Page 33 of Love and Other Paradoxes

The tension left Diana’s body. She leaned back against the wall, crossing her arms. “So you heard I was with someone else, then decided to make a pass at me?”

He threw up his hands. “Okay. I’m sorry. If you’re with him and you’re happy, then obviously, I was out of line.”

Something happened to her face: a flicker of hurt, immediately sealed over by cold disdain. “Yes. You were.” She marched to the door and flung it open. “These rehearsals aren’t working. I need to develop my own relationship with the piece. Alone.”

He couldn’t believe how instantly he had ruined everything. He searched for something he could say to turn it around, but her words left no room for argument. He headed sheepishly for the door.

“Oh, and you should know,” she added icily as he left. “Even if I weren’t with Crispin, it wouldn’t make any difference. You’re really not my type.”

Chapter Twelve

He thundered down the stairs, his fury at Diana’s words only slightly tempered by the fact that he had thought the exact same thing about her. But it didn’t make any sense. They were destined to be together. Something was going to turn him into her type: he just had to figure out what.

He was reaching into his coat pocket for the book when he remembered where he was. He couldn’t exactly whip it out and consult it in Diana’s corridor. But he couldn’t take it outside either: it was a quarter to twelve, inside visiting hours, and he didn’t want to ruin his mystique with the time travellers. On impulse, he ducked into the nearest bathroom and locked the door. He sat in the dry bath and read through the Introduction, seeking out the most romantic thing he had ever done for Diana. As always, the book was frustratingly thin on details. He was about to give up when his skimming eye caught the phrasefell in love with him all over again.

“Oh aye. Here we go,” he murmured, leaning over the pages.

Greene’s legendary devotion to Dartnell extended beyond mere words. Throughout their relationship, he showered her with extravagant gifts, like the surprise trip he arranged to a friend’sprivate island. “It was incredible to be somewhere so secluded,” Dartnell was quoted as saying. “Like it was just the two of us, alone in the universe. I fell in love with him all over again.”

Joe stared emptily down the plughole. Despite having been at Cambridge for two years, he was yet to make any friends who had private islands. It was so much easier to be romantic when you were already rich and famous.

He pocketed the book and let himself out onto Trinity Street. Twelve o’clock had come and gone; so had Vera and her latest group. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching him.

“Greeney!” His nickname clashed so wildly with the Joseph Greene he had just been reading about that it gave him whiplash. He finally spotted Rob, waving at him from behind the postbox.

“What are you doing here?”

“Lurking. Word on the Assassin street is, Darcy’s at Trinity.”

Rob looked very calm for a man about to face his nemesis. “Wait. Darcy’s finally your target?”

“No, not yet. Just trying to get the latest intel. My current target’s at Sidney.” He headed for Green Street, beckoning Joe to follow. “Come with me. You might learn something.”

“I doubt that,” he said, but followed anyway. Being an Assassin had given Rob an encyclopaedic knowledge of the city that Joe could turn to his advantage. “Can you think of anywhere in Cambridge that’s really... secluded?”

Rob shot him a look. “Creepy.”

“No, I mean like—somewhere to take a girl.”

“Not making it any less creepy.”

“You’re not understanding. Deliberately. I want to take Diana somewhere she’s never been before.”

Rob led the way across the road—Joe cringed in anticipation of the inevitable bike—and turned up the narrow pedestrian alley of Sussex Street. “There’s this restaurant on Chesterton Road. It’s quiet, intimate, the food isincredible—”

“That sounds like it costs money,” he interrupted. “My overdraft’s nearly maxed out. I need something free.” Looking up, he did a double take. Standing on the balustrade by the baked potato shop was Vera. She wasn’t wearing her tabard; if she hadn’t been staring at him with such intensity, he might not have recognised her.

He checked his watch. Twenty past twelve. She shouldn’t be here. He felt an aggrieved impulse to march up to her and recite the terms and conditions. But something else was strange. No time travellers crowded onto the steps beside her: she was alone.

He had been staring at her for too long. With a look of alarm, she hurried down the steps and strode away. He watched her disappear into the crowd, wondering what had brought her here out of hours. Maybe she was a fan of his poetry. That might be what had drawn her to the job in the first place: the chance to use her position to get her own private tour. Whatever the reason, he was annoyed. Now he’d have to watch out for her every time he met up with Esi.

“Greeney?” Rob beckoned him in the opposite direction.

Joe followed him through an open gate into the back of Sidney Sussex College. “So?” he prompted. “Any ideas?”

“You could try the secret terrace.”

“What secret terrace?”

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