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d arches of her brows converged。
〃I'm afraid so。〃
〃Most unprofessional of him；〃 Lichfield said。 〃But forgive me…an understandable ardour。〃 She moved upstage of him； towards the lights of her mirror； and turned； knowing they would back…light her hair more flatteringly。
〃Well； Mr Lichfield； what can I do for you？〃
〃This is frankly a delicate matter；〃 said Lichfield。 〃The bitter fact is…how shall I put this？…your talents are not ideally suited to this production。 Your style lacks delicacy。〃 There was a silence for two beats。 She sniffed； thought about the inference of the remark； and then moved out of centre…stage towards the door。 She didn't like the way this scene had begun。 She was expecting an admirer； and instead she had a critic on her hands。
〃Get out！〃 she said； her voice like slate。
〃Miss Duvall…〃
〃You heard me。〃
〃You're not fortable as Viola； are you？〃 Lichfield continued； as though the star had said nothing。
〃None of your bloody business；〃 she spat back。
〃But it is。 I saw the rehearsals。 You were bland； unpersuasive。 The edy is flat； the reunion scene…it should break our hearts…is leaden。〃
〃I don't need your opinion； thank you。〃
〃You have no style…〃
〃Piss off。〃
〃No presence and no style。 I'm sure on the television you are radiance itself； but the stage requires a special truth； a soulfulness you； frankly； lack。〃 The scene was hotting up。 She wanted to hit him； but she couldn't find the proper motivation。 She couldn't take this faded poseur seriously。 He was more musical edy than melodrama； with his neat grey gloves； and his neat grey cravat。 Stupid； waspish queen； what did he know about acting？
〃Get out before I call the Stage Manager；〃 she said； but he stepped between her and the door。
A rape scene？ Was that what they were playing？ Had he got the hots for her？ God forbid。
〃My wife；〃 he was saying； 〃has played Viola…〃
〃Good for her。〃
〃…and she feels she could breathe a little more life into the role than you。〃
〃We open tomorrow；〃 she found herself replying； as though defending her presence。 Why the hell was she trying to reason with him； barging in here and making these terrible remarks。 Maybe because she was just a little afraid。 His breath； close to her now； smelt of expensive chocolate。
〃She knows the role by heart。〃
〃The part's mine。 And I'm doing it。 I'm doing it even if I'm the worst Viola in theatrical history； all right？〃 She was trying to keep her posure； but it was difficult。 Something about him made her nervous。 It wasn't violence she feared from him： but she feared something。
〃I'm afraid I have already promised the part to my wife。〃
〃What？〃 she goggled at his arrogance。
〃And Constantia will play the role。〃 She laughed at the name。 Maybe this was high edy after all。 Something from Sheridan or Wilde； arch； catty stuff。 But he spoke with such absolute certainty。 Constantia will play the role； as if it was all cut and dried。
〃I'm not discussing this any longer； Buster； so if your wife wants to play Viola she'll have to do it in the fucking street。 All right？〃
〃She opens tomorrow。〃
〃Are you deaf； or stupid； or both？〃 Control； an inner voice told her； you're overplaying； losing your grip on the scene。 Whatever scene this is。
He stepped towards her； and the mirror lights caught the face beneath the brim full on。 She hadn't looked carefully enough when he first made his appearance： now she saw the deeply…etched lines； the gougings around his eyes and his mouth。 It wasn't flesh； she was sure of it。 He was wearing latex appliances； and they were badly glued in place。 Her hand all but twitched with the desire to snatch at it and uncover his real face。
Of course。 That was it。 The scene she was playing： the Unmasking。
〃Let's see what you look like；〃 she said； and her hand was at his cheek before he could stop her； his smile spreading wider as she attacked。 This is what he wants； she thought； but it was too late for regrets or apologies。 Her fingertips had found the line of the mask at the edge of his eye…socket； and curled round to take a better hold。 She yanked。
The thin veil of latex came away； and his true physiognomy was exposed for the world to see。 Diane tried to back away； but his hand was in her hair。 All she could do was look up into that all…but fleshless face。 A few withered strands of muscle curled here and there； and a hint of a beard hung from a leathery flap at his throat； but all living tissue had long since decayed。 Most of his face was simply bone： stained and worn。
〃I was not；〃 said the skull； 〃embalmed。 Unlike Constantia。〃 The explanation escaped Diane。 She made no sound of protest； which the scene would surely have justified。 All she could summon was a whimper as his hand…hold tightened； and he hauled her head back。
〃We must make a choice； sooner or later；〃 said Lichfield； his breath smelling less like chocolate than profound putrescence； 〃between serving ourselves and serving our art。〃 She didn't quite understand。
〃The dead must choose more carefully than the living。 We cannot waste our breath； if you'll excuse the phrase； on less than the purest delights。 You don't want art； I think。 Do you？〃 She shook her head； hoping to God that was the expected response。
〃You want the life of the body； not the life of the imagination。 And you may have it。〃
〃Thank。。。 you。〃
〃If you want it enough； you may have it。〃 Suddenly his hand； which had been pulling on her hair so painfully； was cupped behind her head； and bringing her lips up to meet his。 She would have screamed then； as his rotting mouth fastened itself on to hers； but his greeting was so insistent it quite took her breath away。
Ryan found Diane on the floor of her dressing…room a few minutes before two。 It was difficult to work out what had happened。 There was no sign of a wound of any kind on her head or body； nor was she quite dead。 She seemed to be in a a of some kind。 She had perhaps slipped； and struck her head as she fell。 Whatever the cause； she was out for the count。
They were hours away from a Final Dress Rehearsal and Viola was in an ambulance； being taken into Intensive Care。
〃The sooner they knock this place down； the better；〃 said Hammersmith。 He'd been drinking during office hours； something Galloway had never seen him do before。 The whisky bottle stood on his desk beside a half…full glass。 There were glass…marks ringing his accounts； and his hand had a bad dose of the shakes。
〃What's the news from the hospital？〃
〃She's a beautiful woman；〃 he said； staring at the glass。 Galloway could have sworn he was on the verge of tears。
〃Hammersmith？ How is she？〃
〃She's in a a。 But her condition is stable。〃
〃That's something； I suppose。〃 Hammersmith stared up at Galloway； his erupting brows knitted in anger。
〃You runt；〃 he said； 〃you were screwing her； weren't you？ Fancy yourself like that； don't you？ Well； let me tell you something； Diane Duvall is worth a dozen of you。 A dozen！〃
〃Is that why you let this last production go on； Hammersmith？ Because you'd seen her； and you wanted to get your hot little hands on her？〃
〃You wouldn't understand。 You've got your brain in your pants。〃 He seemed genuinely offended by the interpretation Galloway had put on his admiration for Miss Duvall。
〃All right； have it your way。 We still have no Viola。〃
〃That's why I'm cancelling；〃 said Hammersmith； slowing down to savour the moment。
It had to e。 Without Diane Duvall； there would be no Twelfth Night； and maybe it was better that way。
A knock on the door。
〃Who the fuck's that？〃 said Hammersmith softly。 〃e。〃 It was Lichfield。 Galloway was almost glad to see that strange； scarred face。 Though he had a lot of questions to ask of Lichfield； about the state he'd left Diane in； about their conversation together； it wasn't an interview he was willing to conduct in front of Hammersmith。 Besides； any half…formed accusations he might have had were countered by the man's presence here。 If Lichfield had attempted violence on Diane； for whatever reason； was it likely that he would e back so soon； so smilingly？