Barking by Tom Holt Page A

ground, shoved the pointy end at the approaching boar, and let the stupid creature kebab himself on it. ‘Well, yes,’ Duncan mumbled; but what he’d been about to say, because until Luke spoke it had been what he’d believed to be the truth, was ever since I left your stupid gang . And he’d been about to add that his decision to turn his back on the Ferris gestalt had clearly been proved to be disastrous, and he wasn’t fit to run his own life and obviously needed Luke to run it for him; but, regardless and in spite of all that, fuck off and die.
    He didn’t say any of that. He felt like a physicist who’s spend twenty years working on a theory, spending millions in hard-won research grants and devoting his life to the cause, and who finally achieves final and irrefutable proof that his basic hypothesis is a load of old socks.
    â€˜The bitch,’ Luke said sympathetically. ‘But what the hell, it’s still no reason why you should carry on having a horrid time when you could be having a slightly less horrid one. Well?’
    But he couldn’t just roll over on his back and admit it. ‘Like I said,’ he muttered, ‘I need time to think about—’
    â€˜Chicken.’ Very slight pause. ‘That’s murdered hen, to you.’
    You can’t really be offended and want to laugh at the same time, not unless you’re Duncan Hughes. He opened his face to say something, but closed it again, as it occurred to him to consider the significance of the fact that his ex-wife had also been a vegetarian.
    Then Luke said, ‘So, what was she like?’
    There’s a drug that supposed to make you tell the truth, whether you want to or not: the CIA buy it by the tankerload, presumably. Luke could’ve spiked Duncan’s beer with it, except Duncan hadn’t drunk any.
    â€˜Tallish,’ he said. ‘A bit on the chunky side, though she lost a lot of weight. Straight dark hair; she was a lot into the Goth sort of look when I first met her, black clothes and spiky silver jewellery. A bit on the quiet side to begin with. She changed a lot after we left law school and started work.’
    â€˜It happens.’ Luke nodded. ‘I gather it’s called growing up,’ he said. ‘I don’t reckon it much, and neither did Peter Pan.’
    â€˜It wasn’t just that.’ Duncan frowned. For some reason, things long obscure were beginning to clarify in his mind. ‘She was always - well, quiet.’
    Luke nodded. ‘Quiet,’ he said. ‘Didn’t say a lot.’
    â€˜That’s right.’
    â€˜You sure she was female?’
    Girls had always liked Luke, of course, and Duncan had assumed that his air of arrogant disdain for them was just catnip; it certainly seemed to have that effect. But now there was an edge to his voice. Not bitterness, an echo of Duncan’s own attitude. More the unconcerned dismissal of the man who’s never been to a particular place and never wanted to. He bookmarked the insight for later.
    â€˜Serious,’ he said. ‘I don’t mean no sense of humour, just - well, quiet.’
    â€˜Boring.’
    â€˜No, not boring. Just—’
    Luke shrugged. ‘Quiet, right. Nice-looking?’
    Duncan pulled a face. ‘Yes.’
    â€˜I see. Nice-looking and didn’t talk all the time. You wouldn’t happen to have her phone number?’
    Duncan sighed; Luke frowned. ‘Go on,’ Luke said.
    â€˜That’s about it, really. We met, we fell in love - well, I know I did, and she said she did too.’
    â€˜Quietly?’
    â€˜And when we both finished law school and qualified,’ Duncan continued sourly, ‘we got married. She’d got this job at Crosswoods lined up, I’d already got a place at Craven Ettins. We bought a flat in Battersea - it was just before it got too expensive - and everything seemed more or less OK. And then, one day