Hide in Time (22 page)

~

A few days later, their fortunes were
reversed. Alexandra was the one in bed.

Hide in Time ~ Anna Faversham

Laura switched on her computer, sat
back in her chair and stared out of her office window. The weather
was typically February – cold, grey, drizzling, and infecting
all with gloom. Last month had been awful with snow nearly a foot
deep. She’d even had to cancel an event. Matt told her it had
been one of the worst winters for decades. When she’d first
arrived in the twenty-first century she’d seemed to catch every
snuffle going. Not any more, though it was at this point she became
aware of her nagging sore throat again. It had been hanging around
for about a month and a cough was developing so she’d called in
at the pharmacy yesterday to ask for something to make it go away.
How very fortunate to live in these days of instant cures. Well, in
comparison… They’d sold her a spray and suggested she
see her G.P. Braces and belt, as Matt would say. Or was it the other
way round? She knew there couldn’t be much wrong, not while she
still could laugh at herself for attempting to master the many
nuances of the modern English language. She telephoned for an
appointment and was reassured to get one later that morning. That
swine ’flu was still around so it was better not to put it off.

She hung her jacket on the coat stand
and put on the cosy alpaca wrap that Matt had bought her for
Christmas and snuggled into it, fastening it across her left shoulder
with the brooch he’d also given her. That’s better,
stylish enough, should an unexpected client call, yet warm and
comforting. Summed up Matt really. Others found him aloof but that’s
because they didn’t know him. She took a quick glance at the
photo of Adam stored in her desk drawer, now in a silver frame; he
had been misjudged too.

She began to feel warmer and sat behind
the desk, ready to start work. Her desk was unusually clear; the cold
and snow had discouraged people from getting out and about and
wanting to meet others. Her computer had warmed up too and she
checked her emails. Ten jumped through. She wondered what the correct
terminology was; there were so many more words now than in the
eighteen hundreds and so much more to learn. Such fun. The coffee
machine was frothing and spitting and the aroma of coffee drew her to
the little kitchen. Returning to her desk to start the day’s
work, she was cheered by the sight of one from Carrie, Matt’s
friend. ‘Wake up and smell the coffee,’ she’d said
last time she saw her, whatever that might mean. Laura inhaled; the
coffee smelt good.

It was one of those emails that
circulates forever. As she read it, she remembered she had seen it
before. This seemed to be a slightly altered version but it was worth
reading again.

‘Fleming was a poor farmer and
one day, whilst working in the boggy fields, he heard a child cry out
for help. With some difficulty and risk to himself, the farmer pulled
the sinking boy from the bog, thus saving his life.

‘The following day, a fine
carriage stopped at the farmer’s tumbledown cottage and the
rescued boy’s father introduced himself. In gratitude for
saving his son’s life, he wished to reward the farmer. The
farmer was graciously refusing payment when his own young son came to
the door.

‘The gentleman asked the farmer
if the boy was his own. “Yes,” replied the farmer
proudly.

“I should like to provide your
son with the same education mine will receive. If the boy is like his
father, he will become a man to be proud of.”

‘And so it happened that young
Alexander Fleming attended the best schools and graduated from St
Mary’s Hospital Medical School in London and went on to become
known throughout the world as the discoverer of penicillin.

‘Years later, the same
gentleman’s son, the one saved from sinking in the bog, was
stricken with pneumonia. Penicillin saved his life.

‘The gentleman was Lord Randolph
Churchill; his son – Sir Winston Churchill.’

Laura wondered again if there was any
truth in it. Matt had told her so many times to beware of what came
through on her emails and he’d declared this one to be fiction.
She’d been so disappointed. It had made a good story and,
besides, she’d said to herself, one can learn from fiction too.
Suppose the young Winston Churchill had died in a bog? Wasn’t
he a war hero of some sort? Or the young Alexander Fleming had not
been educated? What would life be like today?

As she was pondering, the intercom
buzzer startled her. It was Matt. He bowled in clutching a box of
chocolates and said they were the very thing to go with her cup of
coffee. “Oh Matt, it’s good to see you. I thought you
were going away.”

“I am,” he replied. “And
that’s why I’ve brought these chocolates. There are
twenty, one for every day I’m gone.” He sniffed the air.
“Coffee smells good. Any chance…?”

“Oh forgive me, Matt, I was a
century away.”

“Well that’s an
improvement. You’re usually two centuries away.”

Laura gave him a wry smile. “Of
course there’s some coffee for you.” She went into the
kitchen and brought out a tray of shortbread biscuits, coffee pot and
cups. “Can I say that?”

“What?”

“Centuries away.”

Matt’s smile lit his eyes. “I
should stick to ‘miles away’ in general conversation,
Laura.”

“Ok, thanks.” She wondered
how many times she’d said thanks to Matt in total, then quickly
changed the subject. “Are you off to somewhere sunny?”

“Your voice sounds a bit husky,
Laura,” Matt said looking at her carefully.

She blushed a little. She never could
hide anything from Matt. “I’ve got an appointment with
the doctor this morning. It’s just a sore throat that’s
been hanging around. Not swine ’flu, I’m sure of that.”

“Have you tried this throat
spray?” he said as he picked up the one she’d purchased
that morning.

“Yes.” She sighed and
explained, “I’m so fed up with the nagging pain when I
swallow, I’ll try anything.”

“That might do the trick, but it
pays to see your G.P. if it’s something that won’t go
away. Like me,” he said with a broad smile. “You can tell
him about me.”

Laura laughed and poured him a cup of
coffee. “So where are you going? You haven’t told me.”

“Ah.” He paused before he
continued, “I’d hoped you might be able to drive me to
the airport for three o’clock, take the Jaguar back to
“Foxhills” and housesit for me.”

“Housesit? But you have
servants.”

“Jeeves will be there but I’ve
given the other staff some time off – to visit the family, that
sort of thing. You don’t have to, of course. But it might be
nice to have Jeeves look after you while you’re not feeling so
good. I thought you might like to read Alexandra Foxley’s
diaries. I’ve brought them from the Foxley Centre to the house
for you and, as the Centre is always closed during February, it
seemed a good time for you to get to know them.”

Laura froze. To read the diaries would
seem like spying on a good friend.

“I’ve been reading them
myself again. She nearly died, you know. I might never have been born
– now there’s something it’s too late to worry
about!”

“Of course I’ll drive you
to the airport,” Laura found herself saying. After all, the
chance to read the diaries was not to be missed. To know what Xandra
thought of Adam… “I’ll have to go to the doctor
first and then maybe the chemist. I don’t think it will matter
if I’m not in the office for the rest of the day,” she
said as she checked her watch.

“You have so little time off,
Laura, and you’re not feeling…”

“You’re right, Matt.”
Laura caught his drift. “I’m not feeling tickety boo,
I’ll take some time off.” Then she added quickly, “But
I can handle all those horses. How many?”

“The Jaguar? Oh around four
hundred.”

“Four hundred horses! Oh bliss.
If only they could see me now. Four hundred Hollies.”

Matt frowned; a little puzzled, a
little worried, it seemed. Laura soon realized it was his car he was
thinking about. He’d long ago learned not to let her linguistic
goofs worry him. “You don’t need to crack the whip,
Laura, they’ll canter along quite well without a heavy hand. Or
foot.”

Laura bustled around clearing and
washing the coffee things. “Do you want to wait here, Matt,
while I visit the doctor?”

“Thanks, but I’ve a few
things to sort out. While I think of it, here are the keys to home
just in case Jeeves isn’t around when you get there.”

As Laura went off to the doctor’s,
she began to feel a bit of a fraud. The spray seemed to be working
well, and the very thought of four hundred horses, the run of
“Foxhills”, the diaries, no cooking and a quiet time at
the office had lifted her spirits from gloom to the moon.

~

“You are wonderful to trust me
with your Jaguar, Matt,” Laura said as they arrived at the
drop-off point at Gatwick airport. She leant across and kissed him on
the cheek. He looked so calm, so casual in his heavy waterproof
jacket and dark chinos.

“You drive better than any woman
I’ve ever known. In fact, I think you could give Lewis Hamilton
a run for his money.”

“I stay on the road! These boy
racers are all over the place.”

Matt laughed as he retrieved two huge
grab bags from the boot and put them down. Then he leaned into the
car, smiled that devastating smile, put his finger under her chin and
tilted her head upwards. “You are the only one I would ever
wait for, you know that, don’t you?”

Blushing, Laura pressed the ignition,
waved, and accelerated rapidly.

~

There’s no doubt about it, Laura
thought as she settled into an armchair that drizzly, cold evening,
“Foxhills” is still the perfect house. She no longer felt
she had to stay away. The time she had been forced to spend there
with Xandra, though disturbing, had helped her to see the house as
now belonging to her friend, Matt – a different person, a
different time. She looked at the fireplace in the sitting room and
closed her eyes. Drat! It was still Adam she visualised standing
there, legs astride. It was like ‘Windows’ on her
computer. Layers. She had only to close the latest window and she
could access the one underneath, the one with Adam. She opened her
eyes, he was still there; she reached out as if to touch him, and a
tear fell onto her skirt. She brushed it away quickly. It had only
just missed the diary she’d opened.

She reached for one of the chocolates
from the box Matt had given her. Where did Jeeves say he’d
gone? Wales? Even though the driving conditions were dreadful it
still seemed a bit odd to fly to Wales. But then Matt was a bit odd –
always disappearing, like Adam. Perhaps that’s why he’d
avoided the question when she’d enquired; she’d only just
noticed. Why must men keep secrets? She put the lid back on the
chocolates and put them out of sight. Jeeves would probably spirit
them away and produce them again tomorrow evening. Would Jeeves ever
marry? He didn’t seem the type. His family had served the
“Foxhills”’ families for generations but those days
were surely gone now?

She put on the white gloves Jeeves had
brought with the diaries and turned to the first few pages. These
were the pages she had read when she’d gone back to see Xandra.
Yes, there it was, nine mentions of Adam in a very short section.
Laura smiled; initially she’d wondered if Xandra and Matt
should link up. That was before she felt the creeping realization of
fate being stronger than she was. The chance, not to bring happiness
to Matt, but to give to Adam the joy of falling in love with someone
he could treasure and admire. Someone who would appreciate him too.
Love him, as she loved him. She blinked away the tears and turned the
pages, flicking to the end. No, she mustn’t do that. The doctor
had given her antibiotics and suggested she might take a few days off
work. There would be plenty of time to read the diaries through from
the beginning.

Jeeves came in with a cup of hot
chocolate, his way of saying it was close to bedtime, no doubt. Laura
wondered if he had read the diaries.

“Indeed, Laura, I have.”

“Matt said something about
Alexandra nearly dying. Do you know whereabouts that is?” She
felt a little cross with herself; she should stick to the plan and
start at the beginning.

Jeeves put his head on one side, as if
he were listening for the answer. “She hadn’t been in the
family long. She contracted a fever. It is thought now that she had
pneumonia.” He thought for a moment then said, “Why I
believe it was in February. February 1815. Try there.”

“Thank you, Jeeves. I shan’t
require anything more tonight. Leave the fire; I’ll make sure I
rake it through.”

“Goodnight, Laura. I’ve set
the alarms but not the internal ones. Just put them on, like I showed
you, when you go upstairs.”

Laura nodded, smiled, then was soon
lost in the diary. She flicked through January noting Xandra had
changed from jewellery-making to writing as it cost less. February.
She’d find today’s date, February 24th. Alexandra’s
handwriting was difficult to decipher and there were still too many
ink blotches to make reading it easy. Not only that but she also
resorted to shorthand sometimes. Matt had warned Laura about this and
said proudly that it was another sign of her genius. The diarist
Pepys also used a shorthand, but Isaac Pitman had chosen to develop
Alexandra’s form, though this was not something they laid claim
to publicly. Laura chuckled; it was the other way round, of course.
Would Matt ever realize? Probably better he doesn’t, she
thought, and began to read.

‘February 24th – Friday:
Feeling much worse. The dry cough hurts my chest. My temperature is
high and my pulse races. Everyone is being so kind. They all look
most concerned.’