Dialogues of the Dead

“Blake,” she said. “So I could do the same by crossing your secret here with my love?”

“Still Blake. Excellent.”

“Actually I was thinking of Doris Day,” she said.

He threw his head back and laughed, and she laughed too, but somehow, instead of easing the sexual tension between them as she had intended, this shared laughter sent another line of contact snaking out which drew them even closer, affirming their mutual fondness and pleasure in each other’s company without one wit diminishing their newly discovered physical attraction.

Why not? she thought. I’m a free agent, no commitments existing and as far as Dick goes, none intended. So why not gather a few rosebuds while I may?

But at the same time, her future working alongside Dee came into her mind. Would things be changed? She felt she could rely on him to keep things the same, if that’s what she wanted. Yes, she was certain of his discretion, yet could even the greatest discretion resist the probing gaze of Charley Penn? The thought of those knowing eyes, that insinuating smarl, the ambiguous remarks implying a vicarious intimacy, was not pleasant to her.

And also into her mind, despite her genuine confidence of being a free agent with no commitments, came an image of Hat Bowler.

Who was now free of traffic on the quiet country roads and moving so fast that his passage hardly allowed time for the sheep grazing in the fields to raise their heads before he was out of sight, leaving only a wisp of exhaust smoke as evidence they hadn’t been dreaming. Still some way behind him but, now that he was out of the city, keeping pace, came Pascoe with, a little way further back, the siren and lights of the patrol car which had picked up Andy Dalziel from the Black Bull.

The Fat Man came on his mobile now.

“Where are you at, Pete?”

Pascoe told him.

“And Bowler?”

“Not in sight yet.”

“Well, stop driving along like an old woman! Get up there with him. Owt happens to the lad, I’ll hod thee responsible.”

“It’s more what’s likely to happen to Dee when Hat catches up with him that I’m worried about.”

“Him? Turns out he’s the Wordman, who’s going to care?” said Dalziel dismissively. “No, it’s young Bowler we’ve got to look out for. Another couple of years shaking that college education out of him, he could make a good cop. What the fuck are you doing with this thing? Pedalling it?”

The last two sentences, Pascoe assumed, were addressed to the driver of the patrol car, but he felt their power too and pushed his foot even harder on to the accelerator so that the same sheep which a little earlier had been disturbed by the passage of the MG twitched their ears again, but, being, contrary to their image, quick learners, this time did not bother to raise their heads.

So, thought Rye, will I, won’t I?

She was aware that while her mind vacillated, her body was independently sending out much more positive signals.

She had stretched herself out in the chair, waiting for Dee, in every sense, to make his move. Her left bra-strap had slipped down over her shoulder and her breast had almost escaped from its silken cup, but she made no effort to recapture it. Indeed sensing, and perhaps slightly piqued by, a degree of hesitation in Dee himself, she relaxed her shoulders so that the nipple of the errant orb came fully into view.

Now she had his attention. But it wasn’t on her swelling nipple that his eyes were fixed.

He was looking at her head.

She said, “What?”

He reached across the board and touched the silver blaze in her hair.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” he said.

“To check it doesn’t come off on your fingers?” she mocked. “’Tis in grain, sir. ’Twill endure wind and weather.”

“I never doubted it,” he said. And now he let his gaze slip down to her bosom.

He said, “Rye …”

She said, “Yes?”

He said, “Rye?”

She said, “Yes.”

It was that easy.

He stood up so suddenly, one of his feet jolted the Paronomania board, shuffling the letters from the places so that now they made no sense.

He said, “I’ll just get …I’ve got …excuse me …”

He turned and went out of the room.

Smiling, she now rose and undid her bra, letting it fall to the floor as she slipped out of her jeans and pants.

She went to the window. It took an effort of focus to get her gaze beyond the patina of rain stains and lichen which darkened the glass, but finally the grey mysterious surface of the tarn trembled into view.

Nothing moved. No wind crimpled the water. Not a bird in sight.

Birds made her think of Hat again. Dear sweet Hat, so knowingly innocent so innocently knowing. He need never know about Dick. Except, of course, that some men had an instinct for such things as sensitive as some women’s. And in any case, she suspected Charley Penn, if he found out, would make sure Hat did so too.