Clever, thought Jane. Engage people’s interest now and then get them booked for the return trip to see the completed building. She wondered how many trips Imogen and Eric had taken. And, come to think of it, whether anyone back at TPHQ was chasing up Eric Portman. He shouldn’t be allowed to escape. Or would Hay wait until this particular mission was over with? He would almost certainly be under observation, but the Time Police wouldn’t want to frighten him off. They’d leave him where he was. For the time being.
She sighed and sank deeper into her seat, feeling the tiredness wash over her. Sitting in the warm darkness brought home to her how completely she’d underestimated the strain of undercover work. The constant vigilance. They’d had weeks of it. The never-ending need to watch everything they said and did. Always behaving as another character. Her job was exhausting.
Speaking of which, she sighed again and pulled herself back into the present. Or rather, the past.
‘Um . . .’ she said, feeling her face take on its familiar flush. Nearly six months in the Time Police and they still hadn’t cured her of that. It looked as if she were stuck with it for life. She assumed a hopeful expression. ‘Um . . . would we ever be able to go outside and experience another Time for ourselves?’
Mr Geoffrey beamed at her with rare approval. She’d obviously asked the right question. ‘Yes, perhaps, but obviously we have to take very great care of our valued clients. We never take any chances on their first jumps. We have our three periods – Ancient Greece, Ancient Rome and Ancient Egypt. We offer a glimpse of Cleopatra, or the victory parade of Ramses after the Battle of Kadesh, or an opportunity to explore the mysteries of the Sphinx. We know the safe times and places and we stick to those. We don’t, for instance, want to drop our guests in the middle of the St Bartholomew’s Day massacre or the Crusaders sacking Constantinople in 1204 or the early 20th-century Boxer Rebellion. And for some people – many people – this is enough. I should also mention that although it is still early morning out there, it is already very hot. Temperatures will climb to around forty degrees, which I think everyone will agree is not pleasant. Much nicer to stay inside and watch others sweat. Time travel isn’t for everyone, you know, but for anyone who’s still interested, there are many options available.’ He smiled again. ‘Everything is possible.’
At a price, thought Jane.
‘This is so wonderful,’ she said, hoping she was giving the impression of someone whose qualms had been overcome big time. ‘I’ve always been interested in Elizabeth Tudor. Do you do requests?’
Mr Geoffrey smiled. ‘We do offer tailored packages. Something to round off a celebration, perhaps, or to mark a special occasion.’ His glance flicked disparagingly over Jane. ‘It’s not cheap, of course.’
‘You’re going to die, you bile-boiling, scum-sodden globule of grease,’ said Bolshy Jane, amiably. ‘Slowly and painfully.’
‘Do people come back for more?’ asked Luke, apparently dragging his eyes from the screen with great difficulty and entering the conversation.
Mr Geoffrey smirked. ‘It is addictive. After a while some people can’t help themselves.’
That would account for the nutjobs at St Mary’s, thought Jane, fondly.
‘We’re a very exclusive company,’ Mr Geoffrey continued. ‘Nor do we pretend to be anything else. We are always very clear about this, Luke. Yes, we come at a price but we offer our clients extremely good value for money.’
‘Do you have competitors?’ asked Luke. A legitimate question, he thought.
Mr Geoffrey glanced around at the other passengers and then edged Luke gently to one side. Jane pulled herself out of her seat and followed them.
‘I won’t lie,’ said Mr Geoffrey, secreting discretion and sincerity. ‘There are other companies out there, but none of them – and I say this with the utmost confidence – none of them can hold a candle to us. We are the leaders in our field. And as we grow our business, these other, lesser companies will simply . . . cease to exist.’ He lowered his voice even further. ‘You can promote us with a clear conscience, Luke.’
He appeared unaware of the irony of his words. Jane stared hard at the screen, hoping she was giving the impression of someone very willing to become completely addicted to this sort of thing.
Luke’s attention span, not something for which he’d ever been famous, appeared to be dissolving fast. He was looking at something over Mr Geoffrey’s shoulder. ‘I think you might have a problem.’
The academic – Jane remembered his name was Terence – had discarded his notebook and was sitting back in his chair, gripping the arms. Even from where she was sitting, she could see his chest rise and fall with agitation. His face was pale and sweat lined his top lip.
‘Sir, are you all right? Can I be of any assistance?’ The captain was bending over him. From the corner of her eye, Jane noticed the first officer pull out a medkit and take out what looked like a small hypo.
So far, no one else seemed to have noticed anything wrong. Ali and Giselle were excitedly pointing things out to each other. The two women also appeared to be engrossed in whatever was happening on the screen and almost completely oblivious to everything going on around them. The great Ramses himself could have emerged from the toilet and it was very likely they would never have noticed.
Heather and George, the parents, appeared mildly interested, seemingly regarding this as an old-fashioned TV programme. Their teenage daughter – whose birthday treat this was supposed to be – was completely unengaged, staring blank-faced at the screen.
‘Not enough boy bands probably,’ said Bolshy Jane, uncharitably. Jane was beginning to think Bolshy Jane was having all the fun these days.
With surprising speed, Terence leaped to his feet. ‘I must get out. I have to have air. Let me out.’
His seat was in the row nearest the door and he was there before anyone knew what he intended, scrabbling with his fingernails. Failing to find any sort of door handle, he began to pound on the door switch.
‘Stop him,’ shouted Mr Geoffrey, his face suddenly quite white. ‘Don’t let him . . .’
Rather foolishly he moved between the first officer and his quarry. In a move of which Jane could only approve, the officer stiff-armed Mr Geoffrey to one side. He bounced off the refreshment table in a very satisfactory manner before sliding down to the floor, accompanied by a plate of vol-au-vents.
No one moved to help Mr Geoffrey. The other passengers appeared paralysed either in shock or fear. The mother had her arm around her daughter, who had finally woken up at the prospect of excitement at last.
Terence was screaming now. ‘You have to let me out. Please let me go.’
Heather was screaming too. As was the young woman who wasn’t Helga. Hysteria was in the air. The situation was skidding out of control.