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“Are you by any chance still in Selfridges?” shouted Lesley, who had obviously overheard the yogurt orders. “Go home!”
“On my way,” I said, waving the yellow paper bag containing Great-aunt Maddy’s sherbet lemons in the direction of the exit. “But, Lesley, I can’t tell them this at home. They’ll think I’m crazy.”
Lesley spluttered down the phone. “Gwen! Any other family might well send you to the loony bin, but not yours! They’re always talking about time-travel genes and chronometers and instruction in mysteries.”
“It’s a chronograph,” I corrected her. “The thing runs on blood! Is that gross or what?”
“Chro—no—graph! Okay, I’ve Googled it.”
I made my way through the crowds in Oxford Street to the next traffic lights. “Aunt Glenda will say I’m just making it all up to look important and steal the show from Charlotte.”
“So? When you next travel back in time, at the very latest, she’s going to notice that there’s been a mistake.”
“And suppose I never travel back again? Suppose it was just the once?”
“You don’t believe that yourself, do you? Okay, here we are, a chronograph seems to be a perfectly normal wristwatch. You can get them by the ton on eBay, ten pounds and upward. Oh, damn … wait, I’ll Google Isaac Newton plus chronograph plus time travel plus blood.”
“Well?”
“Nothing that helps us. At least I don’t think so.” Lesley sighed. “I wish we’d looked all this up earlier. The first thing I’m going to do is find some books about it. Anything I can dig up on time travel. Where did I put that stupid library card? Where are you now?”
“Crossing Oxford Street, then turning down Duke Street.” Suddenly I had to giggle. “Why? Are you planning to come here and draw a chalk circle just in case our connection suddenly breaks? But now I’m wondering what good the silly chalk circle was supposed to do Charlotte.”
“Maybe they’d have sent that other time traveler after her—what was his name again?”
“Gideon de Villiers.”
“Cool name! I’ll Google it. Gideon de Villiers. How do you spell it?”
“How should I know? Back to the chalk circle—where would they have sent this Gideon guy? I mean, what period? Charlotte could have been anywhere. In any minute, any hour, any year, any century. Nope, the chalk circle makes no sense.”
Lesley screeched down my ear so loud that I almost dropped my mobile. “Gideon de Villiers. Got him!”
“Really?”
“Yep. It says here, ‘The polo team of the Vincent School, Greenwich, has won the All England Schools Polo Championship again this year. Celebrating with the cup, from left to right, headmaster William Henderson, team manager John Carpenter, team captain Gideon de Villiers…’ and so on and so forth. Wow, so he’s the captain too. Only it’s such a tiny picture you can’t make out where the horses leave off and the team members begin. Where are you now, Gwen?”
“Still in Duke Street. That figures: school in Greenwich, polo, yeah, that must be him. And does it say he sometimes disappears? Maybe straight off his horse?”
“Oh, I’ve just noticed, this report is three years old. He must have left the school by now. Are you feeling dizzy again?”
“Not so far.”
“Where are you now?”
“Oh, Lesley, still in Duke Street. I’m walking as fast as I can.”
“Okay, we’ll stay on the phone until you get to your front door, and the moment you’re home, you have to talk to your mum.”
I looked at my watch. “She won’t be back from work yet.”
“Then wait until she is, but you really must talk to her, okay? She’ll know what to do to keep you out of harm’s way. Are you still there? Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes, I’m here, and yes, I did. Lesley?”
“Hm?”
“I’m so glad I have you. You’re the best friend in the world.”
