Hide in Time (4 page)

“What about the man on the
inside? He got away, the police said. Did you see him?”

“Not really; he was out of my
league; like something from an action thriller – and also
disguised by a balaclava which I hadn’t a hope of getting
near.”

“Xandra, I feel honoured to help
a heroine. I’ve never seen anyone move so fast. And,”
Laura paused, “I’ve never moved so slowly.”

Xandra smiled. “It’s not
often I use my Jitsu training and now I’ve used it twice since
I met you.” She laughed and hobbled towards the disinfecting
stations with Laura following. “I didn’t think I needed a
transfusion, it seems I lost more blood than I realized. I was more
worried about embedded glass but they said it’s all removed and
going to heal well.”

“Well, I’ll take you home
and you must have a quiet day.”

“I’d sort out a few more
villains if I had the chance.”

“You are a rarity, Xandra,”
Laura said in a way that failed to disguise her admiration.

“So’s my blood. It’s
Rhesus A negative.”

Laura momentarily closed her eyes as
her head reeled and her knees felt weak.

“Laura, are you ok? You look as
though you might faint.”

“No, I’m fine, really I
am.”

“I thought perhaps you didn’t
like the mention of blood.”

Should she tell her? What purpose would
it serve for Xandra to know all she suspected? None. All these
strange feelings and happenings might stem from nothing more than a
series of coincidences. It was just a shock to find they both had the
same blood group, that’s all.

“You don’t look too well,
Laura. Would you like me to drive? I have the same car, it’s
even the same colour,” Xandra said with a smile.

Well it would be, wouldn’t it.

“I chose a Micra because it was
assembled in Britain,” Xandra said. “I’m not yet
resigned to the loss of the Empire.”

Laura smiled; she had chosen her Micra
for the very same reasons. She couldn’t possibly have a French
car; Napoleon was French. “I’ll be fine, I really will.”
She unlocked the car and removed a paperback from the passenger seat.

“‘On Chesil Beach,’
Xandra commented. “I’ve been meaning to read that.”

“You’re welcome to borrow
it.”

“Thomas Hardy called Chesil Beach
Dead Man’s Cove – such an evocative name for a place
which caused so many shipwrecks,” said Xandra. “I was
reading, just the other day, The Alexander was wrecked there at
Easter, 1815. Only five people saved and none of them spoke English
so none could give an account of what really happened. Imagine being
washed ashore and not being able to explain.”

“Frustrating, to say the very
least. Life-changing, that’s for sure.” Laura shuddered
as she sat behind the wheel. Somehow she must keep going. “You
read a lot, don’t you Xandra?”

“Yes. I wish Jane Austen had
written more. I immerse myself in her world.”

Laura put the key in the ignition and
started the engine. The radio came on.

“I love this one,” said
Xandra.

The Byrds’ old hit was playing,
with its quotes from Ecclesiastes. “To Everything There Is a
Season.”

“And a time to every purpose
under the heaven,” continued Xandra.

Laura felt quite sick but could not
stop herself voicing her thoughts in an inappropriately portentous
tone, “The Word of God.”

“I am reminded constantly,”
Xandra said lightly.

“What?”

“The words of God. I live next to
a church with one of those notice boards that carries what they hope
will be eye-catching quotations or messages. I’m afraid I’m
a lost cause. The current one has me mulling over past times rather
than anything godly. The pace of life seemed more leisurely and
occasionally I wish I’d been born… I’m not sure
when – certainly not in Biblical times but perhaps in the
Regency era. But, here we are, trapped in our busy lives, in a time
of plenty – even in a recession – yet so short of time.”

They were still stationary in the car
park. Laura knew that somehow, with enormous effort, she must put
everything else out of her mind and drive this suddenly spirited
Xandra home.

As they pulled up outside Xandra’s
flat, Laura could see the church notice board. There was a picture of
the latest Doctor Who on the left side of the poster with the
caption, ‘The Current Time Lord’. On the right hand side
was a picture of Jesus with the caption, ‘The original Lord of
Time’. If confirmation were needed, this was it, thought Laura.
Something strange was happening. If she could get off this train, she
would, but it had gathered too much speed now.

Hide in Time ~ Anna Faversham

It was September 26th, the day of the
Pirates’ Party, and the last thing that Laura wanted was to be
dealing with bookings from people who were not even clients. Yet,
here she was with a persistent man on the phone pressing her to allow
him to attend.

“I’m sorry, but it’s
for clients only.”

“I’ve completed the form
you sent.”

“What did you say your name was?”

“Barry, Barry Bolton.”

Laura was puzzled. She was absolutely
sure she had not had an enquiry from a Barry Bolton. “Where did
you obtain it from?”

“I rang. Long time ago now,
perhaps you’ve forgotten me.”

It wasn’t a question; it was a
forlorn statement. Indeed, she had forgotten this man. Perhaps
everyone did. “Ok then Barry, if I give you all the details,
you can join us for this evening and then we can consider full
membership after that. I need you to bring your signed application
form, your payment, and something like a Driving Licence to confirm
your identity and address. You will not be allowed on board without
them.”

This was a mistake. She was sure of it.
A moment of compassion for this sorry-sounding soul had overruled her
instincts. Or was it her lack of time? Time! She had none for further
consideration. She must change into her long flouncy skirt, grab her
camera, and get to the boat.

~

As she approached, she could see that
the owners of the paddle steamer had put a great deal of effort into
turning their ‘Maid of the River’ into ‘Redbeard’s
Revenge’. Laura thanked them then positioned herself at the
foot of the gangplank to welcome the guests. She wished Matt had
shown some enthusiasm and been persuaded to come; he ‘didn’t
like pirates’ he’d said. She guessed that Nick, Xandra’s
original date, would be first and yes, here he was, way ahead of the
others, striding down the towpath. What a sight! He was wearing a red
scarf wrapped around his head and tied at the back, an earring, a
white grandpa style shirt open at the neck, a black jerkin, and blue
and white vertically striped trousers. He was toting a pair of
pistols in his leather belt which, on seeing he’d caught
Laura’s eye, he began twirling around his fingers before taking
aim at some nearby waddling ducks.

“What do you call a pirate who
steals from the rich and gives to the poor?”

Laura wasn’t any good with jokes.
She was always relieved if she even got them, so the ensuing silence
had to be filled by Nick.

“Robin Hook.”

Laura looked puzzled.

Nick tried again. Solemnly he adjusted
his eye patch. “I was going to wear two eye patches but I
didn’t want anyone to think I was ‘Oirish’.”

“Oh no, I suppose I’m going
to be giggling all night,” laughed Laura, delighted to find she
understood.

“Arrrrrrrr, here comes Mary. I’ll
have to stop the Irish jokes now or she’ll be telling me off.”

“That’s why you tell them,
you naughty man.”

As Mary hurried towards them, Laura
greeted her, “Hi Mary, welcome on board. You’ve met Nick
before, I know, but never looking so menacing, I hope.” Laura
watched as they exchanged a nod and Mary cautiously crossed the
gangplank after the striding Nick. Mary, dressed as a serving wench
was, Laura assured herself, certain to hit it off with Nick. She’d
brought a large parrot (‘not a real one’ she’d
hastily said as Laura peered at it closely) and she was now
attempting to fix it to Nick’s shoulder. Yes, they were a good
match. Years of happiness coming up.

A rabble of pirates and wenches arrived
with a few princesses for ‘eye candy’ as Nick kept saying
to provoke Mary into whacking him. Laura had prepared herself for
Xandra wearing an identical outfit to her own but she wasn’t.
Xandra had opted for a striped T-shirt and black knee breeches with
shiny gold buttons. It flashed through Laura’s mind that
perhaps she always wore trousers so that if she needed to defend
herself, or rescue someone, she wasn’t hampered by a skirt.
Maybe she wasn’t so wedded to the nineteenth century as Laura
had begun to hope. Perhaps the wistful thoughts Xandra had fostered
were attractive only from the comforts of the twenty-first century.
Laura’s welcoming smile masked the thought, What if I’ve
got this all wrong? “Good to see you looking so well, Xandra,
and minus your protection officer, I see.”

Xandra glanced over her shoulder, “Oh
he’s not far away, I’ve left him on that bench there. He
said I’d be fine on board as the boat doesn’t stop
anywhere and I’d be surrounded by lots of known people. If
there is a problem, we can phone him for help. Here’s his
number.”

Laura made a note on her file. “If
you are worried at all, please let me know. Should be all right
though – your old friends are here, Andy and Nick, though I’m
afraid you’re too late for Art now – he’s met
someone.”

Xandra caught sight of Nick with the
parrot on his shoulder and smiled, “I think he’s found
someone too by the looks of the girl patting the parrot.” They
both enjoyed watching them for a moment. “Oh by the way, I’ve
finished the silver ring you asked me to make. I’m wearing it
around my neck tonight, so I cannot ask you to pay for it. It will be
my gift to you for looking after me so well at the hospital.”

“Xandra – you can’t…”

“I can.”

“Oh how kind. How very kind.”
Laura looked down at her empty ring finger. The original was locked
in her jewel box and she had trusted only Xandra to see it.
Bittersweet memories flooded her thoughts but she swept them away –
she must put her energies into the party. Laura sometimes received
cards, flowers or chocolates but a silver ring was too much,
especially as she had not found anyone for Xandra. Not yet.

“Your ring is very unusual,
Laura. I’ve never seen one like it before. Antique in style,
yet clearly quite new. Did you have it made?”

Laura looked away. She had forgotten
that the hallmark would alert Xandra to the date it was made. She’d
rather not answer but Xandra had touched on a little bit of her
history she’d rather keep to herself, so she just muttered,
“Cornell’s made it.”

This was not a subject to be pursued on
a party night – she had guests to think of. She checked her
watch. Time to cast off. No sign of that pushy new chap she was
relieved to note. But just as the gang plank was about to be pulled
away a stocky pirate, maybe forty years old, with a patch, a red
scarf tied round his head, a stripey jumper, and a brace of pistols
leapt aboard. “I’m Barry,” he said grinning. He’d
blacked out some of his teeth; he was not a pretty sight. “I’ve
got me identification and I’ve brought cash. Are you Laura?”

“I am,” said Laura as she
looked at the Driving Licence and the photo thereon. Hmm, she
thought, I suppose that’s him. The name was the same, so she
relaxed. She took the proffered envelope. “I don’t
usually take cash, Barry; a cheque confirms identification. Is this
the application?”

“Yeah. I’ve filled it in
right. Least I think so.” He grinned at her again. She wished
he wouldn’t.

Her business head told her he was most
likely a pirate in real life in one way or another, yet she felt she
should give him a chance. Everyone deserved another opportunity to
start afresh; hadn’t she been granted that? “You can tell
me all about yourself some other time, Barry. Let me introduce you to
one or two people now.”

“I’ll just get meself a
drink first.” He disappeared inside the boat and headed towards
the bar.

She wished Matt was here. Andy came
towards her. “Is everything all right, Laura? You look a little
worried.”

“Oh Andy, thanks. I expect I’m
worrying for nothing as usual. How are you?”

Andy touched Laura’s arm lightly,
“I’m here if you should need me. If you come across any
fish out of water, I’m here to throw them back in again,”
he said clutching his black, pirate hat and bowing low.

Laura smiled, comforted by Andy’s
thoughtfulness. All would be well, she reminded herself. Andy, Nick
and Xandra could deal with any drunken buccaneers.

The paddleboat steamed slowly along the
river. The late September sun was sinking dramatically into the water
and the lights on the bridges added sparkle to the glow. The splendid
buffet had reduced by plate-loads every time Laura checked. Great –
it was being enjoyed. Several female guests were sitting on the
fringe of the dancing, hoping. The men were taking their time; she’d
have to encourage them. The band was good, better than she’d
dared hope, everyone said the drummer looked like David Beckham, and
that, apparently, was good. She eased her way through to the bar
where many of the men were standing. “You mustn’t stand
here looking like the only thing you’re interested in is the
booze, you know,” said Laura to two of the men leaning on the
bar. “You must show off your fine qualities. We ladies don’t
bite.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you
did,” flashed back one of them.

Laura giggled. She was used to her male
clients and their banter. It never strayed into the coarse; they
always treated her with respect. She often played the ‘school
teacher’ enabling her to say in a jocular fashion what needed
to be said. “Come with me, you two, and let me introduce you to
a few of the ladies over there who would clearly love to dance.”