Farrell took my arm and we climbed the steps. When I looked back, Kal was just pulling out through the gates. There was a solitary pip from the horn, an arm waved out of the window and she was gone.
Two hours later, so were we. We were in Farrell’s car and I was driving because he wasn’t allowed. It was a beautiful car, sleek and black and handled like a dream. I drove very, very carefully. The deal was that I would drive and he would navigate. This would give us at least a fighting chance of arriving at our destination intact.
I said, ‘Shouldn’t we be arguing about directions or something?’
‘No, I looked at the route last night. I know the way.’
‘You take all the fun out of life, you know that?’
‘Well, I aim to put it back again as soon as possible, so try and stay out of trouble till then.’
I did manage to keep the car on the road. He tutted.
‘Hey, I’m not the one who hits trees.’
I was referring to the famous occasion when he crashed the Boss’s Bentley and I finished up across the bonnet and never saw my knickers again. Happy days.
We pitched up just a little before eleven. We’re a time-travelling organisation. Punctuality is written into our contracts.
A young woman in a white coat met us on the steps. Her short, dark hair emphasised her beautifully shaped skull. She had eyebrows and cheekbones to which lesser mortals could only aspire. I tried not to sigh.
‘I’m Dr Joanna Trent. Dr Knox is still with a patient, so he’s asked me to show you around and make you welcome. So – Mr Farrell, Dr Maxwell – welcome to The Red House. If you can let John here have your keys, he can park your car for you.’
I handed the over the keys. Obviously Red House inmates never did anything as mundane as parking their own cars. I felt rather than heard Farrell’s sigh of relief. He had obviously been picturing his beloved car bouncing around a packed car park like an impala on a trampoline.
She was speaking again.
‘I’ll leave you to explore the grounds yourselves. We’re very proud of our gardens and they’re here to be enjoyed. Now …’ We walked up the steps and through the main doors. You could tell this wasn’t the British National Health Service. They had carpet on the floor. Obviously the inmates never did anything as low-class as bleed or puke on it. Comfortable chairs and low tables were scattered around. Another young man sat behind a polished mahogany reception desk.
‘This is Paul. He’ll be along later to do the paperwork. Now, we’re standing at a kind of crossroads here. To the left is the library; a lovely room, well stocked and with a wide range of daily papers for the benefit of our guests.’
Guests! Not inmates. Get the terminology right, Maxwell.
‘Which reminds me, no electronic devices and definitely no mobiles.’ She held out a hand.
Farrell dug his out and handed it over. She looked at me.
‘I don’t have one.’
She raised one disbelieving, beautifully shaped eyebrow.
‘No, it’s true,’ said Farrell. ‘She really doesn’t.’
I shook my head in agreement. She still didn’t look happy, but it’s a look I’ve been familiar with all my life. I was beginning to feel my old dislike of authority stirring inside.
‘Next to the library is the Guests’ Lounge and, at the very end, the Guests’ Dining Room. Should you have any special dietary requirements, please be sure to speak to Paul about them. He’s here to help, as are we all.’
She turned and gestured gracefully to her right. ‘Down this corridor, we have a series of consulting and treatment rooms and Dr Knox’s office at the end.
‘Straight ahead and through the big doors is our Annexe, consisting of the Arts and Crafts Centre, our gym, swimming pool, and spa facilities. Please make full use of them whenever you can.’
I tuned her out and looked around. It was sumptuous. The colour scheme was cream and pale blue with occasional touches of a deep rose pink. It smelled of lemons. Everything was spotless. Everything looked very expensive.
At the top of the stairs was a nurses’ station and corridors branched off in spokes.
‘Your rooms are down here. This is normally the Ladies’ Side,’ she said, ‘but we were asked to house you together, so you have the two adjacent rooms here.’ She fixed Chief Farrell with a severe frown. ‘Please be discreet.’
Behind her back, I laughed at him.
He murmured, ‘Of course, Doctor,’ but she had opened the first door and swept inside.
‘Dr Maxwell, this is your room.’
I’d never seen anything like it. The curtains matched the bedcovers, which matched the cushions – always the sign of a diseased mind. There was a big double bed piled high with pillows, two deep armchairs, a dressing-table-cum-desk, a wardrobe, a carpet, and rugs. The floor was level. No pockmarks marred the smooth perfection of the walls. Both curtains were the same colour. This was a whole new world to me.