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“Don’t be so uptight, Marley. Come on, Gwen, let’s go.”
“But you can’t.… I must insist that…,” stammered Mr. Marley. “And … and … and you have no right to tell me what to do—”
“Then go tell tales of me.” Gideon took my arm and simply hauled me on. I thought of resisting, but then I realized that would only lose me even more time. We’d probably still be standing here arguing tomorrow morning. So I let him lead me away, glancing back apologetically at Mr. Marley. “See you, Leo.”
“Yes, exactly. See you, Leo,” said Gideon.
“You … you haven’t heard the last of this,” stammered Mr. Marley, behind us. His face was shining like a beacon in the dark corridor.
“No, sure, we’re trembling with fright already.” Gideon didn’t seem to mind that Mr. Marley could still hear him as he added, “Stupid show-off.”
I waited until we had turned the next corner and then shook myself free of his hand and quickened my pace until I was almost running.
“Ambitious to compete in the Olympic Games?” inquired Gideon.
I spun around to face him. “What do you want?” Lesley would have been proud of the way I spat that at him. “I’m in a hurry.”
“I only wanted to make sure you understood my apology this afternoon.” All the mockery had gone out of his voice now.
But not out of mine. “Yup, I did,” I snorted. “Which doesn’t mean I accepted it.”
“Gwen—”
“Okay, you don’t have to say you really like me again. Guess what, I liked you too. In fact, I liked you a lot. But that’s all over now.” I was running up the spiral staircase as fast as I could go, with the result that by the time I reached the top, I was right out of breath. I felt like hanging over the banisters gasping for air. But I wasn’t going to expose my weakness like that. Particularly as Gideon didn’t seem to have been exerting himself at all to keep up. So I hurried on, until he grabbed my wrist and made me stand still. I winced as his fingers pressed on my cut. It started bleeding again.
“It’s okay for you to hate me, really, I don’t have any problem with that,” said Gideon, looking seriously into my eyes. “But I’ve discovered things that make it necessary for you and me to work together. So that you … so that we’ll get out of all this alive.”
o;Why were you expecting me?” I asked.
“Because you told me not to be scared when you visited me. Unfortunately you didn’t say when that would be, so I’ve been waiting years and years for you to try scaring me.” She laughed quietly. “But making crochet pigs has a very soothing effect. To be honest, it easily sends you to sleep out of sheer boredom.”
I had a polite “It’s for a good cause, though,” on the tip of my tongue, but when I glanced at the basket, I exclaimed instead, “Oh, aren’t they cute!” And they really were. Much larger than I’d have expected, like real soft toys, and true to life.
“Take one,” said Lady Tilney.
“Do you mean it?” I thought of Caroline and put my hand into the basket. The pigs felt all soft and fluffy.
“Angora and cashmere wool,” said Lady Tilney with a touch of pride in her voice. “I never use any other. Most people crochet with sheep’s wool, but it’s so scratchy.”
“Er, yes. Thank you.” Clutching the little pink pig to my breast, I spent a moment pulling my thoughts together. Where had we been? I cleared my throat. “When do we meet next time? In the past, I mean?”
“That was 1912. Although it’s not next time from my point of view.” She sighed. “What exciting days those were—”
“Oh, hell!” My stomach was doing its roller-coaster ride again. Why on earth hadn’t we chosen a larger window of time? “Then anyway, you know more than I do,” I said hastily. “There’s no time to go into detail, but … maybe you can give me some good advice to help me?” I had taken a couple of steps back in the direction of the window, out of the circle of lamplight.
“Advice?”
“Yes. Well, something like: beware of…?” I looked at her expectantly.
“Beware of what?” Lady Tilney looked back at me just as expectantly.
“That’s just what I don’t know! What ought I to beware of?”
“Pastrami sandwiches, for one thing, and too much sunlight. It’s bad for the complexion,” said Lady Tilney firmly—and then she blurred in front of my eyes and I was back in the year 1956.
Pastrami sandwiches, for heaven’s sake! I ought to have asked who I ought to beware of, not what. But it was too late now. I’d lost the opportunity.
“What on earth is that?” cried Lucas, when he saw the piglet.
