I had the key in the door before I realised that I hadn’t checked the place in case Luc had left anything behind but, luckily, he seemed to have dressed in everything he came in.
‘You OK, Cassie?’ Soph asked. ‘Only you’ve gone very quiet.’
‘Oh yes, fine, just a hangover. Fill the kettle, will you, while I dump this.’ She raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting to inspect my shopping. ‘Deadly dull – some new towels and a face cloth,’ I lied. Honesty can only get you so far.
‘Where are you and Tony getting checked over?’ I asked when we settled down with our coffee.
‘There’s a new private clinic that’s opened at the Old Hall. Very smooth and you do loads of form-filling on-line first. I think they must get a lot of foreigners coming out from Town because it isn’t compulsory to give your NHS number or anything. In fact they’ll do it quite anonymously.’
That would be perfect, I thought. I’d see what Luc said. If it meant we could give the condoms the elbow, that would be great, although obviously giving Luc’s overall health a check-up was more important.
We gossiped for an hour, then she took herself off for some Serious Saturday Shopping and I applied myself to translating a paper on wind turbines from German into English. I’ll say this for it, it certainly got my head out of the nineteenth century.
* * *
On Sunday I was on duty as a Special Constable all morning, the highlight of which was disentangling two teenage e-scooter riders from the canal lock gates. Don’t ask – Darrell Farnsworth and his mate Sky are what the Darwin Awards were invented for.
Pausing only to feed myself and Trubshaw and hurl the washing into the machine, I spent the afternoon with the lovely Mr Aristotle Grimswade, aged proprietor of St Christopher Antiques. He’d sold me the
miniature portrait of Luc that is the catalyst for my time travelling, so I owe him and besides, he was an interesting and very sweet man. He had decided to retire, so was selling off stock, some through local auctions, some on-line, and I was helping him with listings.
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.