The Map of Time (Trilogía Victoriana #1)(107)

And why should I doubt you, since I did indeed discover your letter beside the big oak tree when I came out of the time tunnel from the year 2000. I need no further evidence, as you rightly say, to see that in seven months we will meet and love will blossom between us. And if my future self— which is still me—falls in love with you as soon as he sets eye on you, why shouldn’t I? Otherwise I would be doubting my own judgment. Why waste time, postponing feelings I am inevitably going to experience? Then again, you are only asking me to make the same leap of faith you yourself made. During our meeting in the tearoom you were obliged to have faith in me, you were obliged to believe you would fall in love with the man sitting opposite you. And you did. My future self is grateful to you for that, Claire. And the self who is writing these lines, who has yet to savor the softness of your skin, can only reciprocate that trust, believe that everything you say is true, that everything you say in your letter will happen because in some way it has already happened. That is why I can only begin by telling you Claire Haggerty, whoever you are, that I love you. I love you from this very moment until the end of time.

Tom’s hand trembled as he read the author’s words. Wells had thrown himself wholeheartedly into the enterprise: not only had he respected Tom’s improvised tale and the history of the character he was playing, but, to judge from his words, he seemed as in love with the girl as she was with him, with Tom that was, or more precisely with the brave Captain Shackleton. He knew it was only pretense, but the author’s skill at deception went far beyond Tom’s own impoverished feelings, even though these should have been more intense since he rather than Wells had lain with the girl. If the day before Tom had wondered whether the fluttering feeling in his chest was love, now that he had the yardstick of the author’s words to measure it by, he was certain of it. Did Tom feel the emotions Wells attributed to Shackleton? After a few moments” reflection, Tom concluded the only one answer to that tortuous question was no, he did not. He could never keep a love like that alive for someone he was never going to see again.

He placed the letter next to John Peachey’s headstone and began the walk back into London. He was pleased with how it had turned out, although a little disconcerted by Wells’s request to Claire near the end, which Tom considered worthy of a degenerate. He recalled the final paragraph with deep displeasure.

I am longing as I have never longed for anything before for time to speed up, counting the seconds between now and our first meeting in seven months” time. Although I must confess that as well as being anxious to meet you, Claire, I am also fascinated to know how you will travel to my era. Is such a thing really possible? For my part, I can only wait and do what I have to do, that is to say, reply to your letters, complete my part of the circle. I hope this first letter does not disappoint you. Tomorrow I will leave it beside the oak tree when I arrive in your time. My next visit will be two days later, and I know that by then another letter from you will be awaiting me. You may find this request impertinent, my love, but could I ask you to describe our amorous encounter to me? Remember I must wait many months before I experience it, and although I assure you I will be patient, I cannot imagine a more wonderful way to endure that wait than to read over and over again the things I will experience with you in the future. I want to know everything, Claire, so please, spare me no detail. Describe to me the first and only time we make love, because from now I will experience it through your words, my darling Claire.

Things here are hard to bear. Our brothers perish by the thousand under the superior power of the automatons, who raze our cities as though they wanted to destroy everything we have built, every trace of our civilization. I do not know what will happen if my mission fails, if I am unable to stop this war from happening. In spite of all this, my love, I can only smile as the world crumbles around me because your undying love has made me the happiest person on earth.

D.

Claire clasped the letter to her pounding heart. She had so yearned for someone to write such words to her, words that took her breath away and made her pulse quicken. Now her wish had come true. Someone was telling her their love for her transcended time itself. Dizzy with happiness, she took a sheet of paper, placed it on her writing desk, and began to describe to Tom all the things which out of respect for their privacy I drew a veil over: Oh Derek, my darling Derek: you have no idea how much it meant to me finding your letter where it was supposed to “be,” and to find it imbued with such love. It was the final incentive I needed in order to accept my fate without demur. And the very first thing I will do, my love, is to comply with your request, even though I shall no doubt blush with shame. How could I refuse to share intimacies with you which are ultimately yours? Yes, I shall tell you how everything happens, even though in doing so I will be dictating your actions, the way you will behave, such is the strangeness of all this.

We will make love in a room in Pickard’s Boardinghouse, directly opposite the tearoom. I will agree to go with you there after deciding to trust you. In spite of this, you will notice how terrified I am as we walk down the corridor to the room. And this is something I would like to explain to you, my love, now that I have the opportunity. What I am about to say might surprise you, but in my own time, girls are brought up to repress their instincts, especially in well-to-do families like mine. Unfortunately, it is widely believed that the sole purpose of the sexual act should be procreation, and while men are allowed to express the pleasure they derive from physical contact, provided of course they do so respectfully and with moderation, we women must show perfect indifference, as our enjoyment is considered immoral.