‘Before, during or after?’ enquired Matthew, curiously.
‘What?’ said Luke, temporarily confused.
‘Before, during or after Imogen doing the biz?’
‘At the first opportunity, obviously.’
Matthew wouldn’t let it go. ‘Only if we try our luck before, then she’ll be too busy trying to hold it in to listen to us. And if we approach her during, then she’ll scream her head off. And if we try afterwards, then she’ll accuse us of being a bunch of perverts and hit you over the head with the nearest handcart.’
‘Why will she hit me?’
‘Because Jane and I will be half a mile away by then.’
‘I think,’ said Luke, ‘we should employ the same tactics we used in Australia to capture the rampant rabbit.’
Matthew blinked. ‘What – Jane hits herself over the head with a rake and you nearly get us arrested for child molesting? Those tactics?’
‘No. Obviously. I mean we simply bide our time and await an opportunity. Seize the moment, so to speak.’
Matthew innocently enquired which they should seize first. Imogen or the moment.
Luke declined to respond and they went back to watching the crowds again.
‘It’s nearly three,’ said Jane, anxiously. She consulted her scratchpad. ‘The play will start at three. Even allowing for fashionable lateness . . .’
‘Who are all these people?’ said Luke in exasperation, staring about him at the people still flocking towards the theatre. ‘Why aren’t they all as culturally deficient as the people in our time? Why aren’t theatre prices beyond the reach of the hoi polloi as they are in better-ordered societies? Why don’t they all have jobs they should be doing, thus enabling us to walk off with Imogen before anyone – including the half-witted, pain in the arse herself – realises what’s going on?’
‘That’s a little unkind, Luke,’ said Jane.
‘She’s an upper-class Englishwoman,’ said Luke, impatiently. ‘She’s been bred to look good on a horse and that’s about the limit of her accomplishments. And even then, the horse is doing most of the work.’
‘I heard that,’ said a voice behind them.
5
Jane’s first thought was, what could possibly have attracted Imogen Farnborough to Luke Parrish? Yes, she was a spoiled little rich girl – lines of discontent were already carving themselves at the corners of her mouth, and her default expression appeared to be that of a thwarted kitten – but her eyes, a deep brown beneath fashionably thick brows, were quick and intelligent. Brains were not usually high on Luke’s list of requirements for the ideal woman.
Imogen’s dark hair was done up in a knot on top of her head with corkscrew curls falling around her face and Jane could see the AI had nailed the sartorial details – she was indeed dressed in a long blue dress with a big skirt, its hem already dark with dirt and wet.
To be fair, Luke did his best to be conciliatory. ‘Hey, Imogen. Looking good.’
‘What the hell are you doing here, Parrish? I’m almost certain the words I never want to see you again were uttered during our final conversation. By me,’ she added, just in case anyone was in any doubt. ‘Many times.’
‘We’ve come to rescue you, Immy.’
She put her hands on her hips. ‘Don’t call me that. Unless you want me to resume calling you Loo and tell everyone why.’
It began to dawn on both Matthew and Jane that Luke might not have been the ideal choice for this mission after all. Stepping forwards, Jane said, ‘Hello. I’m Jane. We’ve been sent to . . .’ she paused, changed what she had been about to say and amended it to, ‘look for you.’
Imogen stared them up and down. ‘You’re the Time Police. Bloody hell, Parrish – you’re Time Police now? Jesus – whatever did they do to deserve that?’
‘Yes, we are Time Police,’ said Jane, ‘and . . .’
‘I can’t believe it,’ Imogen continued, circling Luke. ‘Although I’ve got to say the uniform suits you. Was that why you chose it?’
‘Not the entire reason,’ said Luke, stiffly. ‘Anyway, we’re here to . . .’
He broke off as someone pushed past him, causing him to stagger.
Imogen took advantage. ‘I’m not going anywhere with you.’
Luke regained his balance. ‘You don’t have a choice, Imogen. By the powers vested in . . .’
He was buffeted by a woman carrying a basket of fish well past their sell-by date. The smell, sadly, was at peak performance.
Imogen laughed. ‘Do you know how ridiculous you sound?’ She looked at Matthew and Jane. ‘Not you two. I’m sure you’re lovely people. No offence.’
‘None taken,’ said Matthew. ‘And we are. Is there any chance of hearing more about why you broke up with Luke?’
‘Absolutely none,’ snapped Luke, attempting to regain lost authority. ‘Immy . . . ogen, we’ve been sent by . . .’
‘We’re here to make sure you’re here by your own choice,’ said Jane quickly, realising that disclosing parental involvement might not play well just at this moment. ‘Some of these . . . um . . . time travel organisations . . . can be a little bit . . . well . . . casual. I’m sure you understand that it’s our duty to make sure you haven’t been callously abandoned. Marooned here against your will. By someone who just took the money and ran, perhaps.’ She paused hopefully for Imogen to avail herself of this opening.
‘Oh no,’ said Imogen, airily. ‘Nothing like that. They were very good.’
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ said Jane. ‘Perhaps you could give us some details, just to put our minds at rest, and then we can be on our way.’
A gaggle of women, all talking nineteen to the dozen, elbowed their way through their group. ‘Sure,’ said Imogen, retreating back into a convenient doorway and leaving the other three to be battered to death by eager 17th-century theatre-goers. ‘I met someone – he was much nicer than you, Luke – and after we’d been together for a while, he said did I want to do something exciting and I said yes and here I am.’
‘Oh?’ said Jane. ‘So, these people approached you and your friend?’
‘Well, we were given a time and a place to meet – by someone who knew someone. You know how these things work . . .’
Jane nodded, hoping very much she was giving the impression of someone who knew exactly how these things worked.