‘And here I am,’ finished Imogen triumphantly, effortlessly omitting all the important details of her story.
Luke rejoined the conversation. ‘So, this other bloke . . . ?’
‘Eric.’
‘Eric?’ said Luke incredulously. ‘You’re in a relationship with someone called Eric?’
‘Eric Portman. Son of the Portman of Portman and Webber Technical. Yes, he’s a bit wet but quite nice. He’s almost certainly never stood up his girlfriend to go gambling. Or refused to take her to Monaco. Or two-timed her with that horse-faced . . .’
‘Eric Portman? That . . .’
‘Handsome, well-connected, very rich, powerful man with excellent taste in women? Yes, that Eric . . .’
‘That’s the same wonderful Eric who left you here?’
‘Well, you left me at Grimaud’s. All night, if I remember. If John . . . whatshisname hadn’t come along . . .’
‘I turned my back for five minutes and you pushed off with that . . .’ Luke groped for adequate words.
Imogen smirked. Which might not have been wise.
Luke loomed over her. ‘Well, the boot’s on the other foot now, Immy, because now the wonderful Eric has abandoned you here . . .’
She laughed. ‘No, he hasn’t.’
‘Yes, he has.’
Jane and Matthew could only watch in wonder.
‘He pushed off and left you, you petulant . . .’
‘No, he hasn’t.’
It dawned on Jane that Imogen must think Eric was still somewhere in Restoration London, frantically searching the streets for her, and was waiting for him to appear at any moment, full of contrition and expensive presents.
Luke looked around him in an exaggerated fashion. ‘Oh. Is Eric here and we can’t see him? Let me see – is he over there? Oh – no, he isn’t. Is he over there? Well, what a surprise – again, no.’
‘He can’t have abandoned me, stupid. Look, we had a bit of a disagreement, that’s all, and . . .’
‘That’s not all, Immy.’
‘. . . and he’ll turn up any moment now. We’re going to the theatre.’
She gestured. In the wrong direction.
‘He’s not coming back,’ said Luke, flatly.
‘Yes, he is.’
‘No, he’s not.’
Jane intervened in an effort to propel the conversation in a more constructive direction.
‘I’m afraid he’s not, Imogen. Not coming, I mean.’
For the first time, Imogen appeared uncertain. ‘You mean . . .’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Oh,’ she said, in relief. ‘Got it. He’s sent you instead.’
‘We’re not some bloody nursemaid service for airheads with more money than brains,’ exploded Luke. ‘We’re here to arrest you and take you in.’
‘You can’t arrest me.’
Luke loomed again. ‘Try me.’
‘What for?’
He was thrown. ‘What?’
‘What are you arresting me for?’
Another group of eager theatre-goers swarmed past them. Luke fended them off as best he could, raising his voice in response over the eager chatter. ‘Illegal time travel, Immy. Surely even someone as self-absorbed as you will have noticed it’s against the law.’
She laughed. ‘No, it’s not.’
Luke pointed at his colleagues. ‘Time Police.’ He pointed at her. ‘Time criminal.’
A sudden silence fell around their little group. Jane would not have believed it possible, but somehow, the universe arranged it.
Luke took advantage. ‘This isn’t a game, you know. Did you think that if you ran away then Eric would rescue you like some sort of knight in shining armour? Dear God. Imogen, how manipulative are you? Your mother’s worried sick.’
‘Eric adores me, Luke.’
‘Not when he discovers you’ve involved him with the Time Police, he won’t.’
That hit home. Again, Imogen looked uncertain.
‘Think about it, Immy. Eric tipped off your mother, but he kept his identity secret. As did your mother. You’re the one who let his name slip just now. I’m betting he won’t be quite so adoring when he discovers you’ve grassed him up. And he hasn’t sent anyone to save you. It was your mother who initiated this rescue. Eric’s probably off somewhere having a stiff drink with his mates and congratulating himself on his lucky escape.’
Imogen stepped back. ‘Eric loves me.’ She lifted her chin defiantly. ‘And I love him.’
‘Oh, come on, Imogen. You don’t love anyone. You don’t have it in you and I’m bloody certain this prat Eric doesn’t either.’
She flushed with rage. ‘Just because you . . .’
‘Yes, as you’ve already pointed out – many times actually – I’m selfish and self-centred and care only for myself. You’re just pissed off because I’m even more selfish and self-centred than you.’
‘I think we should marry them off,’ whispered Matthew to Jane. ‘Take them both out of circulation. Think of the favour we’d be doing the world.’
At this point, Jane still carried a faint hope that they could persuade Imogen to return peacefully to their pod. Sadly, this was shattered by Luke’s next words.
‘Imogen, you imbecile, it’s not love. Men like him don’t marry girls like you. His parents will see to that. He’s the heir to Portman and Thingummy. Minor royalty is the very least they’ll be aiming for, not some here-today-gone-tomorrow politician’s daughter. You really do have to rid yourself of this idea you’re the centre of the universe. In fact, I wouldn’t mind betting that your tantrums have pushed your Eric so far that when you so spitefully rejected him and flounced off, he seized the opportunity to reject you as well. And who could blame him? I suspect he was dazzled by you – as so many are,’ Luke added bitterly, ‘and because you’re too stupid to keep your petty nature to yourself, the scales fell from his eyes and today was the final straw. He went to a lot of trouble bringing you here and you’ve publicly humiliated him.
‘And,’ he continued, well into his stride by now, picking up speed and seemingly oblivious to Jane’s attempts to rein him in, ‘don’t make the mistake of thinking you’ll fall on your feet here. Trust me – you won’t last ten minutes. You haven’t the faintest idea of the position of women in this society, and by the time you do, it’ll be far too late.’ He gestured to her blue silk dress. ‘Someone might think you’re rich and well-connected . . .’