‘Jane, you considerably underestimate me.’ He indicated a built-in data table. ‘Shop away.’
She hesitated. ‘I don’t have a lot of money . . .’
‘You don’t need any money at all. Just order and it will come.’
‘I . . .’
‘It’s charged to the apartment, dummy. Now, just stand in front of the screen and it’ll scan you for size and colouring. Simply select the stuff you like the look of and it’ll be delivered. Correct size and everything.’
‘But . . .’
‘The concierge will bring it up to you. Get cracking.’
He disappeared. Left alone, Jane sat on the most expensive bed of her life and looked around her. This was easily the most high-end establishment she had ever been inside. The floor was a vast, honey-coloured wooden acreage, randomly scattered with expensive rugs. Huge windows opened on to her own personal veranda together with the roof garden and hot tub Luke had forgotten to mention. This terrace, together with the view of London and the river, had almost certainly added three noughts to the asking price.
Her bathroom had passed luxurious and was approaching sumptuous. There were fixtures and fittings in there of whose purpose she had no idea. Her bed was huge. She could sleep in it for a week and there would still be regions of it she hadn’t yet occupied. The room had everything, including all the electronics – climate control, SmartGlass, and the very latest in entertainment walls. Drawers and wardrobe doors opened smoothly in a manner that was quite unknown to her. And closed themselves when they sensed she’d finished with them.
The doors to the terrace swished silently open as she approached. Stepping outside, London lay before her. Luke’s apartment was in the fashionable Carmelite area with Blackfriars Bridge to her left and Waterloo Bridge to her right.
The sky was low and dark, bulging with rain. She stood for a long time, letting the cold wind blow her hair, just taking everything in. Events had moved so quickly. Just over a week ago, she’d been at Versailles. Then North’s personal disaster. Then the confrontation with Grint’s team. Then a few welcome – although not completely peaceful – hours at St Mary’s with Matthew, where she’d spent most of her time sitting in the sun with a geriatric chicken on her lap and trying to read. Without success, until she’d accidentally discovered that a sleeping chicken makes an ideal bookrest. Now she was here – a stranger in a strange new world. And she missed Angus, whose company was gentle and affectionate and who only occasionally pecked at her or pooed on her jeans.
She’d enjoyed the peace and serenity of St Mary’s – marred only by the brief unpleasantness of Matthew’s dad’s Power-Point presentation, prepared specifically for the benefit of Matthew’s mother, on the correct way to manipulate a tube of toothpaste. This had not been well-received. Views had been expressed and the tube of toothpaste, carefully marked Visual Aid One had, apparently, been the first, but not the most serious, casualty. As Matthew had said – the toothpaste had really hit the fan. Jane was content to have missed it.
And now . . . she was here. She wandered back into the bedroom. The glass doors automatically closed behind her. She didn’t have to do a thing. All the fixtures and fittings were quiet, understated and very, very expensive. And immaculate. Jane looked down at her modest top and jeans. She was lowering property values simply by being here.
Somewhat nervously she approached the data table, which fired itself up as she sat down.
‘Welcome, insert name here.’
Jane couldn’t resist. ‘Luke’s Female Friend Forty-Four.’
‘Welcome, Luke’s Female Friend Forty-Four. What can I show you today?’
‘Um . . . women’s clothing,’ said Jane tentatively.
‘Please specify.’
Jane took a deep breath. ‘Everything.’
Emerging some forty-five minutes later, she found Luke in the kitchen.
‘There’s nothing to eat,’ he announced, ‘obviously, but I’m ordering some stuff in. Anything in particular you want?’
Jane, whose pre-Time Police days had largely consisted of lugging home vast amounts of food as demanded by her grandmother, sighed. Obviously not that much had changed. ‘Something light.’
‘What? What does that mean?’
‘Something not too heavy to carry back. Do you know how much two melons and five pounds of potatoes weigh?’
He stared at her. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Heavy food. Lugging it uphill. Every day. About the only good thing about the Time Police is that they provide food and we don’t have to go out and get it ourselves.’
‘I also provide food,’ said Luke, striking his chest. ‘I am the alpha male of food provision. The ultimate hunter-gatherer.’
‘Oh God, I’ve set you off again, haven’t I?’
Wearing his I’m Luke Parrish and I’m wonderful smirk, he waved his arm in front of the fridge. The door lit up with many, many symbols.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’ll order you potatoes if that’s what you want, Jane, but mostly I was thinking wine . . .’ he tapped the fridge door, ‘some cheese; some nice French bread; ooh yes, croissants for breakfast, I think; eggs and bacon for midnight sandwiches; chocolate, obviously; more wine because they’re having a special; German beer; my favourite paté; coffee; more coffee . . . and some wine.’
The fridge door was chirping and lighting up – a real sound and light show, thought Jane. ‘But you haven’t ordered any real food. There’s nothing to make a meal from.’
He stared around the kitchen. ‘Jane, I am pleased and proud to announce no meal – and I repeat, no meal – has ever been cooked in this kitchen. This is a cooking-free zone.’
‘So how do you eat?’
‘I go out. Like a normal person. Seriously, Jane, who cooks any more?’
‘I do,’ said Jane. ‘Or rather, I did.’ She looked at the giant fridge that was almost certainly more intelligent than she was. ‘I had no idea about any of this.’
‘No, I gathered that. Look, sit down a moment. I want to talk to you.’
They sat at the kitchen table. Luke ran his hands over the surface. ‘I joined the Time Police at this very table.’
‘We should have it inscribed. What did you want to talk to me about?’
‘I’ve been thinking. Specifically, how we should go about this. We deliberately kept things loose. We don’t have any formal plan. We certainly don’t have any formal instructions from Hay – just a general go out there and get them command – but I’ve been thinking.’