Christopher Priest - The Prestige

She turned the book around, and held it out to him, but he waved it away.

"The whole thing is ridiculous," he said.

"I saw it happen."

"I think you were either mistaken in what you saw, or it happened to someone else." He glanced again towards the windows with their undrawn curtains, then looked at his watch in a distracted way. "Do you mind if I use my mobile? I must tell my parents I'm going to be late. And I'd like to ring my flat in London."

"I think you should stay the night." He grinned briefly then, and Kate knew she had said it the wrong way. She found him fairly attractive, in a harmlessly coarse sort of way, but he was apparently the kind of man who never gave up about sex. "I meant that Mrs Makin will prepare the spare room for you."

"If she has to."

There had been that moment before they came in here for dinner. She must have given him too much rye whiskey, or had said too often that there were irreconcilable differences between her family and his. Or perhaps it was a combination of the two. Until then she had been rather liking the way he had leered in an open and unembarrassed way at her, off and on all afternoon, but an hour and a half ago, just before they came in here for dinner, he'd made it plain that he would like to try some reconciliation between the families. Just the two of them, the last generation. A part of her remained flattered, but what he had in mind was not what she had had in mind. She'd brushed him off, as gently as she knew how.

"Are you fit to drive in snow, with drink inside you?" she said now.

"Yes."

But he did not move from the chair. She laid the Borden book on the table between them, face-down at the open pages.

"What do you want from me, Kate?" he said.

"I don't know any more. Perhaps I never did. I think this is what happened when Clive Borden came to see my father. They both felt they should try to sort something out, went through the motions of trying, but the ancient differences still mattered."

"There's only one thing that interests me. My twin brother is somewhere here. In this house. Ever since you showed me your grandfather's stuff this afternoon I've been aware of him. He tells me not to leave, to come, to find him. I've never known his presence as strong in me. Whatever you say, whatever the birth register shows, I think it was my brother who came here to the house in 1970, and I think he's somehow still here."

"In spite of the fact he doesn't exist."

"Yes, in spite of that. At the same time, we both know there's something strange about what happened that night. Or you do, at least."

She had no answer to that, because she felt herself at an impasse. It was the same one she had always known; the certain death of a little boy, whom she later discovered had somehow survived. Meeting the man who had been the boy had changed nothing. It was him, it had not been him.

She poured herself another drop of brandy, and Andrew said, "Is there somewhere I can make those calls?"

"Stay in here. This is the warmest place in the house in winter. I've got something I want to check."

As she left the room she heard him jabbing at the buttons of his mobile phone. She went down to the main hall and looked through the front door. There was a solid covering of snow, two or three inches. It always settled smoothly here, on the sheltered pathway, but she knew that further down the valley, where the main road was, the snow would already be drifting against the hedges and roadside banks. There were no sounds of traffic, which could usually be heard from here. She went around to the back of the house, and saw that a drift was building up against the woodshed. Mrs Makin was in the kitchen, so she spoke to her and asked her to get the spare room ready.

She and Andrew remained in the dining room after Mrs Makin had cleared away the meal, sitting on opposite sides of the open fireplace, talking about various everyday things; his trouble with the girl he lived with, hers with the local council who wanted some of her land for building purposes. But she was tired, and had no real appetite for this. At eleven she suggested they should continue in the morning.

She showed him where the spare room was, and which bathroom he could use. Rather to her surprise, a second proposition was not offered. He thanked her politely for her hospitality, said goodnight, and that was that.

Kate returned to the dining room, where she had left some of her great-grandfather's papers. They were already stacked neatly; some hereditary trait, perhaps, that prevented her from scattering paper everywhere. There had always been a part of her that wanted to be untidy, casual, free, but it was in her nature not to be.

She sat down in the chair closest to the fire, and felt the glow against her legs. She threw on another log. Now Andrew had gone to bed she felt less sleepy. It hadn't been him that had worn her out, but talking to him, dredging up all those memories from childhood. To talk them out was a kind of purging, a release of pent-up poisons, and she felt better.

She sat by the fire, thinking about that old incident, trying as she had done for a quarter of a century to confront what it meant. It still struck fright to the core of her. And the boy Andrew called his brother was at the heart of it all, a hostage to the past.

Mrs Makin came in just then, and Kate asked if she would make her some decaffeinated coffee before she went to bed. She listened to the midnight news on Radio 4 as she sipped the coffee, and later the BBC World Service came on. She continued to be wide awake. The spare room Andrew was in was immediately overhead, and she could hear him turning frequently in the ancient bed. She knew how cold that room could be. It had been her bedroom as a child.

The Story of My Life

1. My History, my name is ROBBIE (Rupert) DAVID ANGlER and I am 9 nine years old today. I am to write in this book every day until I am old.

2. My Ancestors, I have many but Papa and Mama are the first. I have one brother: HENRY RICHARD ANGUS ST JOHN ANGlER, and he is 15 he goes to school and is a border.

3. I live in Caldlow House Caldlow Derbyshire. I have had something wrong with my throte this week.

4. The Staff, I have a Nan and there is Grierson and a maid who changes with the other maid in the afternoons, but I don't know her name.

5. I have to show this to Papa when I have written it. The end. Signed Rupert David Angier.

22nd September 1866

The Story of My Life

1. Today the doctor came to see me again and I am all right. Got a letter today from Henry my brother who says I must call him Sir from now on because he is a prefect.

2. Papa has gone to London to sit in the House. He said that I am the head of the house until he gets back. This means Henry would call me sir but he is not here.

3. Told this to Henry when I wrote to him.

4. Went for walk, talked to Nan, was read to by Grierson who fell asleep as usual.

I do not have to show this to Papa any more, provided I keep it up.

23rd September 1866

Throte much better. Went for drive today with Grierson, who did not say much but he told me that Henry says that when he takes over the house he will be going. Grierson will be going when Henry takes over the house, I mean. Grierson said he thought it had all been decided but it would not happen for many years god willing.

I am waiting for Mama to come and see me she is late tonight.

22nd December 1867

Yesterday evening there was a party for me and several boys and girls from the village, it being Christmas they are allowed here. Henry was here too but he would not come to the party because of the others. He missed a great treat because we had a conjuror at the party!