SYLVIE'S RIDDLE

by WALL, ALAN

  'So, let's try to imagine, shall we, on this very wet Shropshire day, what it might have meant to be Pablo Picasso. If only for that single moment of recalling how we once saw a minotaur, chased a unicorn, ate a lion, and swam with sharks. Look carefully at the pictures hung up on the walls around you and see if you might hear a distant roar still fading away.'

  *

  Two months later Henry Allardyce stared at the Severn in the darkness and wondered when it would rise again. Walls wouldn't keep it in for ever, he was sure enough of that. He drained his wine-glass and then turned from the river, back to the house where the lights were going out one by one. Soon enough Marie would be between the sheets and he'd be beside her. And when he woke at three or four in the morning, drowning in the invisible tide, she would hold him close and tell him not to worry. Tell him to stop thrashing about. There's nothing to worry about, Henry, she'd say. We're nice and warm here. And dry as a bone.

  END

  ALSO BY ALAN WALL

  Bless The Thief

  The School of Night

  The Lightning Cage

  China