Page 2 of The Hazardous Measure of Love
I knew better than to make a mystery of it to Soph. I wrinkled my nose and shrugged, looked regretful. ‘It’s a bit casual,’ I said. ‘Guy called Luc. I doubt he’s serious.’
‘He’s seriously boring in the pants department,’ Soph observed, eying the pack with distain
‘I know,’ I sighed. ‘But Trubshaw doesn’t like him and took it out on his underwear, so I feel obliged to replace it. He had to go off commando this morning.’
‘Where to?’ Soph trailed me to the cash register. Fortunately, I’d paid for the rest of the clothes in other departments.
‘Suffolk.’ Keeping to the truth as much as possible was sensible, I decided. If Luc was going to recur in my time then we had to make his story as simple and Sophie-proof as possible. Luckily my parents weren’t likely to turn up in the near future to inspect him and ask difficult questions. They’d taken early retirement and were energetically ticking off the bucket list of world destinations that two children and demanding careers in finance (Mum) and paediatric medicine (Pa) had restricted.
‘Where are the Parents? I lost the thread after Western Canada last month.’
‘The Amazon via New York,’ Soph said. ‘No need for panic, Mum isn’t going to turn up and demand to see his bank statement, driving licence and criminal record any time soon.’
‘How’s Tony?’ I asked, hoping to distract her while I stuffed the bag with the underwear in on top of the other clothes.
Soph looked flustered, which is unlike her. ‘Making noises about babies,’ she muttered.
‘What? He’s getting broody?’ Tony is Something In The City and that, combined with Soph’s lucrative IT skills, gave them a very nice lifestyle, thank you. (You’ll have gathered by now that I’m the impoverished wild child in the family.)
‘Mm. He’s making noises about not getting any younger and I keep catching him gazing into seriously up-market babywear shops and critiquing the royal infants’ wardrobes. And yesterday he asked me which of the bedrooms would make the best nursery.’
‘Good grief.’ Well, that’s notexactlywhat I said, but it conveys the idea. ‘What do you want to do?’
I expected Sophie, who shops at Olympic Gold level and is so seriously on-trend with her clothes and possessions that I often feel safer in the nineteenth century, to say,No way.
‘I’m coming round to the idea,’ she admitted, stunning me to the extent that I stopped dead in the entrance and was tutted at by one of Welhampstead’s legion of Scrummy Scandi nanny/au pairs who had to swerve a double buggy around me.
‘Förlåt!’ I called, hoping I’d got the right language. She waved a hand, so I’d guessed right. ‘Are you serious, Soph? I’m going to be an aunt?’ I thought about it. ‘That’s great.’
‘Not yet a while. Don’t start knitting.’ She’d relaxed a bit. ‘You know Tony – full medicals for both of us, earnest research on pre-conception diets, long debates on when we must stop drinking. He is going to be The Perfect Father. I’ll have to be Slummy Mummy to balance the poor kid out.’
‘That’s OK,’ I told her. ‘I volunteer to be the Disgraceful Aunty. Every child should have one.’ I said it lightly, but it gave me a twinge that felt unpleasantly like jealousy. I wanted to be with Luc all the time, have a family with him, and it seemed impossible.
His first wife had died giving birth to the twins. They had been amiable enough together, I’d gathered, but it had been a “suitable” marriage for an earl, not a love match. So, he was unattached, but there was no way I could stay in his time, because even if I was willing to leave my family for ever, which I wasn’t, whatever it was that sent me back also returned me to my own time without any input from me.
Nor could I risk time travelling when pregnant, because it was physically quite rough and I had no idea what effect it might have on a baby. As a result, I was on the Pill and, given that however faithful Luc was now, I knew perfectly well that Regency noblemen did not live like monks, we were using condoms as well.
‘Come back and have coffee?’ I suggested, only half listening to myself. If Luc could come here when he wanted and if he got checked out for dodgy Regency health issues, then what was to stop us… But no, whatever controlled my trips back in time seemed to have a mind of its own and I couldn’t risk being sent back at random while pregnant, or with an armful of baby. It was too hazardous and I was being self-indulgent.
I had the key in the door before I realised that I hadn’t checked the place in case Luc had left anything behind but, luckily, he seemed to have dressed in everything he came in.
‘You OK, Cassie?’ Soph asked. ‘Only you’ve gone very quiet.’
‘Oh yes, fine, just a hangover. Fill the kettle, will you, while I dump this.’ She raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting to inspect my shopping. ‘Deadly dull – some new towels and a face cloth,’ I lied. Honesty can only get you so far.
‘Where are you and Tony getting checked over?’ I asked when we settled down with our coffee.
‘There’s a new private clinic that’s opened at the Old Hall. Very smooth and you do loads of form-filling on-line first. I think they must get a lot of foreigners coming out from Town because it isn’t compulsory to give your NHS number or anything. In fact they’ll do it quite anonymously.’
That would be perfect, I thought. I’d see what Luc said. If it meant we could give the condoms the elbow, that would be great, although obviously giving Luc’s overall health a check-up was more important.
We gossiped for an hour, then she took herself off for some Serious Saturday Shopping and I applied myself to translating a paper on wind turbines from German into English. I’ll say this for it, it certainly got my head out of the nineteenth century.
* * *
On Sunday I was on duty as a Special Constable all morning, the highlight of which was disentangling two teenage e-scooter riders from the canal lock gates. Don’t ask – Darrell Farnsworth and his mate Sky are what the Darwin Awards were invented for.
Pausing only to feed myself and Trubshaw and hurl the washing into the machine, I spent the afternoon with the lovely Mr Aristotle Grimswade, aged proprietor of St Christopher Antiques. He’d sold me the miniature portrait of Luc that is the catalyst for my time travelling, so I owe him and besides, he was an interesting and very sweet man. He had decided to retire, so was selling off stock, some through local auctions, some on-line, and I was helping him with listings.
