LITMIR.BIZ

      Viv spotted the manuscript of her play on Cathy’s desk at once, with the copy of her book resting on top of it, as she threw herself into one of the armchairs in front of the bookcase. Cathy and Pete were in the kitchen getting supper and Tasha was slumped in front of the TV in the living room. Pat had followed her into the study with a bottle of chilled white wine and two glasses. The other armchair was occupied with a certain air of defiance by Pablo, so after a moment’s hesitation Pat pulled up a smaller chair next to the desk.

      ‘This is fantastic!’ She thumped the jacket of the book. ‘Brilliant. I enjoyed it enormously. What a woman!’

      Viv gave a wry grin. ‘Indeed.’ She waited to see what Pat was going to say next.

      ‘And your stab at the play is not at all bad.’ Pat put on a pair of green-rimmed spectacles and laid her hand on the manuscript. ‘Much better than I expected, in fact.’ She reached for the bottle and poured, pushing one of the glasses across the desk towards Viv. ‘I like the approach you’ve taken. The drama. The narrative interludes. That works well.’

      ‘Not according to Maddie.’ Viv took a gulp from her glass.

      ‘And I’ll tell you why.’ Pat glanced up. ‘You don’t mind? It’s what I’m here for.’

      ‘I don’t mind.’ Viv shrugged. She minded like hell, but she had no choice.

      ‘You’ve become self-conscious. In the book you were relaxed and confident. On your own ground. You knew what you were doing. Your voice, and Cartimandua’s voice are authentic. In the play you’ve lost that authenticity. It comes through from time to time almost by accident and those bits come alive. Like the first scene. It’s brilliant. Then you rein yourself in again and I think that’s the phrase you used yourself, and the style becomes –’ Pat hesitated. ‘Pedagogic. Even pedantic.’ She groped in her pocket for her cigarettes. ‘Do you think Cathy would notice if I smoke?’

      ‘Yes.’ Viv grinned. ‘Yes, she would.’

      ‘You’re right. It’s a bummer trying to give up.’ Pushing the packet back into her jacket Pat reached for her glass again instead. ‘Does what I’m saying make sense?’ She raised an eyebrow.

      Viv shrugged again. ‘I suppose it does, yes.’

      Cartimandua’s voice – not authentic! She smiled grimly to herself.

      ‘Do you mind if we do some deconstructing?’ Pat went on. ‘Shorter scenes. Punchier. More real. Your good ones are so good they make the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. That’s why the others are such an anti-climax.’ She shook her head. ‘And the narrator’s voice needs to be less tentative. This is you, right? Whether we use you in person, or an actor. You are the world authority on this woman. We need to be convinced of it.’

      Viv let out a gasp of laughter. ‘The world authority?’

      ‘Too right!’ Pat took off her glasses and looked at her earnestly. ‘I’ve got such a good feeling about this. It will make a fabulous piece of radio. I’ve got a friend down in Cornwall who could compose us some music. Lots of ambient sound. Celtic stuff, you know. Pentatonic scale – all the black notes! Full of mystery and atmosphere. Maybe record it on site with the wind in the mike. I can hear it in my head already. Viv, this is going to be wonderful.’ She took a sip of wine, then reached for her spectacles again. Opening the manuscript she glanced at it, running her finger down the text as though she were going to read a bit from it. Then she changed her mind. ‘What we need is a new outline.’ She studied Viv’s face and hesitated. ‘Can I ask you something?’

      ‘What?’

      Who is Maeve?’

      ‘Maeve?’ Viv echoed the name in shock. ‘Why?’

      Maeve. Medb.

      Medb of the White Hands.

      She was not in the play. Not in the book. She had no part to play in recorded history.

      Pat was frowning. ‘The name keeps coming to me. I dreamed about her last night, as though she was a character in your book. But she isn’t. Is she? I checked the index and I couldn’t find her.’

      Viv shook her head. ‘No, she’s not in the book.’ Her mouth had gone dry.

      ‘But the name means something to you?’ Pat cocked an eyebrow. She picked up her glass and standing up, wandered over to the other chair near Viv’s where, careful not to disturb the cat, she perched on the arm. ‘Who is she?’

      Viv shook her head. ‘I believe she was someone Cartimandua came across in her early life. A period not covered by the book because we know nothing about it officially.’ She paused. Then she found herself unable to resist asking, ‘What did she look like. In your dream?’

      Pat was silent for a moment, remembering. ‘She was young. Very beautiful. Tall. Slim. With amazingly striking eyes. Intense light steely-blue. A hard face.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t think she was very nice.’

      The silence in the study drew out into a long pause as Pat swung one leg slowly back and forth, the shoe dangling from her foot. She was studying Viv’s face.

      ‘No.’ Viv sounded worried. ‘She wasn’t very nice. But I don’t know how we know that. We know nothing about Cartimandua’s life apart from what the Roman historians tell us. They were not interested in anything much but politics.’

      ‘A point you make very clearly in the book.’

      Viv nodded.

      ‘And yet you’ve put in a lot more than Roman politics.’

      ‘Extrapolated from other sources,’ Viv said, almost to herself.

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