Hide in Time (5 page)

“What do you call a pirate with
two eyes, two arms and two legs?” her cheeky client said to the
girls.

Baffled faces turned upwards to him.

“Rookie!”

Laura left them with the girls as they
caught on and began to laugh. They were off to a good start and there
was only so much she could do; the rest they would have to do for
themselves. Besides, what on earth was a “rookie?” Best
to smile and move on.

She made her way to the back of the
boat. She was looking for the new man, Barry; she ought to keep an
eye on him. Instead, she found Kieran, six feet two, good-looking in
his pirate costume and acting in character for the amusement of a
group of girls. Leaning over the railings, he took aim at a pair of
boys canoeing along the river. “Your money or your life,”
he yelled brandishing his weapons. “Pay up or I’ll
shoot.” The two young boys lost their rhythm and, eyes on the
pirate, they paddled straight into the bank. Kieran’s audience
was now more concerned with the fate of the children – apart
from Fiona who failed to see anything beyond Kieran.

It was almost dark along the riverbank
now and in the corner of the open stern, lit by a string of colourful
lanterns, Xandra was chatting comfortably to Andy. “He rescued
me from the attentions of someone called Barry,” she said.

“No problem. I don’t like
watching someone obviously being plied with drinks,” responded
Andy warmly.

Laura knew it was too late to spend
time regretting her decision to let Barry Bolton come but she was
supposed to protect her clients from that sort of person. She’d
let her standards slip; her mind was too busy examining this issue of
destiny. She should concentrate on the party now. She glanced at
Xandra and Andy again; they were clearly good friends. Doubts surged
once more. Oh God, have I got this all wrong? It wasn’t a
profanity; Laura had to hope that someone believed in her. God must.
Matt once said Laura might have false memory syndrome, but Laura had
evidence of the truth and it had nothing to do with false memories.

The boat slowed. Laura knew the river
narrowed from here and some skilful manoeuvring was required to turn
without hitting either bank. Those in the open stern now drifted in
to stock up their plates or get another drink. Andy excused himself
from Xandra. He had a devoted fan and she was beckoning him to come
inside.

Laura looked across to Xandra seated in
the corner and smiled. “I’ll be back in a minute,”
she said noticing that Xandra looked a little tired. But she could
relax better if she knew who was with Barry. She picked up a glass of
fruit juice from the buffet and made her way to the bar at the bow.
He was probably sitting down and that’s why, in all this
throng, she could not see him.

“Whoa,” chorused the guests
as the stern bumped the bank, and drinks, including Laura’s,
were spilled. Momentarily the lights flickered then dimmed, then cut
out altogether before being restored a minute or two later. This
sudden darkness was disorientating.

“Sorry about that Laura,”
called Cap’n Redbeard, as the owner had christened himself for
the evening. “Don’t know what happened there. The engine
seemed to be pulling but getting nowhere.”

“Grappling iron from Bluebeard,”
called out Nick.

Redbeard sniffed. “Aye, that’s
what it felt like. Strain on the electrics too.” He shrugged,
pursed his lips and shouted over his shoulder, “Arr m’earties,
all ship-shape and Bristol fashion?”

Laura slipped through the merrymakers
and out to the stern. Xandra was no longer there. Even when she
enlisted the help of Nick and Andy, Xandra could not be found.
Neither could Barry.

Hide in Time ~ Anna Faversham

Laura woke late the following day,
which wasn’t surprising considering she’d been assisting
the police until the early hours of the morning. Needless to say, the
so-called Barry Bolton was using a stolen driving licence and the
police suspected him of having drugged poor Xandra. Laura could not
shift the fear that Xandra’s disappearance was all her fault.

Now Matt was on his way, he’d
just texted. Clever little gadget, this mobile, she thought with
gratitude, remembering how she’d immediately texted him when
Xandra could not be found. So good of him to host the rest of the
party.

She dragged herself to the bathroom and
looked into the mirror. Terror struck – she looked at least ten
years older. She showered, brushed her teeth, then checked in the
mirror again. What relief. She smiled at her unfounded anxiety –
she was just a bit tired. There was Xandra to think about.

Another text. “Escd. At workshop.
Please hurry. No police. X.” Her doorbell rang. She nearly
dropped the mobile. “Matt, oh thank goodness you’re
here.” Laura wrapped her arms round his neck and rested her
head on his chest while he held her tightly and stroked her hair. Oh
God, as I can’t have him, please find him someone nice. “Matt,
look at this text. It’s from Xandra,” she said as she led
him into her tiny sitting room. “Does that really mean we are
expected not to inform the police?”

“Possibly. It might mean she’s
not contacted the police so there’s no police at the workshop
and she feels vulnerable.”

“Is it a trap?” Laura
stared at Matt in the hope he would know the answer.

“I doubt it but let’s not
debate that now; let’s just go. Text her back – just say
‘on way’ or something short like that. Write a brief note
and leave it on your kitchen table to say where you’ve gone.
You’re always advising your lady clients to do that – now
you do it.”

Laura managed a wan smile, a fumbling
text, and a shakily written note. It was the note that drove home the
feeling of having no family, the only person she ever turned to was
Matt. And Xandra had texted her – she had no one either.

Yesterday’s sunshine had given
way to gathering clouds. Matt put the top up on the Jaguar. “Serves
two purposes,” he said. “Saving ten seconds if it rains
and making us less visible.”

“Less visible!” hooted
Laura. “Would it not be better to go in my Micra?”

“Your car is red: mine is black,”
Matt said with a look that just passed for a smile, “and a
Jaguar is at home in London.”

As they settled into the motorway
section of the journey to London, Laura distracted herself with
thoughts of her own predicament. Matt had been the first person she
had stumbled across on the day she arrived: over five years ago now.
She’d emerged, shipwrecked, from the nineteenth century, to
find him leaning against his green MG B, C, D or maybe E, well
something or the other, wearing knee length shorts and a dark blue
T-shirt. She’d never seen so much of a man before. In contrast,
she’d been wearing her travelling clothes which included strong
boots for the voyage, a fashionable but practical ankle length, blue
dress, and a long cloak. All were wet through and their weight made
it difficult to walk. Her hair was tangled and she was dragging the
small trunk containing her valuables. She remembered with pride how
she’d roped the trunk and herself to a wooden table and two
empty waterproofed barrels. Matt was slowing as he approached London
– the perfect opportunity for Laura to open up the conversation
that always followed one of her unusually long silences. “Who
do you think was more surprised?”

“You were.” Laura knew that
he understood the rules, and he always played by them. “I had
the advantage, remember, of history. I had at least seen films with
people dressed like you.”

This time she added the question
bubbling within, “Do I look any older?”

Matt glanced across at her. “No.
If anything, you look younger.”

Younger! She looked younger? That was
all right then. She hadn’t suddenly aged. The terror that woke
her at nights could sometimes be put away in its box. But it always
crawled out.

He’d looked at her – wet
and sandy. She’d remember that look all her life, no matter how
long she lived. He had eyes that listened; deep brown eyes which had
encouraged her to ask, ‘Sir, would you kindly assist me. I was
aboard the SS Kismet when it collided with a sandbank.” She’d
hesitated before adding the stark consequence, “and sank.”
He had taken a step forwards and lifted her trunk. The tar had ruined
his T-shirt but he never mentioned it. He’d asked where she was
trying to go and she’d replied, “America.” He
hadn’t laughed, though the little group of people gathered
about were smirking. One of them, unasked, gave Matt directions to
the hospital. What would she have done without Matt? Another tear
trickled down her face.

“Nearly there, Laura. Have you a
plan?”

Plan? It consisted, so far, of arriving
with Matt. The past had intruded and overwhelmed her thoughts yet
again.

“I think,” he said, “that
all I can do is go straight inside. It’s unlikely the gang is
trying to kidnap you too because any description you could give,
‘heavily disguised as a pirate’, probably isn’t
worth much. However, you must stay in the car.” Hmm… she
could say how tall he was, and she’d recognize his voice; was
Matt merely trying to protect her?

Usually Laura loved a trip to London,
especially with Matt in his XKR. As they edged their way through the
congested roads, Laura caught glimpses of the street entertainers in
Covent Garden. A clown, with a painted smile and tufty hair, was
juggling apples and tossing them to the children. No doubt the Health
and Safety regulations disallowed that, she thought sadly. Then there
was a woman on a Penny-Farthing cycling around a man on stilts with a
long, garishly striped cloak. Colour, laughter. Life goes on
regardless of what happens to some poor sparrow. Not that Xandra was
a sparrow. Xandra was more of a swift or swallow, circling high above
the melée below, then swooping…

“Do you smell smoke, Matt?”
Matt’s careful non-alarming reply was interrupted by the sound
of fire engines rattling through the streets. With difficulty he
jammed the car into a small parking space, leapt out, threw the keys
at Laura, called to her to stay where she was, and ran towards the
smoke.

Laura had to follow. Black smoke
swirled above the heads of the crowd outside the jewellers –
representational of this whole damned situation. She could not get
close enough to be of any assistance – anyway what could she
do? A buzz of what sounded horribly like excitement trickled through
the throng. Laura peered over their heads to see a fireman carrying
Xandra slung over his back. He was gingerly edging his way down the
ladder from the blazing building. Laura fought her way through to
find Matt standing alongside an ambulance. Xandra was soon being
driven away as fast as London’s traffic allowed. Matt showed no
surprise as he took hold of Laura’s hand which was full of car
keys. “I locked the car up, Matt.”

Matt nodded with a grim-faced smile
then spoke to the fire crew who confirmed his suspicions by saying,
“Yep, probably arson. Yellow flame and black smoke usually
means a petrol accelerant.”

Matt took Laura back to the car and
drove towards The Royal London Hospital in Whitechapel. “I’m
told Xandra was not burned, but suffering from a little smoke
inhalation so we’ll ensure she’s safe, then I think we
should stay in town tonight, Laura, please. I don’t want you
left alone at home.

“Claridges?”

“Of course.”

“You paying?”

“Of course.” He leant
across slightly and squeezed her knee.

Laura’s stomach turned over. It
hadn’t done that in… well, was it five years, or nearly
two hundred years?

“My own room?”

Matt hesitated before he said, “Of
course.”

~

The following day, they collected
Xandra from the hospital.

“You can stay with me, Xandra,”
said Laura over her shoulder as Matt opened the car door for her.
“Your protection officer is welcome too.”

“No Laura," Matt
interrupted, "You are both coming to my place and you’ll
stay there until the police have dealt with the situation to my
satisfaction.”

Neither of the girls objected to this
reassuringly autocratic stance. After all, what good had the
protection officer been?

Matt turned to Xandra squashed in the
back seat. “ We’ll call in at your flat and I want you to
bring everything you have of value. Everything. These people are
quite obviously ruthless and they may try again.”

Xandra gave him a mischievous smile.
“I’ve saved the diamonds which had only just arrived.”
Then almost as an aside she said, “Not that fire could destroy
them but I’m pleased I managed to empty the safe before the
smoke became overwhelming.” She paused before adding, “I
was rather worried about them being in the hospital locker, so I
slept with them under my pillow.”

Matt and Laura exchanged glances.
Surprise led them to chuckle as Matt said, “These guys didn’t
know what they were up against, did they, Laura?”

Laura glanced away. Neither did Matt,
not fully.

“Directions, please, Xandra.
Laura guards her clients’ addresses well.”

Xandra, succinct as ever, gave her post
code.

Matt tapped it in to the satnav and
turned to Laura, “We’ll collect a few useful items from
your cottage too. I sincerely hope you don’t have a stash of
diamonds?”

Laura thought of her ring but said
only, “Oh Xandra, I have your bag at my place. I grabbed it
from the boat.”

Matt called out, “Lunch anyone?
Feeling hungry?” No one was.

~

The Georgian house in Torwell Bridge
stood on a ridge overlooking the rolling weald of Kent. It was late
afternoon and dark clouds massed above it. Laura knew “Foxhills”
well. She had once, a long time ago, lived there. The exterior had
changed little. The trees leading from the wrought iron gates had
been replanted, there was now a perfect gravel drive, granted relief
by a central, circular lawn in front of the huge, black double doors
which had stood the test of time. She remembered when Johnson had
carried her trunk, remonstrating, as she climbed into the carriage.
She was determined to go to America. It wasn’t his place to
argue but now she knew it showed he cared – for Adam, she
supposed.