Flirting With Forever (29 page)

Peter clapped his hands together. “There you have it. A prettier invitation a man could not desire.”

The elevator dinged, and Cam pressed the security button. When the door slid open, she leaned in and pressed 1. “ ’Bye.”

Peter made a courtly bow and stepped through the door.

Jeanne giggled again. “You know who he reminds me of

? Cary Grant.”

Cam smacked her forehead. “Christ,” she muttered, then barked “No!” at Peter when she caught him eyeing the buttons. “Don’t touch anything. Just get out when the door opens.”

Jeanne squawked, “Oh, wait!” as the doors drifted closed, and lunged to get an arm in but Cam blocked it.

“Now what?” Cam demanded when the DOWN button went dark. “Were you planning to ask him to the prom?”

“Your key,” Jeanne said, crossing her arms. “He’s got it.”

Jeanne waved at the Carnegie’s night guard and made her way down the long hal way. Eight on a Thursday, and she hadn’t even logged on. If she were going to pass Biology and get a degree, she had better stop being the backstop for every weird problem her boss couldn’t field, get her ass in that chair and start the virtual frog dissection.

She tugged open the door that led to the administrative wing. When she got to the office door, she stopped. A narrow strip of light was visible along the carpet.

Jeanne hadn’t left the lights on, and even if she had left them on, she knew they stil should be off. To save energy, the lights worked on movement. When you turned a light on, it stayed on as long as there was movement in the room.

After ten minutes of no movement, it went off.

Slowly Jeanne angled herself to look in the door’s side window.

A tal , skinny bald man stood, slightly dazed, peering at Cam’s books and rubbing his head, and the fact that he seemed to be nursing a broken nose would have been far more interesting to Jeanne if he hadn’t also been wearing puffy wool culottes and the second Adam Ant shirt she’d seen in the last three hours.

“No. Freaking. Way.”

Peter saw the shadow cross his table and looked up.

“‘Rage Against the Machine’? A bold sentiment, Mertons, for a man clawing his way to the top of the Time-jump Accountants’ Guild.” He shoved a chair open with his foot and gestured toward it, then, turning to the coffeehouse’s publican, cal ed, “Aldo, one of these marvelous coffees for my friend.”

“Dammit, Peter, the Guild is going to be furious.”

Mertons wiped his glasses on his shirt. “You’ve gone too far.”

Peter looked at the sticklike legs extending from the shiny blue drawers his friend was wearing. “Your calves are admirable, to be sure, but next time might I suggest slightly longer hose? Either that or a considerably warmer cloak—

especial y in this weather.” He nodded toward the rain sheeting down beyond the shop window that framed the dark street.

“This is no time for a joke. They have already issued a condemnation.”

“I reel from the blow. Speaking of blows, I hope mine did not importune you too much. It seemed the most expedient path at the time.”

Mertons grunted and brushed several drops of water from his brow. Peter hadn’t expected him quite so soon, though he had already decided his arrival would not change his plan.

“You have no idea the power they wield,” Mertons continued. “Would you care to be reborn as an Assyrian slave? Or perhaps one of the soldiers in the Second Punic War? Or here?” Mertons gave his outfit a look of mild disgust, and when Peter didn’t respond he added, “You wil never paint again. And they can ensure you remember that you did. Peter, they can ensure you remember everything

… forever.”

Peter felt the budding of a smal fear. He did not know the ful extent of the Guild’s power, though he had heard they had a tendency toward vindictiveness when crossed.

While he would sacrifice any happiness his own future might hold, there was one thing he would not risk. “Can they touch Ursula?” he asked hesitantly.

The accountant col apsed into the chair beside him and sighed. For a long moment he said nothing.

“Mertons?”

“I don’t know, Peter. I … I am not aware of it happening before. Such an act would be quite complicated and is technical y beyond the purview of the Guild.”

“But?”

“But I did hear a rumor that one of the Guild members suggested it.”

“Bloody bastards.” A cool, focused anger formed in Peter’s gut.

“Peter, you have no idea what you’ve done. Travel to the future is not like travel to the past. The past is set. It’s known. Changing it takes enormous effort. Travel to the future is different. The factors are far more fluid, more susceptible to change, and a very little push can have a very large effect.”

“Then it looks as if I’l have to do my pushing with care.”

“Dammit, this isn’t some prank. You are not a time-jump accountant. You have no training. You haven’t run a single simulation for this era. You haven’t the faintest idea what the parameters are to which you must adhere.”

“What impact is her book going to have? Is the Guild not concerned about that?”

“The new vector she’s started down was formed in the past, a place over which we have a modicum of control. I told you, we don’t rol dice with the future. The parameters specifical y forbid—”

“Stuff the parameters. She’s writing about Ursula. I’m going to stop her.”

Mertons heaved his chest. “I’m afraid we cannot al ow it.

And as far as going from here to 1673—and don’t look at me like that. I am certainly smart enough to see you are planning to go back to Charles—you may forget it. The Guild has shut down al time tubes indefinitely, except for one, and that one they are monitoring closely.”

If Mertons had wanted to return Peter’s punch, he couldn’t have done better than this. How many times could Peter fail her?

“Furthermore,” Mertons said, “they wil bring you back, forcibly if necessary.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, if the Guild had the power to force me to return, you’d be frog-marching me into their council room as we speak.”

Silence. Mertons looked at his feet.

Peter lifted his mug. “As I thought.”

Mertons dropped his head into his hands, and Peter considered what he could salvage from this adventure. He sensed the smal sketchbook in his pocket, and thought of the letter it held, the letter he would use if al else failed. It shamed him even to consider such an unscrupulous act—a letter that would destroy her career—but he consoled himself with the fact that an alternate plan, a plan with which Mertons might help him, should be enough to render the plan involving the letter unnecessary.

“Don’t despair, my friend,” Peter said after a moment. “I have a deal for you.”

“A deal?” Mertons looked up.

“Aye. You help me. I help you.”

Mertons covered his nose reflexively. “You’re not going to hit me again, are you?”

“No, no. Nothing like it. How would you like to be credited with negotiating my return?”

“Since I’l lose my job if I don’t, I can honestly say I would.”

“Wel , we can’t have you losing your job, now can we?

’Twil require only a few essentials. Nothing the Guild can’t afford.” Peter smiled.

Mertons looked slightly dizzy. “You’re going to blackmail the Guild?”

“Blackmail’s an ugly word. Think of it as facilitating the most efficient return possible.”

“What, pray tel , do you require?”

“You wil want to make a list.”

As the publican placed a steaming mug on the table, Mertons took the pencil and piece of paper Peter offered him, al the while moving his lips silently, as if in prayer, though his expression was far from ecclesiastical.

“I’m ready.”

“Very wel ,” said Peter. “’Tis simple. I want a studio, a dozen bolts of canvas and enough lead white paint to fil the Thames.”

“There’s a man upstairs in the loft for you,” Jacket said as he pressed the security button to cal the elevator.

“Real y?” Cam searched his eyes for a hint but found none.

Jacket had taken to greeting her in the lobby each night when she got off her bus, sometimes even with a much-appreciated glass of wine. The 44U entered Mt. Lebanon where the two big churches sat, at the peak of Washington Road. She had exited there and walked the last quarter mile to her building, past the cemetery where her father was buried, past the hardware store, past the Japanese restaurant, whose sushi she and Jacket loved so much. It was a great way to unwind. The last couple weeks before the opening of an exhibition were always hard, and though everything was coming together, she was glad the long workday was over and al she had to worry about was getting Ursula into the sack, creatively speaking, with Peter.

Not that it was al that hard, after al . She knew how persuasive Peter could be when he put his mind to it.

“A man?” she said, juggling the wine and her laptop bag.

“Who?”

“Dunno. Didn’t give his name. Says he’s a friend of yours.”

Her heart did a lurch, and then she remembered Jacket and Peter had already met. Whoever the man upstairs was, it wasn’t Peter.

When the door opened in the penthouse, Cam saw Peter’s nosy apprentice, Mertons, sitting on the edge of her couch. For an instant she didn’t know what to say. She knew he’d arrived shortly after Peter, for Jeanne had told her so. She also knew Jeanne had brought him to Aldo’s.

But that had been a week ago. Where he’d been in the last week, she had no idea. He was dressed in a somber gray suit with a crisp white shirt and a tie so subdued it made regimental stripes look like fluorescent tie-dye. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear he was an accountant.

She looked at Jacket, then back at Mertons, waiting for a clue on the backstory Jacket had been handed.

Mertons cleared his throat and stood. “Gregory Mertons.

Do you remember our appointment? Sorry to arrive so late.

I’m on my way to the airport.”

Was he supposed to be a pilot? A chauffeur? The new breed of British middle-class terrorist? She looked at the briefcase at his feet as wel as a huge, oversized suitcase next to the fireplace. “Um …”

“I’m here to discuss the insurance you asked about.

Whole life?” He returned to his seat.

“Riiiiiiight.” She dropped her laptop bag on the table, hugged the wine a little closer and said to Jacket. “Sorry, I, uh, forgot.”

Jacket gave her a questioning look. “Insurance?”

She shrugged. “You’re welcome to join us. I’m trying to decide between whole life and term. I want to be covered, you know, with renewable or decreasing term, but I also keep thinking of the cash value. I asked Mr. Mertons to run a few different scenarios for me—”