by Julia Watts
She tried to sound upbeat for Cal’s sake. “Let’s don’t make things worse by worrying about them. To tell you the truth, I’m relieved to see your pirate traveling on a plane, looking normal. It’s the first sign we’ve had that he may turn out okay.”
She paused, waiting for Cal or Anthony to agree with her, and the silence stretched into several seconds. Cal continued to look out the window while Anthony studied his orange juice glass.
Liv crossed her arms, then her legs. She twisted her mouth and nodded slowly, as if talking to herself. “You visited him again, didn’t you? And if you didn’t tell me about it, there must be a reason. What didn’t you want me to know?”
“It’s not like that,Sis,”Anthony said in a low tone. “Morehouse turned, uh—turns—out great. It’s just that. . .” Anthony hung his head in embarrassment. “When we parted company in St. Augustine, his last words to us were to stop playing around with time travel. I’m sure he thinks we honored that request.”
Liv uncrossed her arms and studied her brother’s face. “And now you’re worried that if you run into him, he’ll ask you if you’ve followed his advice. You think he might see through you if you try to lie, since neither one of you is very good at it.” She arched an eyebrow and waited.
Anthony and Cal quickly filled her in on what Morehouse had told them when they’d encountered him ten years into the future,as he’d briefly described his progression from unscrupulous antiques dealer to charter fishing boat captain to miniature golf course owner and happily married man.
Liv chewed her lip. “I hate to admit it, but I’m glad you sneaked into the future. He’s going to be fine on his own.”
Cal’s knee stopped pumping. “You’re right! It’s going to be okay, unless we mess it up by letting him know we’ve seen him and make him do something different than he would have done, but we won’t do that, will we, I mean, I won’t, will I? You two may have nerves of steel, but I—”
“Shut up, Cal,” Liv and Anthony hissed together. Anthony gripped his friend’s arm at the elbow and leaned in close.
“If we run into Morehouse, you are not allowed to speak on your own. If he recognizes us and says something, you are allowed to smile and nod, and you get to say one word. Take your choice between ‘Hi’ and ‘Hello.’ That’s it. You do not ask him how he is. You do not say goodbye.” Anthony let go of Cal’s arm. “You let me do the talking. Period.”
Instead of taking offense, Cal looked relieved. He nodded and smiled weakly.
“Perfect—just like that,” said Liv.
Chapter Seven
“Welcome to Gatwick Airport and the United Kingdom.” A dignified man stamped the passports of the Wescott traveling group, then peered over his spectacles at baby Anna and smiled. “And especially you, young lady,” he said, pointing at her and raising the pitch of his voice. “Anything to declare?”
Anna returned his smile and reached out to him, stuffed bunny in hand.
“One bunny rabbit, thank you, Miss. Enjoy your stay.” He pretended to examine it, then nodded and turned to Mr. and Mrs. Wescott. “And how about the rest of her lovely family?” The grownups completed the formalities while Liv, Anthony and Cal tried to look around without appearing to look around.
“I see him.” Liv kept her voice low and pointed in the opposite direction, as if studying something interesting. “On Cal’s right at three o’clock. Don’t turn and look. He’s picking up his carry-on bag and heading for the escalator to Baggage Claim. His friend is just finishing at the desk next to him.” She turned around to face the boys so her back would be to both men as they passed by. Cal and Anthony did the same, and the three stood silently.
“Wow, standing like statues in the middle of a noisy crowd— what a brilliant way to blend,” muttered Anthony. He nodded his head and laughed, as if appreciating a joke. “Let’s try not to attract attention for looking seriously weird.”
“Good advice, Bro,” said Liv, slipping her arms into the straps of her backpack and reaching down to get Anna’s diaper bag. She poked her finger into Cal’s shoulder and whispered, “Nothing to worry about. Anthony does the talking. Remember.”
At the baggage carousels, first class and coach passengers could mingle at last, and Cumpston didn’t like it a bit. They wouldn’t be rubbing shoulders with anyone if the firm’s private jet hadn’t been undergoing needed repairs. They’d have landed at a special terminal, zipped through Customs and been on their way. Even on a commercial flight, if he were traveling alone, Cumpston would have walked halfway to the trains by now, with no checked baggage.
But Morehouse had his own way of doing things. He had to be charming, which involved not only clothes for every occasion, but gifts for clients, tucked into the extra luggage.
So they had to wait. Cumpston hated waiting.
He couldn’t be bothered with being charming, either. Make someone mad? Double-cross a client? It wasn’t usually a problem. He could disguise himself and seem to disappear, like a chameleon. And it didn’t take a suitcase that had to be checked and waited for at the carousel, either.
His sour mood wasn’t helped by spotting the bratty young girl who had dared to look at him, along with her too-perfect suburban family, complete with bouncing baby sister. They were on the opposite side of the carousel, utterly unaware of his presence, he was certain.
Amazing how ordinary people went through most of their lives unaware. If confronted directly by someone with superior intelligence like himself, they occasionally had a moment of insight, a moment of fear, when they realized how vulnerable they were. But usually they were like sheep, there for fleecing. Only those who got in his way posed a problem.
Cumpston’s annoyance turned to concern as he watched Morehouse stride around the curve of the carousel to retrieve his suitcase right in front of the sheep family, then do a classic double-take as he passed the two boys standing with the girl.
“Well, blow me down, it’s—it’s—” spluttered Morehouse.
“That’s right, it’s us,” Anthony cut in, keeping his voice low and his eyes on his parents, who were focused on waiting for their first piece of luggage.
Morehouse followed his gaze. “Ahh, I see. Mum and Dad know nothing of your grand adventures, and you’d like to keep it that way. I’m all for that myself.” He glanced over his shoulder at Cumpston, who made a point of checking his watch and ignoring Morehouse. “My associate likes to keep a low profile.”
Morehouse jumped forward and lifted an expensive-looking brown leather suitcase from the carousel’s conveyor belt. Instead of making his way toward his partner, he came back. He raised an eyebrow at Liv and turned to the boys.
“It’s okay, she knows,” said Anthony.
“It’s only okay if you’ve stopped doing it,” replied Morehouse. He narrowed his eyes at Cal, who was following orders and being quiet.
He continued, “With apologies for my abruptness, I must be off. It’s good to see you—enjoy your stay in London. It’s my city and I missed it during my years of exile, but I find I’m homesick for Florida. Can you believe it?” Cal nodded vigorously and Morehouse gave him a peculiar look. “Business is good—I’m traveling the world and making more money than ever before, but I may go back to the States and find completely honest work—hire on with a charter fishing fleet or something.”
Cal avoided Morehouse’s piercing gaze and glanced across the room at Cumpston. A look of disgust beamed from Cumpston’s eyes and focused on Liv. Cal’s fear for her won out over his resolve to be quiet.
“Good plan!” he blurted. “Time to get in with a better crowd!”
Liv stared at Cal while Anthony mouthed shut up silently. But the floodgates were open, and Cal babbled on in his attempt to place all possible distance between the Wescotts and Morehouse’s alarming friend.
“I bet you’d like the fishing business. You’d be good at it. Who knows—you might even meet a nice lady and settle down— find something else, like a miniature golf course.
” Anthony cringed and grabbed Cal’s arm, squeezing with his fingers until Cal winced.
“Well,” replied the startled Morehouse, “I don’t know about that, but perhaps you’re right.” He reached into the back pocket of his stylishly casual linen slacks and pulled a business card from his wallet.
“But my present ‘crowd’, as you put it, is the esteemed firm of Cumpston, Pridgeon and McKnickel, highly successful dealers of antiques in Portobello Road. That’s Lance Cumpston over there, looking grumpy.” He pressed the card into Cal’s hand and smiled. It read simply, Robert F. Morehouse, Antiques and Collectibles, followed by a mobile phone number.
Morehouse sighed and repocketed his wallet. “I assume you’re guessing about my marginally legal activities because you know about my past, and you’ve reached an accurate conclusion.” The shadow of a smile passed across his face.
“I meant to reform—I really did, but it’s just so easy to make a fortune if you don’t mind breaking a few laws. And I’m good at it!” He shrugged at Liv’s frown. “But it’s time for this old pirate to clean up his life.” He grinned at Anthony and Cal. “After all, I can’t keep relying on you two to transport me from era to era for fresh starts. I was thinking about cutting ties with those three in a few months, after I finish all the deals I’ve started. But maybe I’ll go ahead and break off now.”
Liv spoke for the first time. “Mr. Morehouse, I have a bad feeling about your partner over there, but I think we’ve interfered with your personal life quite enough.” She raised her eyebrows at Cal and stopped short of telling Morehouse that Cal had just revealed his future to him. “Maybe you shouldn’t alter your plans too much—I think you need to be very careful around Mr. Cumpston.”
Morehouse gave Liv an approving nod. “Incredibly perceptive of you, my dear. I let myself get careless in St. Augustine with an inept rascal named Abernathy, and it almost got me killed.” He lowered his voice to barely a whisper. “You don’t let yourself get careless around Cumpston. That will get you killed, slowly and painfully. There’ve been rumors...”
Liv pressed her lips together and twisted them, wondering if Morehouse knew that she had caught his partner’s attention on the plane. Now Cumpston was watching her talk to Morehouse. Would he feel threatened?
She was ready to commandeer a swift goodbye. She pulled at Anthony’s arm. “Dad’s going to want some help with the luggage, guys. We’d better go.” To Morehouse, she said, “It was nice to meet you. Good luck.”
Anthony smiled and said, “See you around.” Cal looked at the floor.
“Is there something you need to tell me?” Morehouse’s tone was firm but kind.
Cal replied, “It’s just. . .” He shrugged. “It’s your partner—I hope we didn’t look at him too much.” He nodded his head toward Liv. “Especially her.”
“Oh,I wouldn’t worry. But Cumpston can be a dangerous man when he chooses, and I’m impressed that you sensed it. Listen to your instincts and stay away from him.” The three watched him catch up with his tanned partner, who was walking swiftly toward the escalator, as if trying to make it hard for Morehouse to keep up.
“I don’t like it,” whispered Cal as they made their way back to Mr. and Mrs. Wescott. The entire exchange had taken less than five minutes, and the Wescotts had been watching for their bags on the carousel, too busy to notice the interaction between the children and the handsome stranger.
“Morehouse is right,” said Anthony. “There’s nothing to worry about. We’ll probably never see them again.”
“Dad’s waving at us,” said Liv. “The luggage is here.” They walked back to the carousel and quickly formed a suitcase-passing brigade.
From the escalator, Cumpston eyed the three of them. The girl acted like she was in charge—that made her more dangerous than the boys. Why had she watched him, and how did she know Morehouse? There was so much about Morehouse he didn’t know, and unknowns were risks. It was important to eliminate risks.
Chapter Eight
“The Gatwick Express will take us straight to Victoria Station.”
Mr. Wescott threaded the luggage cart through the tapestry of humanity and parked it where his wife could lean on it and balance Anna. Liv, Anthony and Cal watched him make his way to the train ticket counter and resumed their argument, discreetly standing just out of Mrs. Wescott’s hearing.
“Stop worrying, Sis.” Anthony fidgeted, shifting his jacket and carry-on bag from one hand to the other. “Morehouse turns out fine—we already know that.”
“That’s how it was without your talking to him about his future. It’s different now. Maybe he’s on edge, maybe he’s realizing he needs to get out in a hurry. What if he doesn’t act the same around his partners and they get in a fight or something?” She tried to keep her expression neutral, but she knew the strain showed in her voice.
Cal pointed ahead. “Chances are, nothing will come from anything we’ve seen or said. Meanwhile, let’s have some fun. I’ve never been on a train before!”
Liv smiled in spite of herself and fell into step behind her parents. She marveled at the number of trains and tracks, waiting in the darkness to absorb the stream of passengers flowing from the terminal. People darted around the enormous garage, all seeming to know where they were going. Her parents conferred, heads close together, and her mother nodded and pointed to an empty car on an empty train.
The fluorescent lighting cast a blue sheen onto the plush seats, beckoning passengers to climb in and plop down in quiet comfort. Liv felt drained. She was ready to speed to London, far away from pirates.
They boarded the car and took turns shoving their suitcases into the luggage hold. She slid into one of four seats, two forward and two backward, with a table between them. The boys joined her, piling backpacks into the fourth seat. She caught sight of her reflection in the window and saw a face that looked pinched and pale.
The train pulled out of the station. The vibration and noise made it easier to let conversation go and enjoy the ride, while they all sipped on bottles of juice purchased from the food trolley. Early morning light crept into the train, competing with the interior lights and revealing the English landscape. A field with grazing sheep. A town with charming tile-roofed houses clustered together, a modern supermarket and parking lot, a station with passengers standing, waiting for their train to stop.
They were really in a foreign country. Anna and her parents dozed on the other side of the aisle, but Liv, Anthony and Cal stared out the window, taking everything in.
In the first class car of the train, Cumpston found the ride barely tolerable. The scenery was nondescript, the company of Morehouse annoying, and the presence of so many people in first class was starting to smother him. What was the point of paying extra for something if others could have it, too? He needed to think, and who could think with inconsiderate idiots yakking on phones (“Hullo, it’s me. I’m on the train.”) and rattling newspapers?
And there sat Morehouse, unperturbed, with the maddening expression of good-humor Cumpston had often observed on attractive people. Pleased with themselves, that’s what they were, because the world always went their way. People smiled at them at every turn, wanted to do things for them, wanted to make life easy for them. A handsome man like Morehouse wouldn’t know what it was like to have to claw your way from the bottom and fight for every pound you made.
Now, the reason for his current worries was sitting in the seat across from him, half-smiling, gathering admiring glances like a dog might gather ticks on a walk through the woods.
That made Morehouse a magnet for trouble. People noticed him—they remembered him. It had been a mistake to involve him so closely in the antiques side of their business. The internet and real estate scams of Cumpston, Pridgeon, and McKnickel were more sensitive and dangerous, and Morehouse was the nosy type who might want a piece of the action, which he didn’t deserve.
He needed to be dealt with. How and when could be decided later. The other issue must
be addressed right now.
“So tell me, Morehouse, how do you know those delightful children?” The sneer on his face crept into his voice. “Relatives, perhaps?”
“Oh, no, just. . .friends—acquaintances, actually.” Morehouse sounded confident and unconcerned, but he had missed a beat when he answered, tripping Cumpston’s internal alarm.
“Hmm. . .” Cumpston reached for a copy of the Times and opened it, more to hide his face than to search for something to read. The family would get off the train at Victoria Station. Perhaps they needed watching for a bit.
The Gatwick Express eased into the western side of Victoria Station and slid to a smooth stop. Morehouse had expected Cumpston to spring out of his seat, grab his luggage, and exit swiftly, but instead he continued to read his newspaper. After a full two minutes, Cumpston rose slowly and folded the paper, leaving it on the table. He removed his leather case from beneath his seat, then dismounted the train, never so much as looking at Morehouse to see if he were following.
Morehouse didn’t like Cumpston, didn’t want him as a friend, but the sudden chill in his manner was troubling. He followed him down the train steps, and watched as his partner scanned the area and moved forward. Morehouse caught up and followed his line of sight. They were tailing the boys and their family.
Light poured through the vast transparent roof of Victoria Station’s open area and bounced off the white terrazzo floor. Pigeons loitered and relaxed while people rushed past them.
The family, minus the father, stood by a money-changing kiosk, probably waiting for him to return from purchasing travel passes for the London tube and trains. They chatted happily and pointed to the stores above the concourse, the shop fronts, and building exteriors housed inside the huge structure, unaware that Cumpston was keeping an eye on them.
