‘We certainly won’t,’ said Luke. ‘I expect he’s waiting for us there.’
‘I do hope he’s all right,’ said Jane, making an enjoyable detour into the world of hypocrisy. ‘He was rather gushing.’
‘He always is,’ said someone, drily, and someone else sniggered. No one expressed any sort of concern for their unfortunate colleague.
‘We’ll go and look for him,’ said Luke. ‘Thanks for your help.’
‘No worries, mate. Have a good one.’
They so nearly made it.
As they turned to go, as if summoned by the mention of his own name, a door was pushed fully open and Mr Geoffrey appeared. He looked rather pale and there were blood spots all down the front of his paper suit.
‘Shall we be getting back?’ said Luke, as if nothing had happened. They hadn’t explored all the complex but their priorities had changed. Now he and Jane needed to get back with what they knew. Details of this place. Shoreditch. The King’s Arsenal. More than enough for the Time Police to be getting on with. Others could take it from here. For himself, he wanted a stiff drink and a hot bath. And another stiff drink while in the hot bath. And then another stiff drink. Somehow to erase the memories of this place forever, although he knew that would never happen.
How Mr Geoffrey would have responded to this face-saving way out was never known. Before he could say a word, he jumped a little, as if someone standing behind him had poked him in the back.
Which, as it turned out, was exactly what had happened.
Frowning, he looked over his shoulder, smiled slightly in recognition and stepped aside with an apology.
‘Thank you, Geoffrey,’ said a familiar voice and Imogen Farnborough swept into the room.
32
For once in his life Luke could think of nothing to say. Disbelief paralysed his thoughts. Those fire-trucking dickheads had let her go. One of the few people in the world who could identify them as Time Police and here she was. Right in front of them. And he still couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
‘Immy – how are you?’ hardly seemed to cut it.
A cheery ‘Out of prison, then?’ – ditto.
A remark on her altered appearance? – the same. In Luke’s experience, anyone spending quality time with his colleagues tended not to look so good at the end of it.
Imogen Farnborough was changed forever. Gone was the sparkling girl he’d known. In her place stood a woman. The slight lines of discontent had evolved into deep nose-to-mouth lines. She was managing at the same time to look both skinny and flabby. And she had the complexion of one who hasn’t seen proper daylight for some considerable time. Unusually, her hair was several shades darker than before. She’s going grey, he thought, and she’s coloured her hair to cover it. Imogen might have served only eight years, but he was willing to bet she wouldn’t have managed her imprisonment well. Eight years in a Time Police institution, thought Luke, dismally. For which she blames me. Hell – I blame me. And now she’s out and she’s here and Jane and I are in deep shit.
Pinning on a smile, he said, ‘Imogen – fancy seeing you here.’ He pointed to her paper suit. ‘Are you investing, too?’
The old Immy would have gone for his eyes – via his testicles, probably. This one stood looking. Her eyes flicked from Luke to Jane and back again. Jane could think of nothing to say that wouldn’t make this situation considerably worse. Casually, she moved behind Luke. To watch his back, ready for the moment they would have to fight their way out.
Mr Geoffrey halted in surprise. ‘You two know each other?’
Luke’s brain finally ground into gear. ‘Oh yes,’ he said, easily. ‘Immy and I are old friends. How’s your mother?’ He glanced back at Jane. ‘Actually, I’d love to catch up, but given Jane’s fainting fit in the corridor, I rather think we should be off, don’t you?’
He began to edge backwards. Jane put her hand in the small of his back – part comfort and part encouragement.
Imogen turned to Mr Geoffrey. ‘What’s he doing here?’
‘Never mind that,’ said Luke, shutting down that enquiry before it could get off the ground. ‘What are you doing here?’
Mr Geoffrey had stopped smiling. ‘Miss Farnborough is here in the same capacity as yourself.’
‘Oh?’ said Imogen, unpleasantly. ‘So I’m a Time Police spy as well, am I?’
Mr Geoffrey’s jaw dropped nearly to his knees. ‘What?’ and for one gratifying moment, Luke realised he’d genuinely had no idea who they really were.
We were doing so well, thought Jane. A quick jump back. Into a water taxi and off to TPHQ to tell them everything, a nice cup of cocoa, followed by an early night and possibly even a medal at the end of the day.
Luke followed Mr Geoffrey’s example because imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. His jaw dropped too. ‘What?’
Imogen snarled. ‘You heard me, Geoffrey.’
Luke took Mr Geoffrey’s arm and edged him away. ‘Look,’ he said confidentially, man to man. ‘I don’t know what’s happening here but . . .’ he glanced at Imogen. ‘I don’t think Miss Farnborough is very well. There have been rumours . . . you know.’
‘Well, I . . .’ began Mr Geoffrey.
‘Apparently, her last spell in the clinic was not as successful as one could have hoped. Word on the street is that she’s . . . well . . . you know . . . women’s problems. And, you do know she doesn’t have a bean, don’t you? It’s all Mummy’s money and I doubt she’ll be sympathetic to your cause.’
It was plain Imogen’s financial status was of far more importance to Mr Geoffrey than her mental state. He stared thoughtfully.
‘Don’t listen to him,’ shouted Imogen. ‘That’s Luke Parrish and she’s Jane Lockland.’
‘Yes,’ said Mr Geoffrey. ‘We know.’
Jane sighed. Now he remembered her name.
‘Immy,’ said Luke, gently. ‘Are you certain you want to continue this conversation? Here? Now? In front of all these people?’ He turned to Mr Geoffrey. ‘I’m so glad Immy’s taking advantage of the opportunity to invest here.’ He turned to her, smiling. ‘After all – in a roundabout way, she’s the reason we’re here, aren’t you, Immy?’
He’s threatening her, thought Jane. She’s the one who grassed them up. They won’t like that. Will she understand she could be in as much danger as we are?
Mr Geoffrey frowned. ‘Our understanding was that Miss Farnborough had been availing herself of the facilities of an establishment very similar to your own. And there’s no doubt of her financial status. She’s been sponsored by Mr Portman himself.’