immersed in a lively conversation while they walked. Finally, when she found herself at the back of the group, she hitched up her skirts and made a clumsy dash for it, ducking behind a conveniently placed remnant of wall.
Claire Haggerty stood still, her back against the wall, her heart pounding, listening to the murmur of the group growing fainter and fainter, without anyone apparently having noticed she was missing. When at last they were out of earshot, dry-throated, parasol clasped between her sweaty palms, she poked her head out cautiously and saw that the procession had disappeared round a bend. She had done it! At once she felt a rush of panic as it dawned on her she was alone in that dreadful place, but she quickly told herself this was what she had wanted. Events were unfolding exactly as she had planned when she climbed aboard the Cronotilus. Unless something went horribly wrong, she could stay in the year 2000. Wasn’t that what she had wished for?
She drew a deep breath and stepped out from behind the wall. All being well, they would only discover her absence when they reached the time-tram, but even so she must hurry to join Shackleton and his men before the guide found out. After that there would be nothing Mazursky could do and she would be safe. As he had told them himself during the journey, they were in the year 2000 as simple spectators: they must not let themselves be seen by people from the future, still less make contact with them. Finding the captain, then, was her primary objective.
Claire marched off in the opposite direction to her companions, trying not to think of the consequences her unexpected act might have on the fabric of time. She only hoped she would not destroy the universe in her bid to be happy.
Now that she found herself alone, the surrounding devastation seemed even more disturbing. What if she could not find Shackleton? And what if the captain snubbed her, refusing to admit her into his ranks? She could not believe that a true gentleman would abandon a woman to her fate in that terrible world. Besides, she had some knowledge of first aid, which might prove useful, judging from how easy it was to get wounded there, and she was courageous and hard-working enough to help them rebuild the world. And, of course, she was in love with the captain. Although she preferred not to let that show until she was completely sure. In the meantime it was simply a notion, as outrageous as it was exhilarating. She had to admit, however, that she had not given enough thought to what she would do when she met the captain, because she had not really believed her escape plan would work. She would just have to improvise, she told herself, walking round the promontory, before hiking up her skirts in readiness to climb down the steep path, which, if her sense of direction had not failed her, would lead to the street where the ambush had taken place.
She paused when she heard footsteps coming up the path towards her. They were unmistakably human, but Claire followed her instinct and jumped behind the nearest rock. She waited in silence, her heart beating furiously in her chest. The owner of the footsteps stopped near to where she was hiding. Claire was afraid he had seen her and would order her to come out with her hands up or, worse, that he would point his gun at the rock and wait for her to make the first move. Instead the stranger began singing: ‘Jack the Ripper’s dead/And lying on his bed/He cut his throat/With Sunlight Soap/ Jack the Ripper’s dead.’
Claire raised her eyebrows. She knew that song. Her father had learned it from East End children and used to sing it softly to himself as he shaved before going to church. She suddenly imagined herself immersed in the aroma of the new-fangled soap made from pine oil rather than animal fat. She wished she could travel back to her own time simply to tell her father that the song which had so tickled him had survived over the years. Except that she would never go back, come what may. She tried not to think of this, but to concentrate on the present moment, the moment that would mark the start of her new life.
The stranger carried on singing with even greater gusto. Had he come to that secluded place simply to try out his voice? Whatever the case, it was time she made contact with the inhabitants of the year 2000. She gritted her teeth, plucked up all her courage and stepped out of her hiding-place, ready to introduce herself to the stranger who was so casually destroying one of her favourite songs.
Claire Haggerty and the brave Captain Shackleton stared at one another in silence, each reflecting the other’s surprise, like two mirrors facing one another. The captain had removed his helmet, which was resting on a nearby stone, and Claire did not need to look twice to realise that the reason he had strayed from the others was not to practise his singing, but to perform a far less noble act to which the ditty he was singing was a simple adjunct. She could not prevent her jaw dropping, and her fingers letting go of the parasol, which made a crunching sound, like a shell breaking, as it hit the ground. After all, this was the first time her delicate eyes had glimpsed the part of a man she was apparently not meant to see until the day her marriage was consummated, and even then probably not quite in such a plain and naked fashion.
As soon as he had recovered from his surprise, Captain Shackleton hastened to tuck away the unseemly part of his anatomy beneath his armour. Then he stared at her, again without a word, embarrassment giving way to curiosity. Claire had not had time to speculate about other details, but Captain Derek Shackleton’s face was certainly as she had imagined it would be. Either the Creator had fashioned it according to her precise instructions, or the ape this man was descended from had had a superior pedigree.
But, for whatever reason, Captain Shackleton’s face unquestionably belonged to a different era. He had the same graceful chin as the statue and the same serene expression around his mouth, and his eyes, now that she could see them, were in perfect harmony with the rest of his features. Those beautiful grey-green eyes, like a forest immersed in mist where all who ventured were destined to be lost, set the world alight with a gaze so intense, so profound that Claire knew she was in the presence of the most alive man she had ever seen. Yes, beneath that armour plate, that bronzed skin, those sculpted muscles, was a heart that beat with extraordinary force, pumping through the network of veins a stubborn impulsive life that death itself had been unable to conquer.
Tm Claire Haggerty Captain,’ she introduced herself, trying to stop her voice quaking, ‘and I’ve come from the nineteenth century to help you rebuild the world.’
Captain Shackleton went on staring at her, ashen-faced, through eyes that had seen the destruction of London, raging fires and piles of dead bodies, eyes that had seen the most atrocious side of life but had no idea how to cope with the delicate, exquisite creature in front of him.
‘There you are, Miss Haggerty!’ she heard someone cry out behind her.
Taken aback, Claire wheeled round and saw the guide coming down the steep path towards her. Mazursky was clearly relieved to have found her.
‘I thought I told you all to stay together!’ he cried shrilly, as he walked up to her and seized her roughly by the arm. ‘You could have stayed behind for ever!’
Claire turned towards Shackleton to implore his aid, but to her astonishment the captain had vanished as though he had been nothing but a figment of her imagination. Indeed, his departure had been so abrupt that, as Mazursky dragged her towards where the others were waiting for them, Claire wondered in all seriousness whether she had really seen him or if he had been a product of her inflamed imagination.
They rejoined the group, and before they headed back to the Cronotilus, the guide made them get into a line with the marksmen at the rear and, irritated, ordered them not to wander off again.
