Time to Love Again (37 page)

“Mark’s star,” she murmured. It was the last
thing she saw before she closed her eyes.

It was the oddest Christmas Day India could
ever remember. The sensation of jarring discrepancy she had felt
upon first returning to the twentieth century had gradually faded
over the last two days. She knew exactly where and when she was
living, but the empty place in her heart where Theu’s vital image
had once dwelt was still an aching wound.

Mired in the grey pain of mourning, her only
source of pleasure on that holiday lay in watching the easy way in
which Mark and Willi talked and laughed together as they prepared
the Christmas feast. India was pleased by the changes she noticed
in her friend. Willi was wearing her usual black leather miniskirt,
on this day topped by a bright green turtleneck sweater, but there
was a new softness to her makeup, and her flamboyant red nail
polish was gone. Instead, Willi’s nails were a quiet shade of pink.
The biggest change of all was that Willi’s former sadness, the
remnant of a difficult and impoverished girlhood, was missing from
her eyes. And not once during that entire day did Willi call India
kid
in her old, tough way.

As for Mark, when he was not devoting all his
attention to Willi, he spent his time probing India’s memories
about what had happened to her. He did it with delicacy and skill,
by repeatedly steering the conversation onto the subject of the
previous Sunday and then asking tactful questions. Whenever India
tried to divert him, he went along for a while, talking about other
things, but he always returned to his primary topic of interest.
Dinner was over and the three of them were sitting in the living
room, where logs blazed in the fireplace and the tree Willi and
Mark had brought glittered in the bay window, when India decided
that the best way to handle Mark’s curiosity was by direct
confrontation.

“I wish you would leave the subject alone,”
she said. “It is very difficult for me to think about that day,
much less talk about it.”

“I’m not prying,” Mark told her. “There is a
more serious reason behind my questions. I was hoping you would
have some information that would help to stop Hank before he causes
more trouble and puts someone else into danger. I know what Hank
was trying to do. Willi told me as much as she could about his
private project. From what she said, and from what I saw in Hank’s
office, I have been able to make a couple of intelligent guesses.
There have been a few other projects based on theories like Hank’s,
begun by people like him, working alone and not fully understanding
the damage they could cause. You cannot go back and tinker with the
past. If you try, the changes you make, no matter how small, will
mushroom exponentially until they alter the world we know. That’s
why I have called in a friend of mine, who is going to try to
locate Hank and talk some sense into him.”

“Will he go to jail?” asked Willi.

“Not unless the university decides to press
charges against him for copying all those keys and for diverting
material from the storeroom to his own use. It seems that the
project was entirely his own, and had nothing to do with the
university, or his actual job there. There are no laws against what
Hank was trying to do. That’s why my friend’s investigation will
have to be unofficial.” Mark paused, watching his hostess’s
reaction to what he had said. “What is it, India? You have the
strangest expression on your face.”

“I was wondering if the world has already
been changed by what happened last Sunday. If it has, we’ll never
know it, will we? The changes will just be part of our past and
will seem perfectly natural to us. I can tell you this much, Mark –
I cannot regret what happened, and if I had to live that time over
again, I would probably say and do exactly the same things.” They
were both staring at her as if she had said something completely
outrageous. India pressed her lips together, imposing silence on
herself, vowing not to say another word on the subject, or about
Hank.

On the Saturday morning after Christmas, Hank
came to see her. He was standing on the front porch when India
opened the door to take her mail out of the box.

“I’m leaving town,” he said. “I can’t get
near Willi because that Brant guy is always hanging around her, so
I decided to ask you to tell her good-bye for me.”

“There are people looking for you,” she
said.

“I know. Some friend of Brant’s wants to talk
to me. I plan on disappearing before he catches up with me. I’ve
been fired, did Willi tell you? And they fined me for the keys I
had made. They said it was to cover the cost of changing all the
locks.”

“I’m sorry you were fired, Hank, but you
should have expected it.” She stood back, letting him into the
front hall. “Do you need anything? Can I help you in some way?”

“I could use a cup of coffee.” He followed
her toward the kitchen, looking about with interest as he walked
down the hall. “Nice house you have here. It’s pretty big for one
person, isn’t it? You must get lost in all these rooms.”

“What will you do now?” India asked when they
sat at the kitchen table sharing cinnamon buns and coffee.

“I’ll find another job, somewhere far from
Cheswick. How are you doing, India? No residual aftereffects? When
I asked about you in the history department, they told me you’ve
been sick.”

“I’m all right now. I just needed a few days
to sort out my thoughts.”

“What about the big retirement party for
Professor Moore on Monday night? Are you going to it?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she said.

“You ought to go,” he told her. “It would do
you good to get out of this mausoleum. Look, India, would you
consider giving me those floppy disks to play around with?”

“No,” she said. “I would not. I told you that
on Sunday night.”

“Then I’d better leave before Willi or her
new boyfriend arrive.” Hank gulped the rest of his coffee and
picked up an extra bun before rising from the table.

“Have you got any leads on new jobs?” India
asked.

“Maybe.” His sharp, distrustful eyes met
hers, then veered away. “I’ll find something. And I’ll try again.
I’ll keep experimenting until some day I’ll succeed in a way that
will make all of you sit up and take notice.”

“You still don’t understand, do you?” India
cried. “What you are trying to do is dangerous and potentially very
destructive to people’s lives. Hank, you have to stop!”

“Oh, come on, now.” He was completely
unrepentant. “You know I gave you the greatest adventure of your
life. Well, so long, India. Do me a favor, will you? Forget to say
good-bye to Willi for me. Don’t tell anyone I was here.”

She stood in the doorway, watching him go
down the walk. When he was too far away to hear her, she whispered
after him, “It
was
a great adventure. Good-bye, Hank.”

Shortly after noon of that same day, Willi
appeared carrying a garment bag. “Mark asked me to go to Professor
Moore’s retirement party with him,” Willi announced. “I want your
opinion on the dress I just bought. Isn’t this weird? Just a little
over a week ago, I was giving
you
advice on how to
dress.”

A week ago for you. For me, it was six
months ago
. India did not say what she was thinking. She
followed Willi upstairs to the second floor, into her own bedroom.
There she sat upon the padded window seat while Willi modeled the
dress for her. Charlemagne prowled across the room, pausing to rub
against Willi’s legs before he jumped up beside India and promptly
fell asleep.

“What do you think?” asked Willi, twirling
around twice for India’s inspection. The dress was pale turquoise
with a draped bodice, long sleeves, and a short, flaring skirt.
“It’s not my usual style, but I thought something elegant might be
nice for a change. I may let my hair grow out, too.

“India, you haven’t heard a word I’ve said.
What’s wrong?” Pushing Charlemagne out of the way, Willi sat down
next to her friend.

“I can’t seem to adjust,” India said. “I
can’t eat, I don’t sleep well, and when I do sleep, I have
nightmares.”

“This has gone on much too long,” Willi
declared. “I think you ought to see a doctor.”

“Are you suggesting a psychiatrist? If I did
talk to one, if I told everything, I would probably be locked up.”
India sighed. “Some things never change.”

“All right, fine, if you won’t go to a
doctor, then just talk to me about what happened when you
disappeared. I won’t repeat what you say, not even to Mark,” Willi
promised. “This is the first time in our lives that you have
refused to tell me about something that’s bothering you.”

“I can’t.”

“India, I told you this a couple of weeks
ago, before all this mystery started, and now I’m telling you
again. You have to get on with your life. For starters, why don’t
you dump this outfit?” Rising from the window seat, Willi picked up
the green tunic and trousers India had folded and placed on her
bureau on her first night at home. “Who would ever believe this
thing is less than a month old? It looks like a reject from a
detergent commercial. What’s this in the pocket?”

India had been scratching Charlemagne’s ears
and thinking how badly the lazy cat’s name suited him. She looked
up just as Willi pulled out a handful of dried flowers.

“Violets,” India said. “White violets. He
gave them to me one spring afternoon.”

“He? Who, the man I saw you with? The one
with the sword?” Willi watched her friend with dawning
understanding. “You left him there. That’s why you’re grieving
again. Oh, India, I’m sorry.” She gave the flowers to India, but as
they passed from her fingers to India’s, they began to
disintegrate, crumbling until India held only a small pile of grey
powder in the palm of her hand.

“Dust,” India said, looking at the powder.
“Like everything else from that time. Like love itself.”

“No, that’s not true.” Willi crouched before
India, looking up into her face. “Those flowers are only
things
. Love doesn’t die like that, it lives on in your
heart. And you did love him, didn’t you? But you have to go on,
India, and you have to keep hoping. There will be some kind of
answer for you, just like there was for me when I first met Mark.
I’m certain of it.”

Pushed by Willi’s insistence and compelled by
her own affection for Professor Moore, India decided she would go
to the retirement party being held the night before New Year’s
Eve.

“I’m glad to see you have recovered from the
flu,” Professor Moore said to her when she greeted him in the
receiving line. Turning to Willi, he said, “I am delighted to see
you again under these more pleasant circumstances, Miss Jones, and
I am most pleased to note that you came in with Mr. Brant. I trust
you have learned your lesson and will have nothing more to do with
that questionable character, Mr. Henry Marsh.”

“I haven’t seen Hank for more than a week,”
Willi replied.

“Good evening, Mr. Brant,” said Professor
Moore. “When will your brother arrive in Cheswick?”

“He’s flying in from Europe tomorrow,” Mark
said. When Professor Moore turned to speak to newly arrived
well-wishers, Mark said to India, “Willi and I are driving to the
airport to meet Theo’s plane. Would you like to join us? It would
be an informal way to introduce yourself to your future boss.”

“No, thank you.” India could not keep out of
her voice the sudden tension she felt at Mark’s suggestion. “I
prefer to wait until the university officially reopens next
week.”

“Are you sure?” She could tell by the look in
his eyes that he knew there was something strange behind her
refusal.

“Please don’t press me,” she whispered. “Just
let me ease back into normal life in my own way.”

“Whatever you want.” His smile was
encouraging, his hand on her arm a sign of warm friendship. It was
almost like having Marcion back again. “Call me if you need me,
India. I mean that. Day or night, call me.”

Not wanting to intrude upon the new intimacy
between Willi and Mark, India had insisted on driving herself to
the party. Later, on her way home, she thought about Mark and
Marcion, Willi and Bertille. Inevitably, her thoughts drifted to
those other friends from the past, Hugo and Danise. In the
twentieth century, she knew no one like either of them. She thought
she knew why. It was because neither of them had ever had children.
Marcion and Bertille, having married, had surely produced children,
and Theu had left his young son behind when he died. But Hugo had
died too soon, and Danise had seemed headed for the convent life at
Chelles, so their genetic material had not survived into later
generations. How sad that such dear people should be lost to the
world.

Still deep in thought, India pulled into her
garage and entered the house through the connecting door. She
walked from the back entry through the kitchen and into the front
hall to hang up her coat before it struck her that something was
wrong. She was not sure how she could tell – a whiff of shaving
lotion in the air, one or two objects moved just a little out of
their usual positions, or some more subtle clue – but she knew that
during her absence, someone had been in the house.

She quickly discounted the possibility of a
burglar. Her grandmother’s silver tea service sat in plain sight on
the dining room buffet, the television was still in its cabinet,
and when she hurried upstairs, none of the bedrooms had been
disturbed and none of her jewelry was missing. Nothing had been
taken from the house except –
except
—

“Hank!” India almost flew down the stairs to
the study. There, with trembling hands she opened the locked drawer
where she had stored the two floppy disks and the notebook. They
were gone. Frantically, she searched the room, knowing all the
while that she would not find them. Giving up at last, she dialed
the number Mark had given her. She was afraid he might still be
with Willi, but he answered at once.