A Trail Through Time (The Chronicles of St Mary's)

by Jodi Taylor

  And succeeded for nearly thirty minutes.

  After half an hour, people started to drift away. I’d chatted briefly with Pinkie and been introduced to Dr Bairstow’s Director, but that had been it. I hadn’t been able to exchange even a single word with Leon, whom everyone wanted to talk to.

  While I waited for him, I thought I could collect my few belongings from my room and bring them back with me.

  I slipped quietly from the Hall and made my way through the safety tape and polythene sheeting to the staff block. I was thinking about Leon, so when I pushed open the door to my room, it took a few minutes for the full realisation of what I saw to impact upon me.

  My first thought was that there had been some sort of blizzard in here. Small, white, fluffy lumps of something lay everywhere. I couldn’t think what it could possibly be. Then I saw the sagging remains of Bear 2.0, skewered to the wall with a knife through one eye. His little body had been ripped open from top to bottom and his white filling scattered around the room.

  Bear 2.0, a gift from Leon, who had taken time out from saving the world to bring him to me, and I’d left him in this horrible room, to be torn apart in a fit of spiteful rage by Bitchface Barclay. I felt that I had let him down. That somehow, I had let both him and Leon down.

  I stepped into the room on legs that were suddenly weak with shock. She’d been in here. At some point, she’d been in here. Attached to the knife was a note.

  Your turn next –

  * * *

  Followed by a really nasty word. You know the one I mean. The state of the handwriting and the number of blood-stained fingerprints on the note told me she’d been badly hurt when she wrote it. She must have been desperate to get away before someone found her, or before she succumbed to her injuries. And yet, despite her haste, she’d taken the time to come down here, destroy my one precious thing, Leon’s gift to me, and leave a very tangible threat. How much she must hate me.

  And where was she now?

  I spun around in sudden panic, which was stupid because, of course, she was long gone.

  But she could be anywhere out there. Watching me. Waiting for her chance. A quick shove as I waited to cross the road. A little something added to an unattended cup of tea. A bullet literally out of the blue as I walked in the afternoon sunshine. I would never be safe again.

  My mind skidded this way and that. I actually wondered, if I ran now, how far could I get, when, thankfully, my eyes fell on the real victim in all this. I reached up and pulled the knife out of his eye, crumpled the note and threw it away. I laid him gently on the pillow. Then I crawled painfully all over the room, groping under the bed, pulling the furniture around until I had every last piece of him collected. I put it all very carefully in the cardboard box and went to see Mrs Enderby, still pale, but very much recovered. She was sitting quietly in one of the window seats in Wardrobe with a cup of tea beside her.

  ‘Max.’ She seemed genuinely pleased to see me.

  We asked each other how we were and then I passed her the box. She peered inside.

  ‘Can you do anything, Mrs Enderby?’

  She took out poor Bear and laid him in her lap. She smoothed him out, assembled his little leather paws, checked the stuffing in the box, and said, ‘Yes, I think so. Come back in a few days.’

  I said, ‘Thank you,’ and for no reason at all, the tears started to fall.

  ‘What a dreadful girl she was,’ she said, mildly, tactfully ignoring my struggles. I had to laugh. So much for throwing the note away. She’d guessed immediately who would do something like this. ‘You’re not going to let this upset you, are you?’

  ‘Not at all,’ I said firmly.

  ‘Very wise,’ she said. ‘Come back for him on Wednesday.’

  That was when I made the decision. Mrs Enderby was right. Yes, Barclay was out there somewhere and I would see her again one day, no doubt of that. When that happened, I’d deal with it. But, until that moment, if I did anything other than live my life normally then she’d won without even lifting a finger, and there was no way I’d ever let that happen. I’d fought too long and too hard to give up now. Because, finally, I had a future. I had a future and I had Leon.

  Speaking of whom …

  Chapter Eighteen

  I snagged a clipboard and some paper from Admin and waited in Leon’s room. It was very quiet up here and I was able to work away without interruption.

  He appeared about half an hour later, closing the door behind him. I thought again how tired he looked. He was certainly in some need of some R & R.

  I smiled. ‘There you are. I thought you’d got lost without me around to keep an eye on you.’

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Sitting on your bed.’

  ‘I mean, what’s all this paper? Are you writing a book?’

  ‘Of course I’m not. When does anything exciting ever happen to me?’

  ‘So, what is all this, then?’

  ‘Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about. Just a few simple questions. Now then,’ I cleared my throat and raised my pen. ‘Do you have any pre-existing medical conditions?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Any lower back pain?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Any favourite sexual positions?’

  ‘All of them. What is this about?’

  ‘Foreplay.’

  He sighed. ‘I worry about you, sometimes.’

  ‘Look.’ I said, quite patiently, I thought. ‘This is us. Any minute now, some shady organisation will attack. Or Clive Ronan will kick the door down and kidnap you. Or Professor Rapson will unleash some toxic substance that will kill us all where we stand. Or Markham will reappear and the wrath of Nurse Hunter will bring down the rest of the building. Therefore, I thought I’d save us some time, because any minute now I’m going to be in your trousers like a frenzied ferret. I’m just getting the preliminaries out of the way. Now, do you have or have you ever had …?’

  He seized my clipboard and threw it out of the window.

  ‘Well, that was a little unnecessary.’

  ‘Stop talking.’

  ‘There’s a whole section on sexually transmitted diseases to work through yet.’

  ‘Let’s move things on a little, shall we? Because I’ve spent months not allowing myself to think of you in any way and I warn you – I am so wound up I can barely function. If I can’t touch you within the next few seconds, I will burst into flames. I am almost blind with desire for you. So, please, stop talking.’

  I pulled my T-shirt over my head.

  ‘Does that help?’

  ‘Not … noticeably.’

  ‘How about if I remove your T-shirt?’

  He stepped back. ‘If you touch me I will explode.’

  I threw my bra across the room.

  ‘Then touch me instead.’

  It took him three goes to get the door locked. When he turned back, my shorts had gone the same way as the bra. He stood very still. I don’t think he was even breathing. His eyes were very dark. There was no blue. He walked slowly across the room, like a man wading through water. I reached for him, but he caught my wrists. ‘Please. You have to give me a minute. I wasn’t kidding about exploding.’

  ‘No. No minutes. I wasn’t kidding about something or someone getting in the way. If it’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s to seize my opportunities while I can. So now, Leon. Right here, right now. No more minutes.’

  There were no preliminaries.

  The table went over with a crash that probably brought half the ceiling down on the unfortunate occupant of the room downstairs, and then he was right there in front of me, blocking the light, shoving me backwards against the cold wall. I could feel him against me. Every inch of him. He kissed me. Hard. I could taste him. I kissed him back, feeling everything inside me slide south.

  I tore at his clothes while he kicked off his shoes and then, finally, he stood in front of me. We took a moment, just to look at each other. Th
e only sounds in the universe were his uneven breathing and my thumping heart. He stepped forwards and slowly, very slowly, reached out for me. There was that never-to-be-repeated moment when skin touches skin for the very first time. I trembled against him.

  He touched my face, very gently. As if he didn’t trust himself to do more. ‘I am drowning in you …’

  I groaned and melted against him because I had forgotten … oh God, I had forgotten … I stretched myself against him. His hands were all over me. Urgent but gentle. A deadly combination. For me, anyway.

  He said, ‘Lucy,’ just once, in a voice that took my breath away. He lifted me up and then he was there. Hot and hard inside me. I could feel him. Feel his need. Pushing himself into me.

  I wouldn’t let him leave me behind. I pushed back. Matching his movements. Matching his breathing. I couldn’t see – I couldn’t hear. There was only a thick, heavy rhythm that found an echo in my blood as he pushed himself harder and higher with every movement. I wrapped my legs around him, wanting him – desperate for him. Now I knew how it felt to have a man lose all control and all thought. To lose himself in joy and love. To lose himself in me. To sweep me away in the flood of his own desire. His skin burned under my hands. I could feel his muscles moving. Hear his jagged breathing.

  The wall was cold and hard behind my back. I found a moment to hope the room on the other side was empty because any minute now, we could be coming through the wall. The bedside lamp toppled over. Something fell off the wall. I heard glass shatter. One of us knocked the alarm clock onto the floor and the alarm went off. God, it was loud. Although not as loud as us. I hoped the entire landing was empty. Because he was unstoppable. Relentless. Suppose we brought the building down. Again.

  I caught a sob in my throat for the things I thought I’d lost and hadn’t. Neither of us had. Finally, we were here. Now. Together.

  I began to fall into hot, dark places … and still he moved inside me … picking up speed … great, glorious waves of pleasure … Oh God … I was lost … I cried out … and then all the anxiety, the fear, the uncertainty, everything washed away in surges of light and colour … and he must have been waiting for me, because with one, final, massive push, he exploded … and I could feel him inside me, pulsing, endlessly it seemed, on and on, carrying me with him, until, finally, he was still.

  We slithered down the wall and lay in a tangle on the floor. He reached over and seized the still shrieking alarm clock, which went the same way as the clipboard. Silence fell. He pulled the duvet off the bed.

  I lay, safe and warm, in his arms. ‘There’s a perfectly good bed over there. Why are we sleeping on your bedroom floor?’

  He tucked the duvet around us and said drowsily, ‘Would you prefer to sleep on someone else’s bedroom floor?’

  He closed his eyes.

  I watched him sleep for a while. He was battered and scarred, his hair was turning grey, and for me, he was the most precious thing in this world. In any world.

  I cried for him. I couldn’t help it. And maybe I cried a little for myself as well.

  Dr Bairstow sent for me. I knew what this would be about. It was time to make a decision. I’d honestly tried to give the future some thought and every time my mind had just shied away like a nervous horse. I didn’t know what I wanted. I didn’t know what Leon wanted either. We really were going to have to stop hurling ourselves at each other and sit down and talk about it. And soon.

  Dr Bairstow was in his office, at his desk. Mrs Partridge was seated behind him, scratchpad in hand. I don’t know why, but seeing her there caused a bit of a lump in my throat. I swallowed it down because this was not the moment to go all wobbly.

  Initially, he wanted to talk about the memorial service. I hesitated because I still wasn’t that sure of my position at St Mary’s.

  ‘You should attend,’ he said. ‘I think it would be appreciated. And it will give you a chance to grieve for your own St Mary’s and the friends you will never see again.’

  I couldn’t speak for a moment.

  ‘There are no words, Max, to thank you for the sacrifice you have made.’

  ‘It wasn’t really a sacrifice, sir. I would have died, otherwise.’

  ‘Then we should both be thankful you are here. Which leads me to my next question. Will you stay?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Do you miss St Mary’s?’

  ‘Yes, very much. But just recently, there’s been so much death …’

  ‘Yes, far too much death. But we’re historians and it’s part of the package.’

  ‘And after what she … Maxwell … did … at Troy …’

  ‘It wasn’t you. You didn’t do it. You must remember that. I know you identify very closely with the other Max and it’s not surprising that you should do so, but she wasn’t you and you’re not her.’

  He moved some files on his desk.

  ‘Now, Dr Dowson and I have put our heads together and come up with the following, which we hope you will approve.

  ‘We can’t have two Madeleine Maxwells, so you are Lucy Maxwell. You are some sort of cousin to Madeleine Maxwell. You never met her so you’re not sure of the precise relationship. You studied at Thirsk, reading History, and have postgraduate qualifications in Archaeology and Anthropology.

  ‘You worked at various archaeological sites around the eastern Mediterranean. I leave it to you to decide how and when you met Chief Farrell. I leave it to you to decide how much to tell people, although I suspect no one will ask. And I leave it to you to decide your future, as well.’

  He pushed an envelope across the desk. Inside, I saw a passport, a driving licence (didn’t they know I was the world’s worst driver?), an ID card, an NI number, credit and debit cards. A completely new identity. A completely new life.

  I looked up, startled – and suspicious.

  He smiled. ‘Let me make it clear. None of this is contingent upon you remaining at St Mary’s. This – all this – is yours to keep, whatever decision you make. I make no secret – I would like the both of you to return to St Mary’s and resume your lives here. However, I do accept that that is up to you and if you do decide to leave, my best wishes for your new life go with you.’

  He paused and lined up the files on his desk again.

  ‘Let me help you come to a decision. If you do decide to remain here, I shall appoint you Chief Operations Officer. In fact, if you do leave, I shall have a problem, because Dr Peterson has already requested to return to his former position as Training Officer.’

  I wondered whether that was anything to do with his new assistant, Miss Lee. Whom Dr Bairstow had reassigned. Had he foreseen Peterson’s request? I remembered Dr Dowson saying that Dr Bairstow always had a plan.

  ‘Furthermore, to mark your return, you may select whatever assignment you please. Your choice. Your team. Your mission. Take that away and think about it.’

  ‘As a reward?’

  ‘Good heavens, no. Please be perfectly clear about this, Dr Maxwell. It is a bribe.’

  I looked at him. ‘Anything?’

  He visibly braced himself. ‘That is what I said.’

  Half a dozen crazy ideas flashed through my head, and then I remembered Helios and the price he paid for what we had done, and the lessons learned, and swallowed what I had been about to say.

  Behind Dr Bairstow, Mrs Partridge lifted her eyes from her scratchpad, smiled in rare approval, and continued to take notes.

  I remembered a recent conversation. Me, Tim, and a picnic … at Thermopylae.

  ‘Can I get back to you about that, sir?’

  ‘Of course.’

  * * *

  I really thought I deserved a drink. Apparently, so did the rest of St Mary’s. Think that they deserved a drink, I mean. The bar was packed and noisy.

  I got myself a tonic water and lime and looked for somewhere to sit. Time to test the waters. Not without a little trepidation, I joined the group by the window. Nobody made a big thing of it, but
everyone moved up to make room. I was accepted.

  Just as the other St Mary’s had taken in that lost, lonely girl all those years ago, so had this one done the same. And, all right, the new colour scheme in this room was disgusting, and the toilets were further away, but, whatever the minor differences, the characters of the people here were exactly the same and what a relief that was. To have something familiar to cling to. To know that, in this St Mary’s, Tim was still his own gentle self. That Dr Bairstow could still freeze your blood at twenty paces. That Markham was still engaged in his unending quest for Hunter’s affections. That Mrs Partridge would still look up from her scratchpad with that expression of resigned exasperation …

  I resurfaced to find they were discussing Prentiss’s love life. Or lack thereof.

  ‘It’s quite easy, really,’ Hunter was saying. ‘You just talk to them. These days, men can understand even quite complicated words. Watch.’

  She turned to Markham, who had recently returned to the orbit of her affection like an erratic comet, and smiled dazzlingly at him. As always, whenever she was near, he sat up and looked like an expectant spaniel.

  She dropped her voice an octave or two. ‘Well, hello there, big boy. And how tall are you?’

  He swallowed hard. ‘Five foot six.’

  ‘Well, let’s forget about the five feet and talk about the six inches, shall we?’

  I thought he was going to faint. He made the faint gobbling noises of one whose blood has fled south for the winter.

  Hunter regarded him complacently and then turned back to Prentiss.

  ‘See? Easy. Give it a go.’

  ‘I will.’

  She looked around. Major Guthrie was just walking past.

  ‘Good afternoon, Major. How tall are you?’

  ‘Um, six feet and half an inch,’ he said, and stood bewildered, as, to a man, St Mary’s slid to the floor and laughed its head off.

  ‘What on earth …?’ said Leon, turning up half a minute later and surveying the scene.