by Jodi Taylor
‘I didn’t know there was a limit.’
‘I think he’s imposed one especially for you.’
He bit into his apple again and said indistinctly, ‘The thing is, Max … the thing is … you’re in trouble.’
‘What?’
Outraged, I tried to sit up, dislodged something important inside, and fell back on my pillows, coughing and feeling every inch of me protest.
He glanced nervously over his shoulder. ‘Shh, for God’s sake, or we’ll have Hunter in here. Or worse – Helen.’
I said in a painful whisper, ‘How can I be in trouble? We’ve just saved what are about to be the three most famous paintings in History. What more does he want from me? Why is it …?
He was so agitated that he actually put down the apple.
‘No, listen, will you. I don’t mean that sort of trouble. Max, he’s talking about sending you to Thirsk for three months, minimum. Probably six. Maybe even a year.’
I was bewildered. ‘But why?’
‘Well, for God’s sake, look at you. You’ve had a rough year. He’s offering you a period of light duties. To recover.’
‘I can’t leave St Mary’s for a year. Who would run my department? I have no senior historians. It would be a disaster.’ I tried to sit up. ‘I must talk to him.’
He picked up his apple again. ‘No, you don’t. I have a better idea.’
‘You?’
‘Yes,’ he said defensively. ‘And why not? Listen to me. I think we can help each other out here. I don’t want you to go to Thirsk, either, but there’s no getting around the fact you’re not up to factory spec at the moment. Nor are you likely to be for some time. Face it, Max, you’ve had a shit year. All that stuff with the Time Police. The Battle of St Mary’s. Then you were shot. Now this. But I agree that for you to leave even for three months could be a disaster for the History department, so I’ve had a brilliant idea.’
He finished his apple and bowled the core accurately into the waste bin.
‘Howzat!’
It really is quite difficult to keep historians on track, sometimes.
I prompted him. ‘Brilliant idea?’
‘Ah. Yes. How do you fancy a spot of swinging?’
Now I was baffled. ‘What?’
‘You know, you chuck your office keys into a hat and I chuck mine, and we swap.’
I tried to pull the bedclothes up to my chin. ‘Swap what?’
‘Jobs. You take my job. I take yours.’
‘No, listen,’ he said as I opened my mouth to protest. ‘You take my job. Chief Training Officer. There are no trainees at the moment, so it’s not particularly onerous, but it will give you the chance to do the thing you’re really good at, which is to plan. If you go to Thirsk then I’ll have to run both departments, or at least oversee your replacement. I won’t have time to do either properly, so the future of my department is at stake as well, so what I’m saying is that you take over the training post. You’ll be off the active list for a while so you’ll have the time to sit down and devise a completely new training plan. The previous one was far too long and cumbersome. We need to get them out there as soon as possible, Max, and without frightening the shit out of them at the same time. Our dropout rate is unsustainable and I need you to address that. So sit down and come up with something. I’ll help. You can pick my brains at any time. In the meantime, I’ll take over your department. With your input, I’ll plan their upcoming assignments and allocate personnel. We’ll work closely together – well, we always do anyway – and everyone’s a winner. You have to think about this, Max, otherwise it’s Thirsk for you, and you won’t know St Mary’s when you come back.’
If I came back. Neither of us said it.
Now he was eyeing up the pile of chocolate on my bedside table.
I reached out painfully and stuffed it all under my pillow, out of his reach.
‘Tim, this is serious.’
‘Yes, I know. It’s serious for both of us, but I think we could take this to Dr Bairstow and he’d jump at it. It’s the ideal solution.’
‘Will you speak to him or will I?’
‘I will,’ he said. ‘I have a modicum of tact and discretion. If you try to do it, he’ll open a branch of St Mary’s in Ulan Bator and the two of us will be staffing it until the end of time. He’ll be along to see you tomorrow. If we put our heads together now, we can have something to offer him then and with luck, he’ll change his mind.’
We talked for the next hour. He took notes on his scratchpad and left it with me when he departed.
I was so unsettled that I actually forgot the chocolate under my pillow, which was discovered the next day by Hunter when she made the bed. Spending the night under my pillow had not done it any good at all. I didn’t bother listening, telling her I’d always wondered what Markham saw in her, and relations between us were temporarily severed.
Left to myself, I got to grips with the whole matrimony issue by ignoring it. I pulled out Peterson’s scratchpad and spent an hour or so reading through what we’d come up with so far, adding comments and suggestions of my own.
Hunter brought in tea and was so incensed at finding me working that she forgot we weren’t speaking and more than made up for lost time. I let her run down and then asked for a data table. She slammed the door behind her.
I don’t know what Peterson said to Dr Bairstow, but it appeared to have been successful. He turned up the next day.
‘Good afternoon, sir.’
‘Dr Maxwell. I believe there is something you wish to say to me.’
My heart slid sideways in panic. How did he know? Had someone blabbed? Where was Leon when I needed him? Oh yes, a thousand miles and six hundred years away.
I brazened it out. ‘Yes, sir. Something very important.’
‘Indeed? Then please proceed.’
He was laughing at me – I knew it. However, he’d invited me to proceed, so I did.
I laid out the work I’d done so far on the new training schedule. He took the scratchpad and carefully read it through.
‘It’s only preliminary thoughts, sir.’
‘Yes,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘You appear to be introducing our trainees to the joys of actual assignments much earlier in the training process than before. Do you feel that is wise?’
‘I think, sir, that they should be made aware of the realities of the job quite early on. We don’t want to spend a fortune training someone only to have them bottle out on their first assignment. I’ll build in safety measures, of course, but if you agree, then that is the direction in which I would wish to proceed.’
He handed me back the scratchpad.
‘There are some interesting ideas there, Dr Maxwell. I look forward to seeing what else you and Dr Peterson manage to come up with. Yes, you may proceed. Was there anything else?’
‘Not at this moment, sir.’
‘Do I assume there will be something else in the near future?’
‘Bound to be, sir.’
He gave me one of his enigmatic looks and left the room. Well, that had been easier than I thought it would be. It was only afterwards that I wondered whether Peterson and I swapping jobs had been what he intended all along. Sometimes I think he quite enjoys being the puppet master.
I recovered surprisingly quickly, but, as Helen said, I wasn’t ill. There was just a problem with my knee, which had been repaired. Once I’d recovered from the operation, everything was fine. I was heaved to my feet less than twenty-four hours later. The next day I was on crutches. They chucked me out after three days. I still limped a lot, especially when I wanted sympathy and I couldn’t run – yet – but that would come. My urine returned to its previously unexciting hue and I was unleashed back into the world.
They returned from Site Two five days later. Provided I did it sitting down, I was allowed up to watch their return from the gantry. They filed out of their pods, looking grubby and tired, but they’d been successful. You can always tell.
&nb
sp; Leon was last out. He closed the ramp behind him, looked up, smiled for me alone, and something inside me eased a little.
We discussed the details later over a bottle of wine. The paintings were safely concealed. Thirsk had been advised. An expedition would set out next year. We were back on track.
Most importantly, Dr Bairstow was, if not in a sunny mood, at least a little less frosty than usual and Leon said that now was the ideal time to break the news of the matrimonial trauma heading his way.
I was less sure but we couldn’t put it off forever.
We limped to his office. Well, obviously, I limped, Leon walked normally. Albeit very slowly. I’d had crutches and become so fed up with the jokes (you’ve never heard unsophisticated humour until you’ve heard St Mary’s apparently unending supply of crutch jokes) that I’d gone to see Professor Rapson and demanded to be upgraded to a stick and please would he make me one.
The result was one lean, mean, made-to-measure walking stick; matte black and with red and orange flames curling around it. I’d wanted a swordstick – who wouldn’t? – but he’d said no, he’d had instructions from Dr Bairstow, so I had something similar to David Sands. Stun gun, built-in compass, weighted handle for those blunt-instrument traumas, and a little compartment containing something fiery for the little emergencies life continually tosses my way. I was delighted with it. David Sands had given me a few handy tips on stick wielding and, up until this very moment, I’d been ready for anything.
Now, as we headed for Dr Bairstow’s office, I wasn’t so sure.
Mrs Partridge waved us straight in.
He looked up as we entered. ‘Goodness me. Both of you. To what do I owe this pleasure, I wonder? As it happens, I was just about to send for you. The Chancellor has just telephoned to say the joint Thirsk/Italian expedition has been set for the coming March. She would like to know if anyone from St Mary’s would care to join them. She felt it would be appropriate for St Mary’s to have a presence. I don’t need to tell you what an honour that is. Max, perhaps you could give that some thought, please.’
I nodded.
‘So, what can I do for both of you today?’
Leon opened the batting. He had to. I’d forgotten how to speak.
‘Sir, Dr Maxwell and I are to be married.’
I wouldn’t have put it that bluntly myself. Actually, I’d have sent him an email. From Venezuela. I braced myself. He put down his pen and regarded us with some amusement. ‘Who asked whom, I wonder?’
Since Peterson, Prentiss, Sands, Clerk, and Roberts had promised to take that particular piece of information to the grave, we declined to comment.
Leon said carefully, ‘If you feel this course of action is inappropriate, then we will, with huge regret, tender our resignations.’
‘I’m not sure such a sacrifice will be necessary for any of us, especially given our current perilous staffing levels. I do insist, however, that as senior officers, you continue to live on campus. Is this likely to be a problem?’
‘Not for us, sir.’
‘Then I shall give some thought to your accommodation arrangements.’
The door opened behind us and Mrs Partridge entered bearing not the traditional tea tray, but champagne and glasses.
How does she know these things?
He stood up. ‘I hope you will allow me to offer my congratulations and best wishes to you both.’
We drank a toast.
‘Well,’ said Dr Bairstow, accepting a refill, ‘that accounts for the bewilderingly large sums of money being distributed around the building. I understand Messrs Markham and Roberts are boasting they have enough to retire on.’
We all smiled politely at the joke and I thought thoughts that would not only considerably shorten the lifespan of Messrs Markham and Roberts, but bypass the need for a retirement fund altogether.
Chapter Sixteen
I packed up my meagre possessions and moved into Peterson’s office. Since it was just down the corridor, this took about ten minutes.
I’d said goodbye to Rosie Lee.
‘You’ll only be next door,’ she said. ‘It’s not Antarctica.’
‘Bet you’ll miss me.’
‘All bosses are interchangeable. The only difference is how they like their tea.’
‘Since you’ve never made me a cup of tea in your life, how would you know that?’
She informed me that since she’d been overwhelmed by her massive workload from the moment she walked through the door, it was hard to see when she would have found the time to pander to my insatiable desire for the stuff.
I advised her that my abnormal needs were as nothing compared with those of Dr Peterson.
She asked if I was still talking about tea and I left before I dotted her one with her own keyboard.
There was good and bad in this new job.
Peterson’s office – no, my office now – had a great view of the lake – good.
It was nearer to Dr Bairstow – bad.
Which meant it was also nearer to Mrs Partridge – even worse.
However, it was further from R & D and the greater the distance from the blast zone, the greater the chances of survival – good.
I’d left Rosie Lee behind – good.
And I’d gained Mrs Shaw – best of all.
She welcomed me with tea and a plate of cakes. Peterson was probably welcomed with a blizzard of paperwork to sign, the pious hope that he would be of a higher standard than her last boss, and a request for three weeks’ leave. Starting now.
‘Thank you, Mrs Shaw. You do know I may never leave this office again?’
She smiled at me. She was considerably older than Miss Lee, with wavy grey hair and blue eyes. She bustled around the place, round-faced, plump; a quietly spoken grandmother whose only time off was to visit her grandchildren occasionally.
‘What do they think you do?’
‘Oh, they think I potter about in my little job, or do my knitting, or work in my garden. I always make sure I lose my spectacles whenever I stay with them, just to reinforce the stereotype.’ Her eyes twinkled.
‘How long have you been here?’
‘Almost since the beginning.’
‘Did Dr Bairstow recruit you?’
‘No, he recruited Mavis – Mrs Enderby – and she recommended me.’
I was surprised. ‘Had you known her long?’
‘We were in the same underground unit.’
‘You fought? Like Mrs Mack? Did you know her, as well?’
‘I was only on the front line at the end. When things went bad. Mostly I worked in code breaking and Mavis was in logistics. We didn’t know Theresa Mack personally. We knew of her, of course. Especially when the Fascists were forced out of Cardiff. They all poured across the Severn and Mavis and I were in Gloucester at the time. We stood behind the barricades in Westgate, but they were too strong for us. We fell back to the cathedral and made our final stand in College Green. We turned them back, they ran, and it all ended three weeks later at the Battersea Barricades.’
I looked at the quiet, motherly little figure in front of me and reflected, not for the first time, that appearances can be very deceptive.
‘And then, you all fought together again at St Mary’s, last year.’
She hesitated. ‘Except for Miss Lee, of course.’
There was something there, but the phone rang at that moment and I forgot it.
I unpacked my few things, wandered around my new office, got my bearings, sat down at my new desk, fired up the data table, and made a start. It was years since I’d been a trainee and the training procedures hadn’t changed much since my day. Now I’d had the go-ahead from the Boss, I intended to ditch the existing programme. I would scrap the whole lot and start again with new ideas and new ways of doing things. Best of all, if I spent my time on this then I wouldn’t have to think about the other new and frightening part of my life.
I called up the schedule of upcoming assignments and started sifting
through them – looking for the easy stuff – something that wouldn’t get trainees killed as soon as they stuck their heads out of the pod.
Mrs Shaw printed out individual assignments for me and I was laying them out on my meetings table when Peterson stuck his head round the door.
‘Can I buy you a drink?’
‘Do bears shit in the woods?’
We settled ourselves in a quiet corner of the bar and clinked glasses.
‘Your very good health, Max.’
‘Thank you. Yours too.’
He sat back, sighed, and stretched out his long legs, resting his feet on the coffee table in front of us. He had something to say. I recognised the signs. I sipped my Margarita, sucked the salt off my bottom lip, and waited. Either for him to speak or the room to blur, whichever came first.
‘So, Dr Bairstow let you live about this marriage thing?’
‘Yes. He seemed amused but calm.’
‘I never thought you’d be the first to marry.’
‘I never thought I’d marry at all.’
‘Will you live away from St Mary’s?’
‘No. We’re to have two adjoining rooms on the west landing. There’s a connecting door. Either we have a room each or one’s a bedroom and the other a sitting room. I haven’t really thought about it.’
‘When’s the ceremony?’
‘Not sure. Soon, I expect.’
‘Where’s it to be?’
‘Um …’
‘Do you have a dress yet?’
‘I think I have several.’
‘I mean a wedding dress.’
‘Not just at the moment.’
He stared at me in exasperation.
I stared back. ‘What?’
‘Weddings don’t just organise themselves, you know.’
‘I don’t see why not. We don’t want anything elaborate.’
‘Let me guess. A short ceremony – somewhere – followed by a drink in the bar and then everyone back to work?’
Some instinct warned me not to utter, ‘What’s wrong with that?’
