‘No idea,’ said Matthew. ‘Do you want us to bag it and take it back?’
‘No.’ He retracted his baton and hung it off his belt. ‘Back to the pod, I think.’
Imogen folded her arms. ‘What sort of a moron are you, Parrish? I keep telling you – I’m not going back with you. Eric will rescue me.’
No one could say Luke Parrish wasn’t a fast learner. In a flash Imogen was on the ground, hands zipped in front of her and in an even more furious temper than before. If such a thing were possible.
‘Parrish, I swear . . .’
‘Shut up, Imogen. Do you even understand why those women were beating you up?’
‘How the hell should I know? I rescued myself from your attempt to kidnap me and ran. I stopped for breath and to get my bearings and a woman shouted at me. Then another. Then their friends turned up and the next moment I was on the ground.’
‘Thought so,’ said Luke.
‘What do you mean – thought so?’
‘Amateur prostitution, Imogen.’
‘What?’
‘They don’t like it.’
‘Who don’t like what?’
Matthew glanced at Jane and raised an eyebrow. She shook her head, mystified.
Luke pulled Imogen to her feet. ‘They thought you were muscling in on their patch.’
‘What?’
He sighed. ‘Prostitutes have their own particular areas.’ He added hastily, ‘Or so I’m told. Usually it’s all negotiated by their pimps. They tell me. Everyone takes a very dim view of an amateur turning up and claiming another prostitute’s patch for herself. Justice is swift and painful.’
Imogen was incensed. ‘They thought I was . . .’
‘They did. They would have killed you.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘You just haven’t got a bloody clue about the real world, have you, Imogen?’
‘How could they . . . ?’
‘Well, look at yourself.’
Imogen looked down at her stained dress. Her once carefully styled ringlets hung in snarls around her face.
‘You’re looking a bit rough, Immy, and you’ve only been here a couple of hours. Imagine the state of you this time tomorrow. If you lived that long, of course.’
‘I didn’t look like this until you turned up, Luke Parrish.’
‘Immy . . .’
‘Dear God, how many times must I tell you not to call me that.’ She raised her voice. ‘Help! Help!’
Luke pushed her against the wall and covered her mouth with his hand. They waited apprehensively, but fortunately 17th-century London was a lawless place and something as trivial as a woman shouting for help in a sinister side street could safely be ignored.
Very, very slowly, Luke removed his hand.
‘Let me go, you bastards.’ She took a deep breath to scream and Luke hastily replaced his hand.
‘Do you think she means us?’ said Jane to Matthew, neither of them showing any inclination to go to their leader’s aid.
‘Oh no,’ said Matthew. ‘We’re lovely people, remember?’
Imogen was pounding on Luke’s chest.
‘Immy, for God’s sake, use your loaf. I’m armoured. All you’re doing is hurting yourself. Calm down.’
She held his gaze furiously for one moment, then nodded.
Very, very slowly, Luke removed his hand.
‘You arrogant bastard,’ she screamed. ‘Who the fu—’
‘Now, now, Immy. We don’t use that sort of language here. We prefer the term fire truck. You know – starts with f and ends in uck. Perfect for use in mixed company.’
Imogen absorbed this seamlessly. ‘Who the fire truck do you think you are?’
‘We are the Time Police,’ said Luke, slightly puzzled. ‘Hadn’t you noticed? You know – long black cloaks, sinister expressions and . . .’
‘And sweet Fanny Adams for brains.’
‘That’s rather offensive, Immy.’
‘Don’t call me that.’
‘Immy . . . ogen . . . look . . .’
‘I don’t want to worry anyone,’ said Jane, who had walked to the end of the street, ‘but I think reinforcements might be on their way.’
‘Good,’ stormed Imogen.
‘We need to get back to our pod,’ said Luke. ‘And I should warn you, Imogen, that damage to Time Police personnel will be taken into account when determining the length of your sentence.’
‘I won’t go to prison,’ said Imogen smugly. ‘Mummy will never allow it. Now get off me, you great lump.’
‘You really have no idea how much trouble you’re in, do you?’ said Luke, pushing her along in front of him. ‘I’m sorry, but this is official now and even your mother won’t be able to get you out of this.’
There was a moment’s shocked silence. Imogen stopped and turned to face him.
‘I don’t believe you,’ she said uncertainly.
Luke shrugged. ‘Don’t care whether you do or not. The fact is, you dozy bint, you’re going to prison. And for a very long time.’
‘I can’t go to prison,’ she said, half-laughing in disbelief. ‘I’ve got things to do.’
‘Well, I’m sure they’ll take the damage to your social life into account when passing sentence.’
‘You bastard, Parrish. This is your revenge, isn’t it? Because I dumped you.’
‘I think you’ll find, Immy, if you consult your one brain cell, that I dumped you. In the middle of the Ingrams’ party. Remember?’
‘I remember chucking a glass of champagne at you and telling you I never wanted to see you again. Ever. And yet, here you are. Again. Ballsing everything up as usual.’
‘You know,’ said Matthew, quietly to Jane, ‘I’m beginning to see why the relationship didn’t prosper.’
‘I am not the criminal here, Imogen.’
‘I’m not a criminal! You can shout and stamp your little foot and swirl your girlie cloak, Parrish, but I’m not going anywhere. You, on the other hand, are going to find yourself looking down the wrong end of Mummy’s solicitors.’
‘Immy – get it through your thick skull. We’re the Time Police. We’re utter bastards. Nothing frightens us – least of all some dim floozy with more money than sense who thinks she’s immune because of Mummy. You’ve gone too far this time, Immy. Literally. Mummy sent us to bring you back and back you’re going, and, for the first time ever in your sad and empty life, you’ll face the consequences of your actions.’