Doughnut - By Tom Holt Page 0,128

grave and wise looking, a bit less like an elephant seal in glasses.

“Hello, Pieter,” Theo said. “Max.”

Max just looked like Max. His hair was longer and he hadn’t shaved in a while – sheer affectation, of course, because even when he’d been on the run from the bloodthirsty gamblers he’d owed money to, he hadn’t exactly been sleeping in ditches, and would’ve had ample opportunities for shaving and combing his hair. But that was Max for you. If he’s on the run, he has to look like a fugitive. Correction; he has to look like What The Well-Dressed Fugitive Is Wearing This Season.

“Theo,” Pieter said, frowning slightly, “shouldn’t you be in New York?”

“Should I?” Theo tried to remember. “Oh yes,” he said, “of course I should. You sent me to some damnfool seminar on isotonic wave diffraction. I wondered why at the time. Now I know.”

Max shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Theo beamed at him.

“You’re looking well, Max,” he said. “Death suits you.”

Max glowered at him. “That’s nice,” he said. “I’d have thought you’d be pleased I’m still alive.”

“I was,” Theo said, “when I found out. Well, not pleased. That’s not really the word. Torn between impossible hope and desperate reservations. It’s all right,” he added, as Max pulled a bemused face, “I’ve had time to get used to your continued existence. You don’t know it, but we just spent six years banged up in a tiny apartment together, playing Ludo. Pieter,” he went on, before Max could reply, “why on earth did you ever give your students sherry? You hate the stuff and nobody under the age of seventy drinks it any more. Is it just tradition, or is it written into the university’s charter somewhere?”

Pieter raised both eyebrows. “Would you like a drink?” he said.

“Love one,” Theo replied. “I haven’t had a drink for six years.”

Pieter shrugged and poured him a sherry, which Theo slung back in one frantic gulp. “Another?”

“Oh yes.”

He made the next one last a whole second. “I expect you’re wondering,” he said, “what I’m doing here.”

“Just a bit,” Pieter said, “since you’re supposed to be in New York. Did you miss the plane or something?”

Theo shook his head slowly. “No,” he said. “I caught the plane, got there safely and on time, spent four days sitting through a whole bunch of very dull lectures and presentations, then came home when it was all over. And to this day I don’t know what isotonic wave diffraction is. Not that it seems to have made much difference.”

“You can’t have spent four days,” Max put in. “The seminar only started yesterday.”

But Pieter was looking straight at him. “Shut up, Max,” he said. “Theo—”

“Yes?”

“I can explain.”

“Excellent. That means I won’t feel the need to kick your head in.” He smiled and put the empty glass down. “First, though, I need to ask you something. Who’s Dolly Duchene-Wilamowicz?”

Pieter looked startled. “Dolly? She’s my sister. Why? You’ve never met her, have you?”

“That’s fine, Pieter. Good answer. Now, then.” He sat down and put his feet up on Pieter’s Louis Quinze card table. Pieter winced but didn’t say anything. “I’m going to tell you what you want to know, and then you’re going to explain, and then I may just murder both of you. It’ll depend on what sort of a mood I’m in when we get there.”

“Theo—”

“I say murder,” Theo went on, “but I don’t imagine any jury would convict. Not homicide but pesticide, they’d say, and they’d be quite right. I’ll have another sherry, Pieter, since you’re offering. It tastes like stale diesel, but I’m getting to like it. Thank you.” He looked down into the glass, thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. “Maybe not. All right, where shall I begin?”

– But that was such a good joke that he couldn’t stop himself from laughing, which he did for quite some time, until Pieter said, “Theo!” quite sharply. That did the trick. Theo sat up straight, cleared his throat, and said, “At the beginning, I guess. Well, there was this enormous explosion. The Big Bang. With me so far?”

Max was giving him a scornful glare, but Pieter had gone very pale. “We can skip that, don’t you think?” he said.

Theo frowned. “All right,” he conceded, “but we’ll come back to it later.” That was another really good joke, but this time he kept a straight face. He looked down at his hands, as if to reassure himself of something, and went on, “Fast forward,” he