‘You may think me reckless for asking, Captain,’ he heard her say, after a few moments’ reflection, ‘but would you take me back with you to the year 2000?’
‘I’m afraid that’s impossible, Miss Haggerty.’ Tom sighed.
‘Why not? I promise I—‘
‘Because I can’t go ferrying people back and forth through time.’
‘But what’s the point of inventing a time machine if you don’t use it for—‘
‘Because it was invented for a specific purpose!’ Tom cut across her, exasperated by her stubbornness. Was she really that interested in time travel?
He instantly regretted his abruptness, but the harm was done. She looked at him, shocked by his irate tone. ‘And what purpose might that be, if you don’t mind me asking?’ she retorted, echoing his angry voice.
Tom sat back in his seat and watched her struggling to suppress her mounting fury. There was no point in carrying on with this. The way the conversation was going, he would never be able to coax her to the boarding- house. In fact, he would be lucky if she didn’t walk out on him there and then, tired of his filibustering. What had he expected? He was no Gilliam Murray. He was a miserable wretch with no imagination. He was out of his depth in the role of time traveller. He might as well give up, forget the whole thing, take his leave of the girl graciously while he still could and go back to his life as a nobody – unless, of course, Murray’s thugs had other ideas.
‘Miss Haggerty,’ he began, resolved to end the meeting politely on some pretext, but just then she placed her hand on his.
Taken aback, Tom forgot what he had been about to say. He gazed at her slender hand resting on his among the crockery, like a sculpture whose meaning he was unable to fathom. When he raised his eyes, he found her gazing at him with infinite sweetness.
‘Forgive my awkward questions, which no doubt you are not allowed to answer.’ She leaned delightfully towards him across the table. ‘It was a very rude way of thanking you for bringing back my parasol. In any case, you needn’t tell me what the machine is for, as I already know’
‘You do?’ said Tom, flabbergasted.
‘Yes,’ she assured him, with an enchantingly conceited grin.
‘And are you going to tell me?’
Claire looked first to one side, then to the other. ‘It’s for assassinating Mr Ferguson.’
Tom raised his eyebrows. Mr Ferguson? Who the devil was Mr Ferguson, and why did he have to be assassinated?
‘Don’t try to pretend, Captain.’ Claire chuckled. ‘There really is no need. Not with me.’
Tom laughed heartily with her, letting out a few loud guffaws to release the tension accumulated during her interrogation. He had no idea who Mr Ferguson was, but he sensed that his best bet was to pretend he knew everything about the man down to his shoe size and the type of shaving lotion he used, and pray she would not ask anything about him. ‘I can’t hide anything from you, Miss Haggerty’ he said. ‘You’re far too intelligent.’
Claire’s face glowed with pleasure. ‘Thank you, Captain. But it really wasn’t difficult to guess that your scientists invented the machine to travel back to this point in time in order to assassinate the inventor of the automatons before he could create them, thus preventing the destruction of London and the death of so many people.’
Was it really possible to travel back in time to change events? Tom wondered. ‘You’re quite right, Miss Haggerty. I was sent to kill Ferguson and save the world from destruction.’
The girl thought about this, then said: ‘Only you didn’t succeed, because we witnessed the war of the future with our own eyes.’
‘Right again,’ Tom acknowledged.
‘Your mission was a failure,’ she whispered, with a hint of dismay. Then she fixed her eyes on him, and murmured: ‘But why? Because the tunnels don’t stay open long enough?’
Tom spread his arms, pretending to be awed by her astuteness. Yes,’ he confessed, and with a sudden flash of inspiration, he added: ‘I made several exploratory journeys to try to find Ferguson, but I failed. There wasn’t enough time. That’s why you might bump into me again in the future, only if you do you mustn’t come up to me because I won’t know you yet’
She blinked, trying to grasp his meaning. ‘I understand,’ she said finally. ‘You made those journeys prior to this one and arrived here days afterwards.’
‘Exactly!’ he exclaimed, and encouraged by how much sense this gibberish was apparently making to her, he added: ‘Although from your point of view this would seem to be my first visit, it isn’t. I’ve made at least half a dozen other forays into your time before this one. What’s more, this journey, which for you is my first, is also my last, because use of the machine has been prohibited.’
‘Prohibited?’ asked Claire, her fascination growing.
Tom cleared his throat with a gulp of tea, and, emboldened by the effect his words were having on her, went on: ‘Yes, indeed. The machine was built halfway through the war, but when the mission failed, the inventors forgot their Utopian idea of preventing the war before it broke out and concentrated their efforts instead on trying to win it. They invented weapons that could cut through the automatons’ reinforced armour.’ Claire Haggerty nodded, probably recalling the soldiers’ impressive guns. ‘The machine was left to rot, though it was placed under guard to prevent anyone travelling illegally into the past and tampering with anything. Still, I was able to use it secretly, but I only managed to open the tunnel for ten hours, and I have three left before it closes. That’s all the time I have. After that I have to go back to my own world. If I stay here, hero or no, they’ll find me and execute me for travelling illegally in time. That means, in three hours from now, I’ll be gone for ever.’
With these words, he pressed her hand tenderly, while inwardly applauding his own performance. To his amazement, not only had he solved the problem of chance meetings in the future but had managed to tell her they had a short time together before they must say goodbye for ever. Only three hours. No more.
