And the Rest Is History(90)

‘Well, let’s have a look then.’

I held up the black top.

‘No.’

And the blue one.

‘Really? No.’

And the third – the gold one.

‘God, no. Good Grief, Max, you’ve really gone to pieces since I left, haven’t you?’

‘Well,’ I said feebly, ‘I’ve had a lot on and I haven’t really felt much like clothes shopping.’

I don’t know why I bothered. Kal does sympathy like Hitler did Stalingrad.

‘What else have you got?’

I held up the green affair with slashed sleeves.

‘Is that some sort of tea towel?’

I balled it up and threw it across the room. ‘No.’

‘Let’s have a look at that other one. The cream one there. On the bed. Yes, that’ll do nicely.’

‘What about my hair. Up? Down?’

‘In a loose ponytail tied with that black and cream scarf I gave you last Christmas. Let the ends hang over your shoulder. Those black trousers you have and black pumps. There. Done and dusted.’

It began to dawn on me her answers were suspiciously pat.

‘Did you know about this?’

‘Course I did. I’ve been waiting all evening to hear from you. What took you so long?’

‘Did you know what he was going to ask me?’

She sighed heavily. ‘I told him what to say.’

‘What?’

‘Well, I had to. He was useless. Gibbering like an idiot. So, in the end, I dictated. He wrote it down and learned it off by heart. How did he do?’

‘How should I know? What was he supposed to say?’

She cleared her throat and said in a deep, gravelly voice. ‘Max, I understand it may be a little soon to ask you this and if it makes you feel at all uncomfortable then of course, there’s no more to be said, but I wanted to ask if you would do me the honour of allowing me to take you out one evening. We’re old friends, you and I, and we enjoy each other’s company. I don’t want to put you under any sort of pressure and if you want some time to think about it then I shall quite understand. Is what he was supposed to say. How did he do?’

‘He was spot on,’ I said loyally. ‘Almost word perfect. I was quite won over by his simple charm.’

‘You’re such a liar, Maxwell. Now, a few reminders because you won’t have a bloody clue either. Remember to wait for him to open doors for you. Abandon your feminist principles and let him pay. Don’t talk about St Mary’s.’

‘But what will we talk about?’

‘Books. Music. Politics.’

‘OK.’

‘Football, the latest holos, the weather.’

‘Yes, OK.’

‘Favourite food, wines, travel.’

‘Yes, all right. For God’s sake. Enough. What do you and Dieter usually talk about?’

‘Who’s turn it is to be on top. Good luck.’

And the screen went blank.



I opened the door to him. Just for a very brief moment, a flicker of relief flashed across his face. He hadn’t been sure I would go through with it. Actually, neither had I. Especially after more last-minute doubts about the cream top.

‘Well, what a pleasant surprise, Max. You don’t look too bad at all. My worst fears have not been justified.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, closing the door behind me and heading towards the stairs, ‘but I should warn you this is the only decent top I possess. If there’s a second date, then I may have sartorial difficulties.’

‘No need to panic. With luck this date will go so badly we’ll never even speak to each other again, let alone achieve the giddy heights of a second date.’

‘We can but hope,’ I said gravely.

He smiled at me. ‘I’ve been looking forward to this all day.’

I smiled back. ‘Me too.’

He held out his arm and after only a moment’s hesitation, I took it.

‘Right,’ he said, as we clattered down the stairs. ‘Ground rules. No one talks about work. We’re just two normal people looking for a normal night out.’

‘Good idea,’ I said, thinking that might be pushing our luck a little.

I was right. Just as we were crossing the hall, we were met by Mrs Partridge, emerging from the shadows. I don’t know why, but I felt my heart sink.

She looked us up and down, noting Peterson’s smart jacket, and my much tidier than usual hair, and said quietly. ‘Dr Bairstow would like to see you.’

Peterson said, ‘What? Both of us?’

She nodded.

‘But we have a table booked. Won’t tomorrow morning do?’

‘No, I’m afraid not. Please follow me if you would be so good.’

‘Has something happened?’

‘Yes, it has. The Time Police want to see you, Dr Maxwell.’





People deal with different situations in different ways. Techies curse and reach for a screwdriver. Mrs Enderby has a wonderful repertoire of reproachful stares. The Security Section will probably shoot you. Historians panic. We’re highly trained, lowly paid panickers.

I panicked now.

‘Have they come for Matthew? They promised me time. Why are they here?’