The Thief of Time (31 page)

‘Well, he wasn't happy,' I said truthfully. ‘But he didn't say very much to be honest. It was Polly, his wife, who put up the most protest. She seemed much more aggrieved than he was.'

After I had told Martin that his services were no longer required, Polly had indeed been the one to show the most anger. As her husband had slumped back in his chair, one hand resting over his brow as he contemplated his future – or lack thereof – she had gone on the attack, accusing me of disloyalty and downright stupidity. She said that we owed her husband for all his years of service, which was, I felt, overstating his case somewhat, and that we were fools if we couldn't see how much of an asset he was to the station. I could tell from her behaviour that what most concerned her was the idea of no further income from her husband and the prospect of his being excluded from showbusiness parties, functions and awards shows as his star grew ever dimmer until an introduction was always followed by the phrase ‘Didn't you used to be ...?' She was a young woman and she was stuck with Martin now, day and night.

‘Fuck her,' said Caroline. ‘She's the least of our problems.'

‘She had ambitions towards producing,' I pointed out, and she laughed out loud. ‘Why is that so funny?' I asked her, baffled.

‘Well, tell me this,' she replied. ‘Does she work in television?'

‘No.'

‘Has she ever worked in television?'

‘Not as far as I am aware.'

‘Has she ever, in fact, worked at all?'

‘Yes. She's worked in the art world. And she's always taken a great interest in Martin's show,' I said, wondering why I was explaining myself to Caroline.

‘In his bank account, more like,' she said, shaking her head. ‘In where he could take her. Producing!' she scoffed. ‘The very idea's ridiculous.'

I stood up and came around to the front of my desk, sitting on its edge as I stared down at her angrily. ‘Have you forgotten our first conversation?' I asked her. ‘Have you forgotten how you tried to convince me to give you the top job in this organisation even though you had absolutely no experience of it whatsoever?'

‘I had years of management experience in -'

‘Selling records, I know,' I shouted, losing my temper with her now, a rare thing. ‘Well, this is a whole different world, baby. It may have escaped your attention as you sit out there tuning into television from around the world, but we don't sell records. Or books or clothes or stereo systems or posters of twelve-year-old pop stars with perfect skin. We are a television station. We produce televisual entertainment for the masses. And you knew nothing of that when I took you on, did you?'

‘No, but I've -'

‘No but nothing. You asked me to give you a chance and I gave you one. Nice to see you won't extend the same courtesy to someone else. Isn't there a parable about that somewhere in the Bible?'

She shook her head and I could see her tongue bulging in her cheek as she thought through what I had said. ‘Hold on a minute,' she said eventually. ‘What exactly are you saying here?' She looked at me in dismay. ‘You didn't... you didn't actually ... don't tell me you sacked him and hired her? Please, Matthieu, don't tell me you did that?' I smiled at her and raised an eyebrow slightly. I let her stew. ‘Oh for God's sake,' she said. ‘How on earth are we ever going to -'

‘Of course I didn't hire her,' I said, cutting her off in mid-explosion, just before the stream of lava could escape her mouth and spill out all over me. ‘Believe me, Caroline, I will
never
give someone a job for which they are completely inexperienced. An assistant's job, sure, but nothing more than that. To perform at this level, you'd have to know what you were doing.'

She curled her lip in distaste and I walked over to the window and stayed there, staring out at the street below until I heard her leave, her high heels clop-clop-clopping on the wooden floorboards beneath her.

Jack and I divided the weekend work at Cageley House between us, with each of us working every second one. It meant a longer day, of course, because one would be obliged to do the work of two people, but it was worth it in order to have an alternating weekend of idle pleasure. It was on one such Saturday, while I was lazing around the Ambertons' house playing cards with my younger brother and generally feeling a boredom that almost sent me back to the stables, that Mrs Amberton prevailed upon me to join her for a shopping expedition in the village.

‘I want to stock up the pantry,' she told me, bustling through the kitchen, arcing the juices from her chewing tobacco into the spittoon as she passed it. ‘And I'll never be able to manage it on my own. Mr Amberton's down with one of his chests so you better come and help me.'

I nodded and finished the game before getting ready to join her. I didn't mind; the Ambertons rarely asked anything of me and had been very good to both Tomas and me during our stay there. They took a parental interest in my younger brother, whose schooling had come on remarkably well since he had actually started attending one, and they appeared to care for me as well for no other reason than the fact that they liked me. In the months since the hunting weekend and the death of the mare, little had changed in Cageley, except for the fact that Nat Pepys was spending more and more of his weekends at the house, to the point where it would have hardly been a Friday evening at all if we had not seen his short, stooped-over frame, charging up the driveway on horseback as dusk fell.

‘He's up to something,' Jack confided in me. ‘Like as not he thinks the old man's going to snuff it soon enough and he wants to make sure that he's in for a larger share of the pot come the day.'

I wasn't so sure; we hadn't had very many dealings since the incident with the horse – I think he realised that I had seen through his cowardice that afternoon and was unsure how to deal with a feeling of humiliation when it involved someone whom he perceived as a subordinate. In general, we ignored each other completely; I tended to his horses, he tended to his business, and in that manner we co-existed comfortably.

On this particular Saturday, a recent cold spell had finally lifted and the village was drowned in a warm golden light which seemed to bring all the residents out of their hiding places, blinking in the sunshine. They hovered around the few shops that existed in the.village and chatted sociably. Mrs Amberton greeted all whom she passed and it occurred to me how these people, all of whom knew each other very well, never called each other by their Christian names, preferring to use the full ‘Mr' or ‘Mrs' appellation all the time. We stopped and chatted with some of our neighbours, making small talk about the weather or the condition of each other's clothing. I began to feel as if I was Mrs Amberton's son, pausing by her side whenever she wanted to speak to someone, standing silently beside her as I waited for their conversation to end. It made me uncomfortable after a time and I wished that she would simply hurry up and allow us to be on our way. I realised that stable village life was beginning to lose its appeal for me.

It was while we were standing at the corner of one street, talking to a Mrs Henchley who had recently lost her husband to pleurisy during the bad weather, that I saw something which made my stomach sick with anger. Mrs Amberton and Mrs Henchley were chatting twenty to the dozen, patting each other on the arm from time to time, reassuring each other of just how fond they had been of the late Mr Henchley, when I spotted Dominique standing outside the small teashop in the centre of the street, just under an outstretched shade, chatting with a young man who bore a cast upon his leg. She was wearing a smart Sunday outfit which I had never seen before and a bonnet, from the sides of which hung a few long curls which she had recently fashioned into her hair. They were chatting animatedly and, as they did, Dominique would laugh from time to time, always putting her hand to her mouth as she did so, in a ladylike affectation that she had no doubt picked up at Cageley House. I turned back to look at Mrs Amberton, who was oblivious to my presence by now as she and her friend picked over the corpse, like a pair of vultures looking for a little unspoilt meat, before walking towards Dominique slowly, squinting in the sunlight.

She looked in my direction several times, it seemed to me, before she even realised who I was, at which point she stopped laughing and physically pulled herself together, giving a small cough as she remarked on something to her companion before nodding in my direction. He turned to look at me also and I immediately met the eyes of Nat Pepys, who I had thought had other business this weekend when he had not shown up by the Friday evening.

‘Hello, Dominique,' I said, bowing slightly before her in a cavalier manner. I was aware that my clothing was less than clean and that I hadn't washed in a couple of days, while these two were quite the young gentleman and lady in their Sunday best. My hair needed both cutting and washing and was curling around my collar limply. ‘We missed you last night.' She regularly came to dinner with the Ambertons, Tomas and I at the weekend but had missed it the previous evening for no apparent reason.

‘I'm sorry, Matthieu,' she replied cordially. ‘I had other plans which I had forgotten about.' She nodded towards Nat after a moment. ‘You know each other, don't you?'

‘Of course,' said Nat, grinning broadly as if our previous experiences had been all but forgotten. ‘How are you, Zulu?'

‘It's Zéla,' I replied, gritting my teeth in irritation. ‘Matthieu Zéla.'

‘Of course, of course,' he said quickly, shaking his head as if he was trying to force himself to remember it, even though he probably knew my name only too well. ‘It's that bloody French language. I can't keep it straight in my head. My brother David, now he's the man to talk to you. French, Italian, Latin, Greek. He knows ‘em all'

I nodded curtly and looked at his leg which was encased in white plaster; he was supporting himself with a fine mahogany walking stick. ‘What happened to you?' I asked, resisting the urge to add the word ‘Nat' to the end of that phrase, not quite having the courage of Jack Holby, even if I did share his opinion of the stupidity of this cushioned fool. ‘An accident, was it?'

He laughed. ‘It's the damnedest thing,
Zéla,'
he said, emphasising the name carefully. ‘I was attempting to install some new light fittings in my home in London and fell off the ladder that I was standing on. Wasn't even up very high either but somehow I landed on my leg the wrong way and broke one of the bones in it. It's not too serious, I'm glad to report, but I have to keep it in plaster for a few weeks yet.'

‘Right,' I said. ‘There was someone else there to help you then?' He stared at me quizzically and cocked his head to the side. ‘When you fell,' I continued after a moment, ‘there was someone to fetch help?' You weren't just left lying there? A slight smile spread across his features and I could see his deep blue eyes grow a little colder as he attempted to figure out whether I was being offensive or merely making conversation.

‘I had a few servants there,' he answered. ‘But then,' – and here he enunciated each word carefully – ‘I'd be lost without all of you to wait on me hand and foot, wouldn't I?' The words hung in the air between us. He had insulted me, and Dominique too, who stared at the ground in embarrassment, her face growing a little pink with discomfort as we waited for someone to break the silence.

‘I wondered why I didn't see you arrive by horse yesterday evening,' I said, choosing my words carefully, wishing to allude to our last meeting without mentioning it outright.

‘I took a carriage,' he said hesitantly. ‘Quite late at night, as it happens.'

‘It'll be some time then before you get on a horse again, yes?' I said, nodding towards his leg. ‘It's fortunate we don't equate the same attitudes towards injured humans as we do towards injured beasts, isn't it?'

There was a pause. ‘Meaning?' he said eventually, his lips growing thinner as he began to draw them in contemptuously towards his teeth.

‘Well,' I said, laughing quickly, ‘if you were a horse and had injured yourself like that, we'd have to shoot you, wouldn't we? Or at least I would.'

Dominique stared at me and slowly shook her head. The expression on her face – which I had expected to be one of admiration for my ability to insult Nat, albeit in a slightly roundabout way – reflected irritation, as if she wanted no part of any childish games between the two of us. I swallowed and felt my face flush as I waited for one of them to say something. Eventually Nat broke the silence.

‘Your brother's a smart young man, isn't he?' he said eventually, looking at her and she raised her head and smiled, looking at me as if she wanted to apologise for her part in any of this tension even as she refused to take my side within it. ‘Never forgets a thing.' He gave a sharp intake of breath and rebalanced his body to take the weight off his leg. ‘Sometimes it's best to forget though. Can you imagine how much we would have in our heads if we remembered every single thing that ever took place?'

A panting Mrs Amberton took this opportunity to reappear at my side, her tongue sticking out of the side of her mouth as she looked at Nat Pepys in awe; they had never met before but he was part of Cageley House, she knew that much, and she would have gladly dropped to her knees to shine his shoes had he so required it.

‘Mrs Amberton, this is Nat Pepys,' I said after a moment, feeling that an introduction was called for. ‘My employer's youngest son. This is Mrs Amberton, my landlady,' I added, looking at him.

‘Charmed,' he said, shooting me a glance of distaste for that second last remark even as he began to hobble away. ‘I'm afraid I must be on my way though. Dominique, I suppose I'll see you back at the house.' He uttered this last phrase in a quieter tone, directing it towards her but intending for me to hear it too. ‘Zulu, Mrs Amberton,' he said, nodding in our direction as he walked away.

‘What a pleasant young man,' said Mrs Amberton, watching him depart with great joy in her eyes. ‘Wait until I tell Mr Amberton who I was talking to!' I simply looked at Dominique who stared back at me solidly without blinking, raising an eyebrow slightly as if to say ‘Yes?'

Jack was sitting with his back to a tree with a heavy lump of wood on his lap, chipping away at it with great concentration with a knife. I came towards him slowly, curiously afraid of startling him, and watched as his eyes bore into his work, never looking aside for a moment as the blade took small nicks from it here and there, fashioning something which I could not as yet decipher. I waited until he stopped for a moment, holding the wood up to the light and blowing the chipped dust away, before coming closer, stepping heavily on the ground so that he might hear me without my having to say a word.

‘Hello there,' he said, squinting at me in the sunlight as he looked in my direction. ‘What are you up to then?' I pulled my arms out from behind my back to reveal a couple of flagons of beer which I clinked together in the air, mugging a drunken face as I grinned at him. He laughed and put his equipment down for a moment as he shook his head. ‘Matthieu Zéla,' he said, biting his lip now, ‘stealing from Sir Alfred's pantry. I've trained you well, grasshopper.' He took one of the bottles gratefully and with a quick, careless movement snapped the lid off it with the heel of one hand and the thumb of another.

‘Nat's back, I see,' I said after a few moments, enjoying the sensation of the liquid whistling down my throat, chilling my insides as it passed through my body. ‘Did you believe that story about the lights that he's telling?'

He shrugged. ‘I was barely listening when he told me it if you want to know the truth. He seemed intent on telling me though and, since he's told you as well, I doubt it. Who knows what he really did.' He hissed and looked down at his hand; as he had been speaking he had put the bottle down by his side and started to carve away on the wood again, missing a beat while talking to me and nicking his finger. The blood appeared in a sudden spout at the tip but stopped as he pressed his thumb on top of it for a moment, waiting for the flow to clot. ‘Have you ever seen the sea, Mattie?' he asked me and I laughed in surprise.

‘The
sea?'

‘Yeah, sure, why not?' he asked, shrugging. ‘Have you ever seen it?'

‘Of course. We had to sail to get from France to England in the first place. I saw it then. And I spent a year in Dover, I told you.'

He sighed and nodded, remembering my stories about life in Paris and when I had first reached England. ‘Of course, of course,' he said. ‘Well, I've never seen the sea. I've heard about it though. The sea, the beaches. I've never gone swimming, you know.' I shrugged. In truth I hadn't done much swimming myself. ‘I'd like to do something like that.'

I took a long drink and looked out ahead of me. The grounds of Cageley House opened up before us, the green grass almost wet with the light which fell upon it as far as my eyes could see. In the distance I could hear the horses whinnying in their paddocks and the odd shout of laughter from back at the house where the servants were beating out the rugs in the summer air. I felt a rush of contentment and happiness devour me, filling my body with a warmth that made me feel almost like crying. I looked at my friend and he had his head pressed back against the bark of the tree, one hand pulling back his bright blond hair from his forehead and holding it in place, his eyes shut, his lips moving quietly as he sat there.

‘A couple more months, Mattie,' he said after a moment and I jumped back out of my reverie. ‘A couple more months and that's the last you'll see of me around here.'