They’d forgotten all about me, so I sat down and watched them watch the holo. My commentary went down well although, honestly, I’m not sure how much they actually heard. They shouted with surprise as each species made its debut appearance and after that it was chaos. I watched them scramble over each other and the furniture trying to get better views. A hundred arguments broke out around the hall as cherished theories were mercilessly amended, embellished, or discarded.
I watched in amused horror as a great dinosaur dollop apparently enveloped a group of venerable academics arguing in the corner.
‘Oh, I say,’ murmured the Chancellor. ‘All over the Senior Faculty!’
‘Oh dear,’ I said.
‘No, no, they’ve been trying to do that to me for years. Jolly well done.’
‘Always happy to oblige, ma’am.’
‘My compliments to Dr Bairstow. Tell him the cheque’s in the post.’
They loved it and us, as they bloody well should. We’d scored a huge PR success for St Mary’s. The Boss had asked me to be polite, so I talked to everyone, gave out my card, and promised St Mary’s would be on hand to answer any queries that might arise concerning data collection. Finally, we found ourselves in the car park.
We chucked our jackets on the now empty back seat and I settled myself in the front as we drove slowly away.
I stared out of the window, still on a high. They’d liked it. It had gone well. I hadn’t embarrassed myself or St Mary’s. I couldn’t ask for more. Now I could draw a line under recent events and legitimately take a bit of time off. I would go for long rides, eat chocolate, do some painting, catch up on my reading, and generally laze around a bit. The assignment was all over and I could relax. I decided to start by just looking out of the window, admiring the scenery and enjoying the ride home.
After two miles I was bored.
I looked around the car for something to do and obviously, the first thing I saw was Chief Farrell. I let my gaze wander a little. He’d rolled up his sleeves over his forearms. Heaving huge lumps of pod around every day had given him great arms. Great hands too. Even as I looked, he turned. ‘Everything OK?’
‘Yes,’ I said happily.
He yawned.
‘Would you like me to drive for a bit?’
‘No. I choose life.’
‘That’s a little bit unkind, Chief.’
‘Miss Maxwell, I have every respect for your many abilities. You are a talented and passionate historian, a skilful artist, and a fierce and loyal friend. You are warm, compassionate, smart, funny, and incredibly sexy. You are also the world’s worst driver. Ever. God knows how you passed your driving test. I can only assume the examiner was so dazzled by your beauty that he ticked the “pass” box before you even put the keys in the ignition.’
A couple of heart-thumping seconds passed before I was able to say, ‘Thank you.’
He nodded, his eyes on the road.
‘And if you pull over now, I’ll give you the blow-job of a lifetime.’
We hit a tree.
The only sound was the ticking engine. I got out to survey the damage. ‘Well, for crying out loud, Chief!’
He clambered out and buried his head in his arms on the car roof. I looked at him anxiously. ‘Are you hurt?’
He lifted his head, sighed, and pulled out his phone. ‘Dieter! Yes, crank up the low-loader will you? We’ve had an accident. No, we’re fine. About three miles out, on the Whittington road, just before the crossroads. Yes, at the top of the hill. About half an hour, then. OK.’ He snapped the phone shut and walked round the car undoing his trousers.
‘You. No more messing about. Across the bonnet of this car. Right here, right now.’