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“You’re not so bad as a friend yourself,” said Lesley. “I mean, you’ll soon be able to bring me back cool stuff from the past. What other friend can do that? And next time we have a history test, you can research the whole thing on the spot.”
“I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you.” Listening to myself, I realized how pathetic I sounded—but what the hell, I was feeling pretty pathetic right now.
“Can time travelers bring stuff back from the past?” asked Lesley.
“No idea. Not the faintest. I’ll try it next time. I’m in Grosvenor Square now.”
“Nearly home, then,” said Lesley, relieved. “Apart from the polo business, Google hasn’t found anything about any Gideon de Villiers. But there’s a whole lot about the de Villiers private bank and the de Villiers legal chambers in the Temple.”
“That must be them.”
“Any dizzy feelings?”
“No, but thanks for asking all the same.”
Lesley cleared her throat. “I know you’re scared of it, but all this is kind of cool. I mean, it’s a real adventure, Gwen! And you’re right in the middle of it.”
Oh, yes, I was certainly right in the middle of it.
Just my luck.
* * *
LESLEY WAS RIGHT. There was no reason to think that Mum wouldn’t believe me. She had always listened to my “ghost stories” as seriously as they deserved. I’d always been able to go to her with anything, so why should this time be any different?
When we were still living in Durham, I’d been followed about for months on end by the ghost of a demon who was supposed to be haunting the cathedral roof in the form of a stone gargoyle. His name was Asrael, and he looked like a cross between a human, a cat, and an eagle. When he realized that I could see him, he’d been so pleased to be able to talk to someone at last that he followed me everywhere, even wanting to sleep in my bed at night. After I got over my first fright—like all gargoyles, he had a rather scary face—we slowly became friends. Sadly, Asrael hadn’t been able to move from Durham to London with me, and I still missed him. The few gargoyle demons I’d seen here were not very nice creatures. So far I hadn’t met one who was as sweet as Asrael.
If Mum had believed me about Asrael, then she’d probably believe me about the time-travel gene as well. I waited for a good moment to talk to her. But somehow the right moment never seemed to come. As soon as she was home from work, she had to discuss something with Caroline, who had put down her name to look after her class’s terrarium in the summer, particularly the class mascot, a chameleon called Mr. Bean. The summer break was still months away, but it seemed that the discussion couldn’t wait.
“You can’t look after Mr. Bean, Caroline! You know perfectly well that your grandmother won’t have pets in the house,” said Mum. “And Aunt Glenda is allergic.”
“But Mr. Bean doesn’t have any fur,” said Caroline. “And he’ll be in his terrarium all the time. He won’t be in anyone’s way.”
“He’ll be in your grandmother’s way.”
“Then my grandmother is just silly!”
“Caroline, we can’t keep him this summer. No one here knows the first thing about chameleons. Suppose we did something wrong, and Mr. Bean got sick and died?”
“He wouldn’t. And I do know how to look after him. Please, Mummy! If I don’t bring him home, then Tess will have him again, and she’s always saying that she’s Mr. Bean’s favorite in the class.”
“Caroline, I said no!”
Quarter of an hour later, they were still arguing, even when Mum went into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Caroline stood outside the door and said, “Lady Arista wouldn’t need to know. We could smuggle the terrarium into the house while she wasn’t here. And she never goes into my room.”
“Can’t a person get any peace around here, at least when she’s in the loo?” Mum called back.
“No,” said Caroline. She could be a terrible pain. She didn’t stop going on about it until Mum promised that she personally would plead with Lady Arista to let Mr. Bean spend the summer with us.
I spent the time that Caroline and Mum were wasting on their argument getting chewing gum out of Nick’s hair.
We were sitting in the sewing room. He had about half a pound of the stuff sticking to his head and couldn’t remember how it got there.
“You must have some idea!” I said. “I’m going to have to cut some of these strands of hair off.”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Nick. “You can cut it all off. Lady Arista said I looked like a girl the other day.”
“Lady Arista thinks everyone with hair longer than stubble looks like a girl. It would be a real shame to cut your lovely curls so short.”
