‘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?’
Normally she just stares at me, effortlessly giving me to understand I am less than the dirt beneath her feet. On this occasion, to my surprise, she seemed genuinely distressed. My alarm increased. What could possibly distress Mrs Partridge?
‘Mrs Partridge? What’s happening? Please tell me.’
She said gently, ‘I am unable to say,’ but whether she couldn’t or wouldn’t say, remained unclear.
‘Can’t this wait? said Tim. ‘We’re on our way out.’
She said, almost with sympathy, ‘I doubt, when you’ve heard what they have to say, that either of you will feel that an evening out is appropriate.’
I felt my stomach turn over.
Tim took my arm. ‘Come on, Max, let’s go and find out the worst. We can still go out afterwards.’
I looked at Mrs Partridge and the lack of expression on her face told me we wouldn’t be going out afterwards.
I turned to him. ‘Do you ever think we must be cursed?’
‘All the time. Don’t you?’ he said cheerfully.
‘What else could possibly go wrong?’
He shrugged. ‘No idea, but this is St Mary’s. Shall we go and find out?’
Commander Hay sat with Captain Ellis at the briefing table. Dr Bairstow stood by his desk, waiting. He too surveyed our unusually clean and tidy appearance. ‘I am very sorry to have interrupted your evening but I think, when Commander Hay has explained, you will understand why this could not wait until morning.’
Explained what? Understand what?
‘Please sit down. If you remember, at her request, I gave Commander Hay a copy of the footage from Hawking. Her people have spent some considerable time augmenting the tape and enhancing the quality. That done, they have subjected the improved tape to close analysis and scrutiny. And brought their findings for us to view this evening.’
‘Have you discovered something?’
‘We have.’
I looked at Dr Bairstow. ‘What? What have they found?’
‘I think you should sit down and see for yourself. I should warn you, you may find what you are about to see … unsettling.’
‘In what way?’
Peterson said, ‘Do you want me to remain, sir?’
‘Yes, please. I would like both of you to see this and let me have your thoughts afterwards.’
I began to have a very bad feeling about this.
I sat at the table. Dr Bairstow activated the screen, and here were the familiar images, considerably enhanced this time. They’d split the screen and at one and the same time I saw myself in close up and far away. Dr Bairstow ran the footage at normal speed until Markham appeared, and then he slowed it down. Right down.
I watched Markham race slowly down the hangar, arms pumping. I saw him push me out of the way. Now Dr Bairstow minimised the second image, the distant one from the camera in Leon’s office, and concentrated solely on the footage from the nearer camera.
I became aware my hands were clenched so tightly I was digging my nails into the palms of my hands. I looked down at the rows of little red crescents and made myself try to relax.
On screen, I had disappeared. It was just Ronan, Leon, Guthrie and Markham now. And, of course, the unseen Greta Van Owen.
Ronan stood in the doorway of his pod, just as I remembered.
Leon and Guthrie stood, guns raised, one or two paces from their own pod.
He slowed the film some more.
I saw Ronan bend his knees a little, preparing to hurl his bombs into the air.
Markham was closing but what could he do? If shooting Ronan was the answer, then Leon or Guthrie would already have done so.
Stupidly, I was holding my breath. As if that would make any difference. We all knew how this was going to end.
Beside me, Peterson stiffened and leaned forwards. A second later, I’d realised too. Markham wasn’t heading for Ronan. He was running, flat out, towards Leon and Guthrie.
Ronan made his last, defiant gesture, bowing to the camera, and then he straightened his arms hurling two, small, black objects high up into the air.
They slowed the film again. Now it was clicking on. Almost frame by frame. The quality was deteriorating with each passing moment, but I saw Markham, still travelling at speed, crash headlong into Leon and Guthrie. The force of the collision and his momentum carried all three of them back towards their pod.
Dr Bairstow stopped the film.