What Time Devours (47 page)

He looked into her eyes, her face framed by the vast and storied shell of the abbey, its stones rooted in times and lives past, and he nodded.

“Okay,” he said.

“Good,” she said. “Now, where can we get a glass of champagne?”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS AND BACKGROUND INFORMATION

This is, of course, a work of fiction, and all the characters in it are imaginary. Much of the story is inspired by fact, however, so let me clarify what is and isn’t real. Shakespeare was a man from Stratford who wrote poems and plays (like Thomas, I have little patience with conspiracy theories challenging his authorship). One of those plays was
Love’s Labour’s Lost
. The evidence for the existence of
Love’s Labour’s Won
is as represented in the novel. I believe the play existed and that it was not an alternative title for another play (say,
Twelfth Night
or
The Taming of the/a Shrew
). We don’t have it, but it may still exist. Somewhere.

The movements of the surviving copy in the novel are fictitious, though Charles de Saint Denis of Saint Evremond was real enough, and except for his dealings with
Love’s Labour’s Won
, everything I say about him is true. There really is a Saint Evremond champagne sold under the Taittinger label, and though the Demier company is my invention, the cellars are modeled on those belonging to various houses in Epernay. Taittinger is, of course, a respected maker of fine champagne and would not indulge in any of the activities I have attributed to Demier.

The Shakespeare Institute in Stratford is real, but I have manipulated it a little for my purposes, and there is—alas—no Mrs. Covington. All the scholars with whom I populate the novel are wholly fictitious. Honest.

XTC are one of the great British pop bands, and I strongly advise all readers to seek them out if they don’t already know them. If I had pursued a life as a musician, this is the kind of stuff I’d aspire to write. I’d like to thank Andy Partridge and Colin Moulding (and the band’s erstwhile members Terry Chambers, Barry Andrews, and Dave Gregory) for the enjoyment and stimulation their evolving music has given me over the years. I will post links on my website to XTC song lyrics and to images of the various locations, particularly the Uffington white horse, Westminster Abbey, and some of the sites in Epernay and Reims:
www.ajhartley.net
. Readers with comments and questions can reach me there.

As ever I would like to thank all who helped me in the research and execution of the book, including the marshals and vergers of Westminster Abbey, and Christine Reynolds, assistant keeper of muniments there. I am grateful also to Chris Welch of English Heritage, the Ancient Monument Inspector responsible for Oxfordshire who helped me fill in some details of the white horse’s recent history; to Sarah Werner at the Folger, who clarified the tortured history of the Shakespeare folio once thought to have been in the library of Louis XIV; and to Anthony Hartley and Retired Detective Inspector Jim Oldcorn (Lancashire Constabulary), who ensured that I got current British arrest procedures right.

It is daunting to write a novel (a mystery/thriller, no less) involving material that I write more soberly about in my Shakespearean hat, and I am especially grateful to my academic colleagues who read the manuscript and gave me feedback, notably William Carroll, Ruth Morse, Tiffany Stern, Lois Potter, and Skip Shand. I would also like to thank my style gurus Edward Hurst, Bob Croghan, and Phaenarete Osako.

There is nothing remotely fictional about the seeming randomness of breast cancer, though—as everyone surely knows by now—the key to survival is early detection and treatment. I am only a novelist, but I would ask those who read this to support cancer research and ensure that they get regular examinations.

Thanks for reading.

 

A. J. Hartley
July 2008