A Symphony of Echoes (13 page)

‘I’ve consulted widely on this, but at the end of the day, there could only be one choice. One person here, above all others, held things together in the basement. One person never gave in. One person’s determination will lead you all in to the future. Madam Director, would you step up, please.’

It was better received than I thought it would be. There was some surprise because she wasn’t an historian, and Evan had a sour face, but he surely could never have considered himself eligible.

She stood, to enthusiastic applause and slowly mounted the stairs to stand beside me. She looked very smart, extremely serious, and more than a little nervous. I winked at her and we stood facing each other.

The hall grew very silent.

‘Director, you are relieved.’

‘Director, I stand relieved.’

We shook hands. I made a move to join Tim in the front row, but she put a hand on my arm. ‘One moment please.’ She faced the hall. I stood, hot and embarrassed as she made a small speech.

‘I’m sure this unit would like me to take this opportunity to thank you personally, for everything you have done for us. I know you don’t like to be thanked, but just for once, you must endure the embarrassment of receiving our gratitude. Without you, we would not have survived. You have been our Director and we have been proud to have you so. Director, St Mary’s thanks you for your service.’

I swallowed and turned to face the still hall. ‘St Mary’s, it’s been an honour and a privilege.’

The applause did not die away and when I could see clearly, they were on their feet and I suddenly realised I was going to miss them more than a little.

Pinkie spoke for a few minutes. Evan was confirmed as Senior Historian. Christine got her beloved kitchen to run. Alicia was made Librarian. I was glad she was promoting from within. She kept it short, however. I guessed that, in the nicest possible way, she wanted us gone so she could get cracking. I didn’t blame her. I would have too.

Guthrie, Peterson, and Leon extricated themselves from the throng. Leon still looked a touch wobbly. I tried not to feel guilty.

‘We’re off now,’ said Ian. ‘We’ve said our goodbyes and we’ll just slope off while no one’s looking.’

‘I’m holding on for an hour or so,’ I said, ‘then coming back in Number Four as agreed. Is no one coming back with me?

No, seemed to be the answer to that. Leon wanted his own pod. Tim was going with him in case he fell asleep in the middle of something important and Ian was just going with them, anyway.

‘OK,’ I said. ‘I’ll tie up the loose ends here and see you in a couple of hours.’

I watched them go. I spent an hour with Pinkie and then half an hour just chatting to Mrs Partridge, which I think we both enjoyed. Although I still lacked the balls to ask about Bolivia.

That done, I set off for Hawking. It took a very long time, not least because I did make an effort to speak to everyone.

Finally, I found myself outside Number Four.

‘The co-ordinates are all laid in,’ said Pinkie, unconsciously echoing Chief Farrell’s own words on my first solo jump, all those years ago.

We stepped inside and she ran a professional eye over the console. ‘Everything’s fine. Just press the button and go.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, meaning a lot more than that.

‘You’re welcome,’ she said, meaning a lot more than that.

‘Good luck with everything,’ I said. ‘Especially the new project.’

‘You too. Take care, Max.’ She stepped outside. Then stepped back in again.

‘What the hell am I going to do with seventeen dodos?’

I laughed. Not my problem!

The door closed. I sat on an unfamiliar seat and started the countdown.

‘Jump initiated.’

And the world went white.

Chapter Ten

The next day, I reported to the Boss directly after breakfast. Mrs Partridge was in her office and nodded me through.

To my surprise and dismay, we sat in the armchairs. It was going to be one of
those
interviews. Rumour had it that he’d once attended a seminar on caring management, and these two armchairs were the unnerving result. Personally, I was always more comfortable with his desk between us – like the Romulan neutral zone.

We sat and contemplated each other for a while.

‘So,’ he said, ‘
Director
Maxwell.’

I grinned.

‘Dare I hope this has given you a unique insight into the daily problems of running this unit?’

‘Indeed it has, sir. Many things have now been revealed to me. But there is just one thing about being Director that does still bother me.’

‘And that would be?’

‘What do you do
after
lunch?’

Holding my gaze, he said, ‘Disciplinary issues, mostly. Recently, not so much. Although I am expecting that to change any time now.’

I thought it wisest not to push my luck any further.

He picked up my file and flicked through. I could hear his old clock ticking in the corner.

Finally, he said, ‘I am becoming increasingly concerned at the toll this job is taking on you. I would like you to take a fortnight’s leave.’

Well, that didn’t sound too bad. I could happily do that.

‘These last twelve months have been interesting.’ I couldn’t argue with that. ‘Mrs Partridge informs me that apart from some sick leave, you’ve had no real time off since before your assignment to the Cretaceous.’

Well, good for Mrs Partridge.

‘I would, therefore, like you to spend today tying up any loose ends in your department, writing a report on your recent experiences, with particular reference to your tenure as Director, and making all necessary arrangements for fourteen days leave. You and Chief Farrell will present yourselves at The Redhouse Centre at 11.00 a.m. tomorrow morning. You don’t need to take anything with you. In fact, they prefer it if you don’t. They will provide everything you need. I will speak to Chief Farrell separately. That will be all, Dr Maxwell.’

Bloody hell! The Redhouse Centre, or just The Red House as it was usually known, was the place where they shoved royalty, high-ranking politicians, and captains of industry who had gone off the rails a bit. Rumour had it Princess Alice had spent some time there after her month-old marriage to that rock star had broken up so spectacularly, and the Defence Secretary had been taken there after he raced naked through the corridors of power, shouting, ‘I’m Titania, Queen of the Fairies!’ Given the balls-up he and the government had made of everything, that might have been the most accurate statement he ever made in his entire life.

Anyway, this was where the rich and powerful went when feeling ‘tired and emotional’. They were opulent, effective, discreet, and utterly trustworthy. The man in charge, Dr Knox, reportedly held the secrets of the nation in his hands.

But, mostly, it was incredibly, horribly, enormously, expensive. About a year’s wages for just an overnight stay. Of course, that said more about our levels of pay than Dr Knox’s prices.

I gaped at him. ‘You’re sending both of us to the Red House? For fourteen days?’

‘Yes, I believe that was what I said. Which part was unclear?’

‘Can we afford it?’

He smiled. ‘I’ve known Alexander Knox for some time. He’s interested in Chief Farrell’s condition and is happy to take you both at short notice.’

‘But do we have a cover story?’

‘Dr Knox is aware of St Mary’s. He knows what we do here. You can speak freely to him. Dr Foster has informed me she does not have the necessary expertise to be sure of the best treatment for Chief Farrell. You are going, ostensibly, as his carer. In reality, you are going for a spot of R&R. I believe the facilities at The Red House are among the finest in the country and I expect you to avail yourselves of them. Make sure you get my money’s worth. On your return I intend to work you to death, so make the most of it.’

He stood up. The caring manager was back in the box. I left before he started talking about making deductions from my pay. Always one of his favourite subjects.

I spent the rest of the day briefing and being briefed. I dictated my reports to my assistant, David, for onward transmission to the Boss after I’d gone. The place had ticked over pretty well without me, which was gratifying. I have no time for people who ensure their departments can’t function without them. I’ve always had a sneaking suspicion mine functions slightly better when I’m not around. Still, they seemed pleased to see me back.

Best of all, Kal was still there. She was leaving the next day but I hadn’t missed her. I was so glad. She, Tim, and I had a last lunch together. Tim shot off to terrorise his trainees, Kal went to finish her packing and I went back to work. David had set up a series of meetings for me. First off were Miss Schiller and Miss Van Owen. I was setting them to work on The Play.

Our genuine Shakespeare play. From the hand of Shakespeare himself, as attested by Dr Bairstow who stood over him while he wrote it, and then buried it here. Under our fourth step, actually, where it had been discovered along with the collection of sonnets which were now being used for the benefit of the future St Mary’s. We owned a manuscript beyond price. Except we couldn’t use it because, for some reason, in this play, they executed Elizabeth, not Mary Stuart.

I said, ‘We need to get this sorted. This is your immediate priority. I want an in-depth study. Somewhere in this play, there must be a point where the histories diverge. A kind of tipping point, if you like. I want you to find it. Somewhere, our history goes one way and the play goes another. Cross-reference every event in the play against actual events. Find me a starting point. Let’s ascertain what we’re dealing with and when. It’s going to be detailed and painstaking – you’ll have to check everything against reputable sources and there’s always the possibility that Shakespeare has been flexible with actual events, so keep that in mind as well.’

They nodded, heads bent over scratchpads. Although I had the Tudors as one of my secondary areas, Schiller’s main specialty was Tudor and Stuart England and Van Owen was the go-to person for detailed work.

‘Is there a deadline?’ she muttered, still tapping her scratchpad.

‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m off on leave for fourteen days. Accuracy is more important than speed. We have to get this absolutely right. Requisition whatever you need. See Dr Dowson if you have any problems. Any questions?’

‘No,’ they said calmly and disappeared with no fuss. When I came back, I was going to make them Senior Historians.

David updated me on who was where and when. Clerk and Spencer were in Regency Bath.

Yilmaz and Travis had gone off to see Drake singe the King of Spain’s beard at Cadiz and Roberts and Morgan were writing up their last assignment.

‘Anything else I need to know?’

‘No, everything here is fine. Professor Rapson has completed his catapult and called for volunteers.’

‘What?’ I was suddenly wary.

‘He plans to see how accurately he can fling plague-ridden bodies over the walls of a besieged city.’

‘Not this time,’ I said. ‘Mannequins, sacks of flour, car tyres – yes. People – no.’

‘But the entire department has volunteered,’ he said, tragically. ‘They’ll be very disappointed. It’s quite safe – he was only going to toss them into the lake, and many of them planned to make themselves up with pustules and bleeding sores.’

Not so very long ago I would have been one of the volunteers. In fact, Tim and I would probably have been top of the list. Suddenly, I felt very old. I definitely needed a holiday.

‘I’d rather they lived with disappointment than multiple fractures. Definitely not. Any problems from them, see Major Guthrie. Tell him if he can’t sort them out then he has my permission to shoot them.’

‘Yes, Max,’ he said, grinning.

‘Anything else?’

‘Knock, knock.’

‘Shut up.’

I was up at dawn the next morning to see Kal leave.

In defiance of regulations, Dieter had brought her car round to the front door. We reckoned it was so early that no one would ever know. He was just opening the boot for her last bits and pieces when the front door opened and Dr Bairstow emerged.

Whoops.

Kal walked up the steps to meet him. They talked quietly for a few minutes. I don’t know what he said, but if you knew her you could she was moved. He put out his hand. She ignored it, stepped forward, hugged him, and kissed his cheek.

And lived.

She stepped back. He swept us with a look that promised later retribution and disappeared back into the building.

She sniffed and rejoined us. I watched her say goodbye to Helen and Leon. She wasn’t finding this easy. I myself was conscious of a horrible cold feeling inside. She was going. She was actually going. Then she turned to me. I had nothing to say. There were no words. We hugged for a long time. Neither of us was going to let go. Behind me, Leon said gently, ‘Max …’

I couldn’t watch her say goodbye to Tim. They’d been partners for so long. They were both in tears. Dieter had to push her into the car. Slowly, she drove away. I looked at Tim. He wasn’t going to have a good day. Leon and I were away after breakfast, and he would be alone. I looked at Helen. Her people skills were minimal and I wasn’t sure she would realise what this meant to him, but she was already talking gently to him. Well, what do you know? Personal growth.

Farrell took my arm and we climbed the steps. When I looked back, Kal was just pulling out through the gates. There was a solitary pip from the horn, an arm waved out of the window and she was gone.

Two hours later, so were we. We were in Farrell’s car and I was driving because he wasn’t allowed. It was a beautiful car, sleek and black and handled like a dream. I drove very, very carefully. The deal was that I would drive and he would navigate. This would give us at least a fighting chance of arriving at our destination intact.

I said, ‘Shouldn’t we be arguing about directions or something?’

‘No, I looked at the route last night. I know the way.’

‘You take all the fun out of life, you know that?’

‘Well, I aim to put it back again as soon as possible, so try and stay out of trouble till then.’

I did manage to keep the car on the road. He tutted.

‘Hey, I’m not the one who hits trees.’

I was referring to the famous occasion when he crashed the Boss’s Bentley and I finished up across the bonnet and never saw my knickers again. Happy days.

We pitched up just a little before eleven. We’re a time-travelling organisation. Punctuality is written into our contracts.

A young woman in a white coat met us on the steps. Her short, dark hair emphasised her beautifully shaped skull. She had eyebrows and cheekbones to which lesser mortals could only aspire. I tried not to sigh.

‘I’m Dr Joanna Trent. Dr Knox is still with a patient, so he’s asked me to show you around and make you welcome. So – Mr Farrell, Dr Maxwell – welcome to The Red House. If you can let John here have your keys, he can park your car for you.’

I handed the over the keys. Obviously Red House inmates never did anything as mundane as parking their own cars. I felt rather than heard Farrell’s sigh of relief. He had obviously been picturing his beloved car bouncing around a packed car park like an impala on a trampoline.

She was speaking again.

‘I’ll leave you to explore the grounds yourselves. We’re very proud of our gardens and they’re here to be enjoyed. Now …’ We walked up the steps and through the main doors. You could tell this wasn’t the British National Health Service. They had carpet on the floor. Obviously the inmates never did anything as low-class as bleed or puke on it. Comfortable chairs and low tables were scattered around. Another young man sat behind a polished mahogany reception desk.

‘This is Paul. He’ll be along later to do the paperwork. Now, we’re standing at a kind of crossroads here. To the left is the library; a lovely room, well stocked and with a wide range of daily papers for the benefit of our guests.’

Guests! Not inmates. Get the terminology right, Maxwell.

‘Which reminds me, no electronic devices and definitely no mobiles.’ She held out a hand.

Farrell dug his out and handed it over. She looked at me.

‘I don’t have one.’

She raised one disbelieving, beautifully shaped eyebrow.

‘No, it’s true,’ said Farrell. ‘She really doesn’t.’

I shook my head in agreement. She still didn’t look happy, but it’s a look I’ve been familiar with all my life. I was beginning to feel my old dislike of authority stirring inside.

‘Next to the library is the Guests’ Lounge and, at the very end, the Guests’ Dining Room. Should you have any special dietary requirements, please be sure to speak to Paul about them. He’s here to help, as are we all.’

She turned and gestured gracefully to her right. ‘Down this corridor, we have a series of consulting and treatment rooms and Dr Knox’s office at the end.

‘Straight ahead and through the big doors is our Annexe, consisting of the Arts and Crafts Centre, our gym, swimming pool, and spa facilities. Please make full use of them whenever you can.’

I tuned her out and looked around. It was sumptuous. The colour scheme was cream and pale blue with occasional touches of a deep rose pink. It smelled of lemons. Everything was spotless. Everything looked very expensive.

At the top of the stairs was a nurses’ station and corridors branched off in spokes.

‘Your rooms are down here. This is normally the Ladies’ Side,’ she said, ‘but we were asked to house you together, so you have the two adjacent rooms here.’ She fixed Chief Farrell with a severe frown. ‘Please be discreet.’

Behind her back, I laughed at him.

He murmured, ‘Of course, Doctor,’ but she had opened the first door and swept inside.

‘Dr Maxwell, this is your room.’

I’d never seen anything like it. The curtains matched the bedcovers, which matched the cushions – always the sign of a diseased mind. There was a big double bed piled high with pillows, two deep armchairs, a dressing-table-cum-desk, a wardrobe, a carpet,
and
rugs. The floor was level. No pockmarks marred the smooth perfection of the walls. Both curtains were the same colour. This was a whole new world to me.