Page 3 of The Hazardous Measure of Love
It would have been a good weekend if I hadn’t been so anxious about whether Luc got back home safely and in more or less the same week he’d left in.
* * *
First thing Monday there was a ring from the downstairs front door and, when I checked, it was Frank Ponsonby. Now what did he want? I wondered. Frank and I were friends – he had a girlfriend away at York University doing an MA – but he knew me better than either of the other two young solicitors and I was pretty certain he suspected something very odd indeed was going on with the black boxes that had been waiting for me on the office attic shelves for over two hundred years.
I buzzed him in and went to the door, braced for teasing about Luc, and saw he was not carrying anything larger than a modern brown manila envelope. No box from Luc, then.
‘Morning, Cassie. Your latest delivery.’ He handed over the envelope. ‘The original is inside, but as it’s so old I thought I’d better protect it.’
I peered in and saw a letter – no envelope, but folded and sealed and addressed to me in Luc’s handwriting. ‘Oh. Great, thanks.’ Then I remembered my manners, even though I was itching to open it. ‘Would you like some coffee?’
‘No, got to get back to the office.’ He hesitated, then said, ‘I don’t suppose you are ever going to tell me the truth about these mysterious boxes, are you?’
‘I…’ If I could trust anyone, it would be Frank, but I hadn’t told anyone at all in my time. I had in Luc’s – his mother, brother James and friends the Garricks all knew. But that had been a virtual necessity. Telling anyone in my time wasn’t. ‘I would if I could, but I can’t,’ I said finally.
‘OK, fair enough.’ He grinned. ‘If you ever change your mind, mine is very open. This is Welhampstead, after all,’ he added mysteriously. Then he was gone before I had a chance to reply.
Did he mean what I thought he meant – that he guessed time travel was involved? But Luc’s letter was waiting and I opened it, scattering dried-out sealing wax everywhere.
Dearest Cassie,
I arrived home safely, but almost an hour later than I left. I intend trying again in a few days, but I will talk to Mama about it first – it is neither fair nor safe to do this without her understanding what is happening.
I look forward to…
* * *
Yes, well, that is all you need to know. But what Luc was looking forward to reminded me to check out the private clinic that Sophie had told me about and, when he appeared with a bump on the sofa three days later, I suggested he go for a check-up, although I have to admit, that was not the first thing we did.
Being a typical male faced with a visit to the doctor, he grumbled and prevaricated but, when I pointed out that we could get rid of the condoms, he brightened up. We made an appointment for the next day and did all the forms on-line, then went out shopping for trainers. Pulling off a pair of Hoby’s best handmade boots created some considerable interest in Mellow’s, where I thought the shoe salesman was going to expire from boot envy.
Luc went off for his appointment, primed by me with what to expect in the way of blood tests, blood pressure readings, female medics and deeply personal questions, and came back looking smug.
Everything they could tell him about without waiting for test results was excellent, he informed me. ‘Apparently I am a fine physical specimen.’
I had to agree, but even so, I told him not to be too smug until we got the results. They came through two days later and Luc pronounced himself fully entitled to be smug. I thought so too.
* * *
At breakfast the next morning we discussed what he would most like to do, or see, in my time.
‘London?’ I suggested. ‘Or would you like to wander about locally a bit and get used to things? London can be a bit full-on – Luc?’
‘I need to go back,’ he said, frowning. ‘It isn’t the family, I think.’ He thumped his fist on the table in frustration. ‘Damn it, I am not used to this, I cannot interpret what is happening.’
‘Go,’ I said, pushing back my chair and heading for the bedroom. ‘I’ll change into my nineteenth century clothes and, when you get there, think hard about me and I will try and follow.’
I turned back, saw him shimmer as he held the case with the pictures, then he was gone. I pulled out the clothes I had been wearing when I shifted back the last time and struggled into them, muttering with frustration at tapes and corset strings. Then I grabbed my bag, stuffed in the packet of pills from the bedside table, and ran back to where the portrait miniature of Luc hung on the wall at a cat-proof height.
The little picture was already warming when I laid my hand on it and that was the signal that it was almost ready to pitch me back in time. I held tight to my bag and braced myself.
The brightly-lit room faded to black, I was spun around into the usual violent, rushing, wind, then I landed with a thud on something that said, ‘Ough!’ but grappled me firmly into a competent masculine embrace before we crashed to the ground.
Chapter Two
Luc? No, when I opened my eyes I found myself staring into the amused green gaze of his younger brother James.
Once my head had stopped spinning I removed my elbow from James’s stomach and sat up to find that we were sprawled on the terrace at the rear of Luc’s London house in St James’s Square. Fortunately there was no one else about.
