The Liar's Dictionary

‘And,’ Sophia continued, ‘perhaps he was in a state of some unparticular undress? Oh, peshka,’ she said and touched his forearm, ‘you do look worried.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. Then, louder, ‘This does not matter to you?’

‘Very little matters to me.’ She squeezed his arm. She looked concerned only by his concern. ‘Indiscretion, infidelity—’ The thought seemed to leave her even as she spoke it, as if she found the subject entirely boring. She studied his face. Just five minutes before he would have given anything for such proximity to her, scrutiny from her. ‘It doesn’t particularly interest me, I suppose,’ she said. ‘If I may be candid with you, Mr Winceworth.’

‘Of course,’ he said.

‘I am very aware of the way Terence likes to comport himself.’ She made a face. ‘But, really, will you listen to me – indiscretion, comport. So few days on this island and already I am so at home with using your obscure euphemisms.’

‘Comport, consort—’

‘Cavort, contort.’ She joined in as one enjoying a word game, glad to be egged on. ‘You have your secrets too, I think?’ Winceworth said nothing and Sophia paused, then raised her gaze to the heavens. ‘You think me cruel for saying so. You are hurt.’

‘It is not for me to say.’ Winceworth let her finish another entirely winning laugh. He set his jaw. ‘Frasham is an idiot.’

‘The very definition of an idiot,’ Sophia said. ‘He is a useful idiot, however. And quite sweet: he said he would make sure Swansby’s puts an emphasis on Russia in the entry on chess just for me, which I think as close to a love-gift as an encyclopaedic article can get.’

‘Why are you here?’

‘In truth,’ said Sophia, and she deflated to see any game was not in the offing, ‘it was to make sure that you received an invitation to the party this evening. I can promise you it will be a more lively event than the one at which we first met.’

‘You know about this evening?’

‘You are speaking to the one who organised it.’

Sophia Unslivkovna enjoyed Winceworth’s incredulity, gently joshing him with an elbow. ‘Terence said that you would be too delicate for it or find it distasteful, but I just know you’ll enjoy it. Loosen those limbs. What could a lexicographer enjoy more than the explicit? Now, no need for such a serious determined little face, Peter.’

Peter the prude. Peter the lisping prissy prig. The shock of hearing his name from her lips did not flip the room upside down or cause his heart to explode with a strange new colour. Winceworth moved his arm away. ‘I am afraid I have plans this evening.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Sophia. ‘You are a terrible liar and I would like you to come. I command it.’

‘Command?’

Sophia rolled her eyes. ‘I do not just describe the invitation but also prescribe it. Come! Relax! A bit of sport amongst some statues and whathaveyou.’

‘It is the whathaveyou that makes this ghastly,’ Winceworth said.

‘Ghastly, oh, dear God,’ said Sophia. ‘I am quite serious that it will be worth your while.’

‘It is – unseemly—’ Winceworth said, but he muttered it and she did not seem to be brooking his answers.

‘I don’t mean worth your while because of – heavens, whatever it is that frightens you so – muckiness and daubing your fingers with debauchery—’

‘Please do not mock me, Sophia,’ Winceworth said, and he tried to face her down.

‘I would not dare,’ Sophia said. ‘I am sorry.’

She leaned forward and kissed him, softly, x on the cheek.

‘There is a password you have to say this evening, to get in,’ she said. ‘Terence was laughing earlier at the thought of you being stranded at the door, lisping guesses at shibboleths. Say you will be there,’ she said.

Winceworth did not move. She approached as if to whisper in his ear, but he turned his head and stepped back a little. She laughed, then, a full clear laugh, and then she took her leave, descending the stairs just as the staff of Swansby House entered. They doffed their hats to her each in turn as they pooled in through the door.

She glanced up the stairs to meet his eye, but Winceworth was no longer to be seen.

Y is for

yes

(exclam.)

I could mention some of the nouns, verbs and adjectives of the aftermath. I could select the best of all of these or select the ones that seem most obvious or most relevant to me, or the ones that are generally agreed upon as the most useful, appreciable, evocative. I could also take the time to arrange an account of what happened there on the Westminster pavement as Swansby House shrouded in smoke in front of us, and express it using an order that is cogent and coherent and concise. That would be a responsible thing to do.

Simply put is best put.