The Map of Time (Trilogía Victoriana #1)(113)
The tears rolling down her cheeks, Claire sat at her desk, took a deep breath, and dipped her pen into the inkwell.
This, too, is my last letter, my love, and although I would like to begin by telling you how much I love you, I must be honest with myself and confess to you shamefacedly that a few days ago I did a reckless thing.
Yes, Derek, apparently I am not as strong as I thought, and I went to the oak tree to wait for you to appear.
Living without you is too painful. I needed to see you, even if it altered the fabric of time. I waited all morning, but you did not come, and I could not escape my mother’s watchful eye any longer. It is difficult enough not to arouse Peter the coachman’s suspicions. He already looks at me strangely each time I ask him to bring me here, but has so far kept my secret from my mother. How do you suppose he would have reacted if he had seen you step out of the oak tree as if by magic? I expect they would have discovered everything and it would have caused some sort of disaster in time. I realize now it was foolish and irresponsible of me. Yes, for even if Peter had seen nothing, our impromptu meeting would still have changed the fabric of time. You would not see me for the first time on May 20 in the year 2000, and everything would instantly turn upside down, and nothing would happen as it is meant to.
But luckily, although I would have liked nothing more, you did not appear, and so there is nothing to regret. I imagine you arrived in the afternoon, for the next day your beautiful, final letter was there. I hope you can forgive my foolishness, Derek, which I am confessing to you because I do not wish to hide any of my faults from you. And in the hope of moving you to forgive me still further, I am sending you a gift from the bottom of my heart, so that you will know what a flower is.
After writing this, she stood up, took her copy of The Time Machine from the bookshelf, opened it, and removed the narcissus she had pressed between its pages. When she had finished the letter, she touched the delicate petals to her lips and carefully slid the flower into the envelope.
Peter asked no questions this time either. Without waiting for her to tell him, he set off for Harrow-on-the-Hill. When they arrived, Claire walked up to the oak tree and discreetly hid the letter under the stone. Then she glanced around at the landscape, aware of saying good-bye to the place that had been the setting for her happiness those past few days, to those peaceful meadows, vibrantly green in the morning sun, to the distant cornfields, a streak of gold marking the horizon. She gazed at John Peachey’s headstone and wondered what sort of life this stranger had lived, whether he had known true love or died without ever experiencing it. She gulped a mouthful of air and almost thought she could perceive her beloved Derek’s odor, as though his numerous appearances had left a trace behind in that sacred place. It was all in her imagination, she said to herself, the result of her desperate longing to see him. And yet she must accept reality. She must prepare to spend the rest of her life without him, to be content to listen out for the echo of his love resonating from the other side of time, for possibly she would never see him again. That afternoon, or tomorrow, or the next day, an invisible hand would seize her last letter, and after that there would be no others, only solitude unfurling at her feet like a carpet stretching to infinity.
She returned to the carriage and climbed in without giving Peter any orders. With a resigned look, the coachman set off for London as soon as she was comfortably seated. Once the coach had vanished into the distance, Tom lowered himself from the branch he had clambered onto and dropped to the ground. From there he had been able to see her for the last time; he could even have touched her just by stretching out his hand, but he had not allowed himself to. And now, having indulged his whim, he must never go near her again. He took the letter from under the stone, leant against the tree, and began reading, a pained expression on his face.
As you rightly imagined, Derek, they will soon prohibit the use of the machine. There will be no more journeys through time for you until you defeat the evil Solomon.
After that, you will decide to risk your life by secretly using the machine to travel to my time. But let us not get ahead of ourselves; let me at last tell you about our first meeting and what you must do afterwards. As I told you, it will take place on May 20 in the year 2000. That morning, you and your men will mount a surprise attack on Solomon. At first glance, and despite the astute positioning of your men, you will not come out of the skirmish with the upper hand, but have no fear, for at the end of it Solomon will suggest resolving the conflict with a sword fight. Accept his offer without hesitation, for you will win the duel. You will be a hero, and this combat that puts an end to the automatons” supremacy over the human race will be hailed as the dawn of a new era, so much so that it will be regarded as a perfect tourist destination for time travelers from my time, who will eagerly flock there to witness it.
I will go on one of those trips, and, concealed behind a pile of rubble, I will watch you fight Solomon, but when the duel is over instead of going back with the others, I will hide among the ruins, intending to stay behind in your world, because, as you know, my own holds no attraction for me. Yes, thanks to the dissatisfaction that has dogged me all my life, and which I never suspected would lead to anything, you and I will meet. I must warn you though that our meeting will not be as romantic as it ought to have been; on the contrary, it will be rather embarrassing, particularly for you, Derek, and recalling it still brings a smile to my lips. But I suppose I should say no more about your indecorous behavior, as I can only assume it would influence your actions. All you need to know is that during that brief encounter, I will drop my parasol, and although you will travel across time in order to meet me and make love to me, returning it will be the excuse you give so that I agree to meet you at the tearoom. Naturally, in order for all this to happen as it is supposed to, in order to complete the circle in which we are trapped, you must appear in my time before we begin writing to each other—there would be no point in your doing so afterwards, for as you know, it is you who will encourage me to write to you. You must appear on exactly November 6, 1896, and look for me at Covent Garden Market at twelve o’clock, in order to ask me to meet you that same afternoon. The rest you know. If you do as I say, you will preserve the circle, and everything that has happened already will happen once more.