave fate to me,' he said, stifling a cough as he headed for the door. 'Good night's sleep and I'll probably be back keeping Yorkshire safe for civilians first thing in the morning.' 'I believe you,' she said, kissing her index finger and placing it gently on his burning forehead. 'I feel safer already. Goodnight, Hat. Take care.' And such is the power of a good woman's touch that he believed it himself as he went out to his car. Love can conquer everything and he knew he was truly, madly, deeply in love.

243 Chapter Twenty-seven