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“It’s exactly the same,” I said.
“No. I mean yes, maybe.” Lesley sighed. “I don’t understand. Are you sure you definitely let him finish what he was saying? Remember how in Ten Things I Hate About You—”
“I did let him finish what he was saying. Unfortunately, I’d add.” I looked at the time. “Oh, shit. I told Mr. George I’d be back in a minute.” I glanced at myself in the mirror above the old-fashioned washbasin. “Oh, shit!” I said again. There were two circular red patches on my cheeks. “I think I have some kind of allergic reaction.”
“Only caused by rage,” was Lesley’s diagnosis when I told her what I saw. “How about your eyes? Are they flashing dangerously?”
I stared at my reflection. “Yes, sort of. I look a bit like Helena Bonham Carter as Bellatrix Lestrange in Harry Potter. Rather threatening.”
“That sounds okay. Listen, you go out now and flash them at everyone for all you’re worth, right?”
I nodded obediently and promised to do just that.
After that phone call, I felt a bit better, even if cold water couldn’t wash away my fury or the two red spots on my cheeks.
If Mr. George had been wondering where I’d been for so long, he didn’t show it.
“Everything all right?” he asked in kindly tones. He’d been waiting for me outside the Old Refectory.
“Everything’s fine!” I glanced through the open doorway, but there was no sign of Giordano and Charlotte after all, even though I was far too late for my lesson by now. “I just had to … er, put some new rouge on.”
Mr. George smiled. Apart from the laughter lines around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth, nothing in his round, friendly face showed that he was well over seventy. The light was reflected on his bald patch, so that his whole head reminded me of a bowl polished until it shone.
I couldn’t help it, I had to smile back. The sight of Mr. George always had a soothing effect on me. “Honestly. You rub it into your face there,” I said, pointing to my two furious red spots.
Mr. George gave me his arm. “Come along, my brave girl,” he said. “I’ve let them know that we’re going downstairs for you to elapse.”
I looked at him in surprise. “But what about Giordano and colonial policy in the eighteenth century?”
Mr. George smiled slightly. “Let’s put it this way: I used the short wait while you were in the bathroom to tell Giordano we were afraid you wouldn’t have time for his lessons today.”
Dear, good Mr. George! He was the only one of the Guardians who seemed to bother about me as a real person at all. Although maybe a little minuet dancing might have calmed me down a bit. Like the way some people work off their aggression on a punching bag. Or by going to the gym. On the other hand, I could really do without Charlotte’s supercilious smile right now.
“The chronograph is waiting,” he added.
I was happy to take Mr. George’s arm. For once, I was even looking forward to elapsing—my daily few hours of controlled travel back to the past—and not just to get away from the horrible present day that meant Gideon. Because today’s journey back in time was the key point to the master plan that Lesley had thought up with me. If it worked as we hoped.
On the way down to the depths of the huge, vaulted cellars, Mr. George and I went right through the Guardians’ headquarters. It was hard to get a clear idea of the place, which occupied several buildings. There was so much to see, even in the winding corridors, that you might easily think you were in a museum. Countless framed paintings, ancient maps, handmade tapestries, and whole collections of swords hung on the walls. China that looked valuable, leather-bound books, and old musical instruments were on display in glass-fronted cupboards, and there were any number of chests and carved wooden boxes. In other circumstances, I’d have loved to find out what was inside them.
“I don’t know much about cosmetics, but if you want to let off steam to someone about Gideon—well, I’m a good listener,” said Mr. George.
“About Gideon?” I said slowly, as if I had to stop and work out who Gideon was. “Oh, everything’s fine between Gideon and me.” So there! I punched the wall in passing. “We’re friends, nothing more. Just friends.” Unfortunately the word didn’t really come out very easily. I was kind of grinding my teeth as I said it.
“I was sixteen once myself, Gwyneth.” Mr. George’s little eyes twinkled kindly at me. “And I promise I won’t say I warned you. Even though I did—”
“I’m sure you were a really nice boy when you were sixteen.” Hard to imagine Mr. George ever cunningly deceiving someone by kissing her and saying nice things without meaning them. You only have to be in the same room and I need to touch you and kiss you. I tried to shake off the memory of the way Gideon had looked at me by treading extra firmly as I walked along. The china in the glass-fronted cupboards shook slightly, clinking.
Right. Who needs to dance a minuet to work off aggression? This would do just fine. Although smashing one of those expensive-looking vases might have had an even better effect.
Mr. George looked sideways at me for some time, but finally he just pressed my arm and sighed. We were passing suits of armor at irregular intervals, and as usual, I had an uncomfortable feeling that I was under observation.
“There’s someone inside that armor, isn’t there?” I whispered to Mr. George. “Some poor novice who can’t go to the toilet all day, right? I can tell he’s staring at us.”
“No,” said Mr. George, laughing quietly. “But there are security cameras installed behind the visors of the helmets. That’s probably why you feel you’re being watched.”
Oh. Security cameras. At least I didn’t have to feel sorry for security cameras.
When we had reached the first flight of stairs down to the vaults, it struck me that Mr. George had forgotten something. “Don’t you want to blindfold me?”
