Revived Spirits (7 page)

Mr. Wescott ignored the spectacle as well and checked his watch. He leaned toward the cabbie.

“We appreciate the tour, but wouldn’t it be faster to go directly to our flat?” Liv recognized her dad’s “I’m-being-polite- but-I’m-irritated” tone of voice. It was clear he thought the cabbie was trying to turn a short trip into a long one to charge a higher fare.

“Sorry, sir,” replied the cabbie, his eyes darting from the traffic ahead to his rearview mirror and back. “It seemed a cab about three lengths back was following us, so I deviated a bit to see what would happen.” The traffic light ahead turned red, and the cab glided to a stop. The cabbie held the steering wheel with one hand and rubbed his face with the other.

No one spoke. The light changed to green, and the cabbie drove forward. He turned left, waiting until the last second to use his turn signal so as not to give away his intentions. Seconds later, his lips came together in a thin line and the furrow of his brow deepened.

“Sir, d’ya know a fair-haired chap with an Aussie hat and a dark tan?” He spoke calmly, but the lighthearted tone was gone. Liv felt her heart pound in her chest. She glanced at the boys. They were perfectly still, listening.

Mr. Wescott replied, “I don’t know anyone like that—it can’t be related to us.”

“I spotted him holding his cabbie’s shoulder and pointing at us a couple of times.” Concern creased his friendly face. “I hope you’re not one of those solicitors who get in with a dangerous crowd.”

Mr. Wescott’s expression of concern matched the cabbie’s. “I assure you, my business is boringly safe.” He glanced around the cab’s interior. “I’d never bring my family along if it weren’t.”

“All the same, I’m going to drive right on past your building without stopping. If I’m satisfied this bloke is nowhere to be seen, I’ll circle the block and bring you round again.” The cabbie drove the remaining half block to the intersection with his right turn signal on, then changed to left at the last second and turned that way.

The evasive maneuver was unneeded, though. The cab had dropped back.

Lance Cumpston was satisfied. He glanced in the cab’s side view mirror and chuckled. There was the sheep family’s cab, finally parked in front of the Asquith Gardens Apartments, children spilling out onto the sidewalk. He could find them if he chose to. He sat back in his seat and saw Morehouse studying him.

“You wouldn’t be afraid to do what’s necessary, would you, Robert?” Cumpston normally avoided real names in public places. Even in private, he addressed his associates by last name, but this was a crucial display of power. The new one needed to be put in his place.

But it seemed Morehouse could play that game, too. “Of course not, Lance.”

Cumpston recoiled at the sound of his own name. Such disrespect. Who did he think he was?  Who was he, really?

Morehouse leaned closer to Cumpston and spoke quietly. “You’ll never have a problem with me over doing what’s necessary. It’s your preoccupation with the unnecessary that’s attracting my attention.”

He inclined his head toward the building where the Wescotts were now filing in, one at a time, and looked back at Cumpston. “Those are kids, Lance—no need to get paranoid over a bunch of children. So what if the girl figured out you changed your look on the plane—if she did.”

He gripped Cumpston’s forearm—another inappropriate informality, Cumpston noted. “What do you think she’s going to do, Lance—hire a private investigator to run background checks on us?”

Cumpston’s bronzed-from-the-bottle complexion changed as all traces of natural pink drained from his face. “No, no—of course not. Let’s drop it, shall we?” He withdrew himself from Morehouse’s grasp and sat back in the seat. Maybe worrying about the girl was a waste of time.

Morehouse, on the other hand. . . Morehouse was disrespectful— it just wouldn’t do.

The exterior of the converted mansion that now housed Asquith Serviced Apartments oozed Englishness and past grandeur. The enormous hand-carved door looked as if it belonged in a cathedral. It opened without a creak into a marble-tiled foyer that still managed to look impressive, despite being broken up into an entryway, seating area, check-in desk and baggage hold.

The Wescott party checked in without incident. The slight, dark-eyed man staffing the desk seemed delighted to see them— his cinnamon-colored face was split by a wide smile that revealed dazzling white teeth. He completed the paperwork quickly and produced keycards for the adults.

The smile sagged as he looked up and down the hall, sighed, and pounded a bell on the desk with his fist. “My lazy brotherin-law is often nowhere to be found when baggage needs to go up, but I can assure you he will materialize at the end of your stay to take your bags down, hoping for a generous tip. Please give him none.”

He snorted,raised the counter on its hinges,and came forward to reach for their luggage. “Allow me to assist you. Right this way.” He ignored the ringing telephone.

Mr. Wescott gave a sympathetic shake of his head. “No need to leave your post when I have three able bodies right here. It seems you’re already doing double duty as attendant and manager.”

He grinned in appreciation and held up a travel brochure and tool belt. “Don’t forget concierge and repairman.” He pointed with the brochure to a corner in the hallway as he picked up the phone. “The lift’s over there.”

Mr. Wescott handed a keycard to Liv, and asked, “Can I put you three in charge of the rest of the luggage? We’re on the third floor—number three-oh-five.”

“Sure, Dad,” Anthony said, gripping a suitcase in each hand and nodding at Cal to do the same. “We’ll be waiting for you.”

They made their way down a narrow passage to an elevator the size of a phone booth, with beautiful brass appointments, oriental carpet and gleaming wood trim. A glance told them the luggage and the three of them couldn’t fit into the tiny space at the same time.

“Here,” said Anthony, pushing ahead of Cal and motioning for him to hand over the additional suitcases. “I’ll go on—you two take the stairs. Just close that collapsible brass gate, will you?”

“Where’s the door?” asked Cal. “You don’t want to see this thing going between floors.” He shuddered.

“Don’t worry—I can close my eyes if I need to.” Anthony held his finger at the button. “I’ll give you a head start. See you on the third floor.  Last one up has to unload all the luggage.”

Cal turned and sprinted to the spiral staircase. “Don’t push the button till I hit the first step!”

Liv watched him take the stairs two at a time and climb round and round. She followed, enjoying the pull of the steps on her leg muscles and feeling strong. “Up to two, up to two,” chanted Cal ahead of her, passing a closed door that appeared to lead off to a hallway. “Up to three, up to three,” he panted, stopping at the next landing and heading down the hall to look at apartment doors.

Liv knew the brass numbers would read two-oh-three, twooh-four and two-oh-five, so why was Cal stopping here? She looked toward the elevator shaft. Here came Anthony, staring at Cal while the little cage passed the floor and continued its ascent. Brother and sister shrugged at each other as Cal raced back up the hall and tore into the stairs again, barely catching up with Liv at the end. The elevator was emptied of luggage, and Anthony said, “Sit down and catch your breath. We’ll carry everything to the apartment.”

Liv jumped in to be sure Cal understood his mistake. “Guess you didn’t realize the lobby is the ground floor. After that, you start counting first and so on. The third floor is actually the fourth story.”

“And I was supposed to know that how?” Cal grumbled. “I don’t like being outsmarted by a building.”

Liv picked up two suitcases and congratulated herself for choosing not to invite a friend on this trip. Friends could be high-maintenance.

It didn’t take long for the efficient Mrs.Wescott to get everyone on task, settling into the apartment and unpacking while she worked on a grocery list. Sleeping assignments were made: grownups and Anna in the large bedroom, Liv in the second one, about the size of a walk-in closet, with the boys sleeping on the pullout sofa in the sitting room. Anthony and Cal slid their suitcases under the end tables flanking the sofa. The three agreed that Liv should keep the box in her room for now.

“If we each take ten minutes to freshen up in the bathroom,” Mrs. Wescott instructed them, “we can hit the pavement, ready to sightsee, in under an hour. We’ll pick up groceries on the way back.”

“Ten minutes?” asked Anthony, sniffing his armpits. “What do I need to do that will take a whole ten minutes?”

Mrs. Wescott handed him a bar of soap and pointed to the bathroom. “Come out clean.”

Liv finished brushing her teeth and looked up, where her reflection in the mirror met her gaze with customary directness. Her curly, dark hair, pulled back into its usual ponytail, was just beginning to frizz in the humidity of an unair-conditioned London summer. Her blue eyes might have been more striking with makeup, though Liv couldn’t imagine bothering. Her build was slim but solid from years of soccer and running and her nails would always be trimmed short, because the piano was a love she intended never to be without.

Hmm. . . A piano. Soccer. Running. She’d gone without any of them for more than a day, and she was feeling withdrawal. Not much she could do about the first two, but maybe she could convince her parents to let her take a run somewhere. There was a park visible from the huge windows of their sitting room. It would be fun to explore.

The street and neighborhood looked like a scene from Mary Poppins, and the flat itself was like a movie set with its high ceilings, elaborate plaster moldings and chandeliers. A ringing phone interrupted her reverie.

Brring-brring. Pause. Brring-brring. Pause. Even the sound of the phone was charming.

Through the inch-plus gap under the bathroom door, Liv could hear her mother say, “Hello?” then, “Oh, hello, Mrs. Havard! How thoughtful of you to call.”

Liv emerged from the bathroom and crossed the navy and cream print carpet to stand by her mother and listen.

“Well, yes, we’d love to come by and meet you. Let me just get a pen and write the directions.”

Her mother hung up and announced, “We’re invited for tea.”

“Great—I’m ready. Maybe I can practice on their piano for a few minutes and still have time to find a place to run when we get back.”

Anthony was slouching on the sofa while Cal slept, stretched out on the floor beside him. He leaped over his friend and bounded to his sister’s side.

“I’m sure Mrs. Havard isn’t expecting all six of us, dear—she mentioned only Liv and me. But I guess you boys could come along if you like. They have a daughter a couple of years older than you. It should be fun for all of you to meet, and we can sightsee tomorrow. Maybe your father will want to rest—he has to work tomorrow.” She looked around the room, then put her finger to her lips and followed the sound of snoring that drifted in from the bedroom. She tiptoed in and came out smiling.

“They’re passed out on the bed. I put a blanket over them, and I’ll tape a note to the doorframe explaining where we are and what to feed Anna.”

The walk to the Underground station was fun, except for a silly thing that kept getting on Liv’s nerves. The buildings were quaint, the shops were interesting and the people-watching was fantastic, but Anthony and Cal kept irritating her by poking and pinching each other, saying, “Hey—we’re really in London!”

Why did it make her feel left out? Her parents had offered to let her invite a friend. She’d chosen not to.

She put it from her mind and walked beside her mother, past planters overflowing with greenery to fat white columns that marked the entrance to the station, which was filled with vendors. Beyond them were the turnstiles, and Liv tried her pass first. The machine ate the ticket and instantly spat it out on the other side of the turnstile, which opened for her as a red light changed to green. She was in.

The others did the same, and after a couple of false starts, followed by a quick consultation of a wall map, they were on the proper platform waiting for their train.

There had been plenty to watch on the way down. Small billboards advertising shows in the theater district, a saxophonist playing jazz, his case open and filling up with coins and bills. Purposeful-looking grownups, on their way to very important places.

And kids her own age or a little older, hanging out and traveling with their friends, laughing and talking, calling other friends on cell phones.

In the relative quiet of the platform, she looked at her brother and his best friend again, sitting together on the bench, joking, enjoying each other’s company. For the first time, she confronted the real reason she’d turned down her parents’ offer to let her invite a friend on this trip.

Popular and outgoing, she had always assumed she could have a friend any time she wanted—the time had just never been right. And when the trip had come up, she’d been too engrossed in her own problems to find one in a hurry. At least, that had been her excuse.  In fact, she wasn’t sure she could do it.

What was the matter with her? She’d made friends quickly with Emily, a girl she’d met on a time travel trip to 1897. But the contact was short-lived, she reminded herself. She didn’t have to nurture the relationship by spending lots of time on it, the way Anthony and Cal spent so much time together. Maybe she was too selfish to have a friend.