Death

sofa he could have used, but he clearly thought the hard floor would be better for his soul.

My slight depression of spirits rapidly vanished when, for the first time since coming here, I checked my answer phone back home. The only reason I've got one is because Linda tried to ring me once and couldn't get through, which seriously pissed her off, so the royal command came to get some kind of answer service and put it down on my research expense tab. With her in my view, who else was going to be ringing me?

But someone had! Professor Dwight Duerden no less. Twice! He asked me to call him as soon as I could. Naturally I rang immediately, and all I got was his answer service. It was New Year's Eve over there also, so presumably he'd gone away to do whatever Californians do to mark the end of the year.

I left the chalet number, telling him that I'd be here for the next three days, after which I'd ring him from my next destination.

I keep telling myself it must be good news else why would he bother to get in touch? Or perhaps he's just a very polite man and feels he ought to let me know that St Poll Uni Press reckon a book about a poet not many people have heard of by a dead academic ditto, brought to conclusion by an ex-con student double ditto, is exactly the kind of thing they'd pay good money not to be involved with!

But next time I write, maybe I'll have something really exciting to tell you.

Now I must get ready for the party.

Tues Jan 1st

My dear Mr Pascoe,

Here I am again. And a Happy New Year to you and yours!

I ended above saying I might have something really exciting to tell you, and in a sense I have. But it isn't that I've heard from Dwight. Seven or eight hours behind us in California, he's probably still welcoming in the New Year. Ah well. Patience is the virtue of the temperate man.

But excitement there's been – or perhaps I should say excitation!

The party was really jolly, lots of music, games, dancing, with everyone showing off the local customs peculiar to their own country or background.

I was tempted to introduce them to some of the more arcane customs of the Syke, which involved getting blind drunk (sometimes literally) on a potato-based distillation liberally laced with medical spirit, but decided against it! On the stroke of twelve we popped champagne corks and exchanged hugs and kisses all round. I was expecting another bruising blow to the cheek from Linda. Instead to my surprise she aimed right at my mouth and followed through with what felt like six inches of strenuous tongue. Still reeling from this, I was very glad to note that I got nothing but a chaste peck from Mouse.

But, as perhaps you've guessed, it didn't end there.

I finally took my leave in the early hours and started back on the five-minute stroll to the chalet. The weather here had been the same as in Basel for the past few days, murky and wet, and skating had been banned as the See's icy surface became unstable. But tonight the frost had returned, and the air was bright and clear, a joy to be out in after the heat and fumes of the party in the castle. The leperization of smokers is by no means as advanced on the Continent as it is at home and even the men who didn't smoke seemed to feel that Sylvesternacht would not be complete without setting light to a huge tube of tobacco and sticking it in their mouths.

I stood and drew in mouthfuls of fresh air. To liken it to champagne sounds like a cliche, but truly that was how it felt, great draughts of coolth which bubbled along the arteries and invigorated the mind.

I heard the crunch of snow behind me as someone else came out of the castle. It was Linda. She said, 'God, I thought I'd smother if I stayed much longer in there.'

'Yes,' I said. 'But it's been a great night though.'

'You've enjoyed yourself, have you, Franny? That's good. I was worried you might be bored among all us politicos.'

'No way,' I assured her. It's been great.'

She looked really pleased and, slipping her arm through mine, she said, 'I'll walk through the forest with you a little way till I get cooled down.'

And so we strolled companionably through the pine trees and I can honestly say I've rarely felt more at peace with myself and the world than I did at that moment.

Eventually we reached the ruined chapel that had filled me with such superstitious fear on the night of my arrival. Here we paused. Suddenly Linda shivered, whether because of the setting or simply because the cold had struck deep, I don't know. But it seemed perfectly natural for me to unlink my arm and put it around her shoulders and draw her close to share my warmth.

Well, it was like pressing that button in the Pentagon which starts World War Three!

She turned towards me and next thing that tongue which I had felt at the back of my throat as the clock struck twelve was now trying to lick my brain cells out of my skull. We span round and round among the ruins like a pair of drunken waltzers till we fetched up against the cloister wall. Somehow during this mad motion buttons had got unbuttoned, zips unzipped and hooks unhooked, and suddenly I was feeling the heat of her bare bosom burning against my chest and the savage teeth of sub zero air biting into my buttocks! It was, I thought, like having your haunches in Dante's Cocytus while you dipped your member into Phlegethon. And if such infernal images seem ungallant, I can only justify myself by the context, for over her shoulder as we coupled I could see a whole wailful of frescoed figures who seemed to be engaged in much the same activity. Indeed, as I climaxed noisily, it seemed to me that one of these figures, cowled and sinister, detached itself from the fresco and moved shadowily away into the trees.

Afterwards, we got dressed silently and with a speed that had as much to do (I hope) with cold as with regret. Then she reached out her hand, touched my cheek and said, 'Happy New Year, Franny. Sleep well.' And set off back to the castle.

I watched her go then went towards the end of the wall and looked down at the snow.

I saw the fresh prints of a rope sandal. Only one person at Fichtenburg wore rope sandals.

Frere Dierick.

I hurried back to the chalet. Jacques, who'd escaped the party straight after midnight, was on his mobile when I entered. He brought the call to a rather rapid conclusion. Could it be Emerald on the end of the line? I wondered. No sign of Dierick. Jacques looked as if he'd have liked to sit and chat with me, but I excused myself on the grounds of tiredness. He's sharp of eye and apprehension and though he's possibly in no position to cast stones, I still didn't want him to know that I'd been at it with our patroness on what for all I knew was still consecrated ground. I had a feeling that Dierick wouldn't be rushing to tell him either. Info like that was best stored up and kept for a rainy day.

To my surprise, I slept like a top and woke without a hangover, either alcoholic or psychological. It had been, I assured myself, a one-night stand. Linda had too much sense of her own dignity to risk any hint that she had got herself a toy-boy (OK, I'm not that young, but young enough for the chattering classes of Westminster and Strasbourg to have a good chortle over at their cocktail parties). Once assured that I wasn't about to make a big thing out of our brief encounter, we would resume our old relationship, only enriched by that extra closeness which such a shared memory always brings. As for Dierick, if he started hurling accusations around, it would be Linda he'd be taking on, and she could eat squirts like Dierick for breakfast!

But I must admit I was distinctly uneasy until I'd strolled up to the castle and joined Linda and the others for a cup of coffee. My prognosis seems to be right. She greeted me warmly, but not too warmly. Like me, she seems to have survived the celebrations with little after-effect, and as we looked over the wrecked politicos beached all around us, we were able to share a superior smile.

No sign of Dierick. Skulking bastard! I suspect even Jacques shares my distaste. Certainly he's not quite the same easy, outgoing companion he was before the little squirt arrived.

Anyway, I'm going to end my last full day here relaxing, and keeping my fingers crossed for that call from sunny California!

Wed Jan 2nd, 8.30 a.m.

All good things come to an end, and this for me has been very good indeed. What a change there's been in my life. I look back only a couple of months and find it hard to recall that so recently I was a penniless student with no assured future. And of course I don't have to look much further back to see myself as a convicted criminal paying his debt to society. And then with Sam's tragic death, I hit rock bottom.

Of course I'd give it all up to have him still alive, and if I shared Charley Penn's belief that in fact his killer