Hide in Time

by Anna Faversham

  “I wouldn’t mind if you did,” flashed back one of them.

  Laura giggled. She was used to her male clients and their banter. It never strayed into the coarse; they always treated her with respect. She often played the ‘school teacher’ enabling her to say in a jocular fashion what needed to be said. “Come with me, you two, and let me introduce you to a few of the ladies over there who would clearly love to dance.”

  “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

  CHAPTER SIX

  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.

  Her mind jumped forward to when Matt had taken her there that first Christmas after she’d been shipwrecked. She had surprised him with the exact date it had been built and the name of the architect. She’d also described the Leigh-Fox family who lived there in 1814. It was the first time she had unsettled Matt. He would not admit she could have been there. So she’d almost floored him. She described the cellars; the only part of the house unlikely to have been smartened up much. The knockout punch came when she said, “You will find my name etched into the wooden support on the far wall and above will be the name ‘Adam’.

  He took the blow well and hit back by taking her by the hand and leading her, not downstairs to the cellars but up to the gallery, where he’d pointed to a portrait with a brass plaque underneath. ‘This Adam?’ he’d enquired. Her knees had given way and she’d dropped to the floor. Not Matt.

  After that she’d said not another word about the house. She’d refused to visit Matt at home ever again. His name might be Redfern but he was undoubtedly a Leigh-Fox.

  Now here they were in “Foxhills” for their own safety. Laura rarely planned her future because the past magnetized her. It wasn’t a compulsion; she was still in control, she could pull away, but it cut her in two to try. Furthermore, she felt she was meant to follow this benign power gently but firmly focusing her attention on unfinished affairs.

  Matt had insisted on telephoning a long-standing friend – a Detective Chief Superintendent of Police. “We can’t have all that man-power doing paperwork. Think of the tax-payers’ money,” he said with a wink, “We can employ it better.”

  That wink was to Xandra, oh how it hurt. If only I… but Laura could not face the dread of thinking further.

  She was quieter than usual over dinner. “Laura, you look exhausted,” Matt said placing his hand over hers o
n the table. Somehow he was winning and she was losing the will to object to his increasing attentions and gaining in jealousy if he looked elsewhere. “Once the police have been and spoken to you, I think you should get some sleep. Your case is in the Guest Room. Xandra’s is in the room overlooking the garden.”

  Xandra, still bearing bruises and cuts she’d acquired in her escape, and having had fewer hours sleep nursing her diamonds, was nevertheless much perkier. ‘Running on adrenaline,’ she’d said.

  Matt succeeded in distracting them with small talk. “All the bedrooms have been named after the female line. Our Alexandra Room is named for my ancestor, the author, Alexandra Foxley. It’s only the Guest Room that doesn’t have a name yet.”

  “Oh so that’s why you’re seeking a wife. You have a room to name,” said Xandra. “What an original chat-up line that could be.”

  Laura and Xandra exchanged glances as Matt’s butler entered. Xandra registered the employment of a butler: Laura wanted to know what he was whispering.

  Matt explained, “Late though it is, Chief Super has arrived. Please excuse me for a moment. Then perhaps you would follow me through to the drawing room when you’ve finished your coffee. Don’t hurry; he’ll want to reprimand me first and then I shall counter with reasons and excuses and so that should keep him occupied for a while.”

  A flash of lightning caused Laura and Xandra to glance towards the window. As Laura contemplated saying how much she liked a storm from the safety of a warm house, Xandra spoke, accompanied by a low roll of thunder, “It’s a beautiful room, isn’t it? The lightning’s showed up the sheen on this green wallpaper. Is that an Adam fireplace?”

  “Adam? Oh, the architect. I’m sorry, I had thought… Actually, I’m not sure. I can’t remember now.” Of course, it was. She was grateful for her thoughts to be interrupted by the black-suited butler asking if they would like the curtains drawn.

  “Thank you.” Laura didn’t know his name. Naughty Matt always referred to him as Jeeves. Laura turned to Xandra and wrinkled her nose in fun as she said, “It’s quite eerie with the rain beating against the window panes and it’s getting darker by the minute.”