‘It sounds amazing,’ I said. ‘How do you fit in your studying?’
He laughed. ‘I work hard and I play hard. It’s what my father taught me. You want something, you have to work hard for it.’
‘And what do you want?’
He flicked the butt of his cigarette over the balcony on to the lawn below and turned to me. ‘You.’
I took a step backwards.
‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you,’ he said with a laugh. ‘I want you to fall in love with me.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Because you’re one of a kind. No one else can be you. Money can’t buy what you are. Surgery or fashion or connections mean nothing. You are the first person to travel through time.’
‘So you want me because I’m a novelty?’
‘Girls throw themselves at me all the time, Eden. They want to date me because I’m rich – obscenely so – and I know anyone who’s anyone. You’re different.’
‘Well, I’m very flattered,’ I said, backing into the library.
‘Eden, wait.’
I hesitated.
‘I probably shouldn’t say this and I wouldn’t be saying it if I wasn’t very, very drunk. But I am sorry about Orion, you know,’ he said. ‘He’s a good guy. I wish my father had let him go.’
‘Me too.’
‘He must have cared a lot about you.’
I said nothing.
‘You must have cared a lot about him.’
‘I still do.’
‘Of course you do. I wasn’t meaning to suggest . . . look, what I’m trying to say is, I don’t expect you to be ready to move on yet. But when you are, I’ll be waiting for you.’
I was speechless.
‘In the meantime, I’d like to be your friend. I can introduce you to a lot of people.’
‘I have friends.’
‘Look, Eden, you’re new to the twenty-second century and Lakeborough. But Pegasus Ryder is a nobody. He’s a nice guy and all that, but he doesn’t have two cents to rub together. Lyra Thornhill is a bitch, pure and simple. The Cohen twins are sweet, if you like bland and nerdy. You could have so much more than that.’
I said nothing.
‘You’re very quiet.’
‘It’s a lot to take in. This new world.’
He smiled and staggered across the terrace towards me. ‘How about just one kiss?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Aww, come on, Eden. Just a quick peck on the cheek. Then we’ll go back downstairs and join the party.’
He hiccupped.
‘Back in 2012 we don’t allow boys to kiss us on the first date,’ I said.
‘So this is a date?’ He smiled and lurched forward and the next thing I knew, vomit was spurting out of his mouth and all down the front of his shirt.
‘Excuse me a moment,’ he said, raising a hand and leaning over to heave.
I turned away from the sour smell of stomach acid and went back into the office. Quickly, I cast my eyes around. Surely there had to be something useful I could discover during my tour of his apartment. The desk was neat and tidy, just a translucent computer screen and a wireless headset. No folders or files I could take a quick flick through. I tried the top drawer of the desk. Locked. That had to mean there was something important inside. I looked around for an obvious hiding place for a key. Nothing.
I heard the lumbering foot shuffle that meant Clarence was heading inside. I moved away from the desk and pretended to be absorbed with a map of the world on the office wall.
‘I am so sorry,’ said Clarence, staggering, his words still clumsy in his mouth. ‘There must have been something wrong with the shrimp tempura. Seafood never agrees with me.’
‘It could happen to anyone,’ I said.
‘I’m just gonna brush my teeth.’
‘Clarence, where’s the kitchen? I’d like to get myself a glass of water.’
‘We don’t have a kitchen,’ he said as he swayed towards the door. ‘All our food is prepared in the Institute kitchens and delivered by the dumb waiter.’
‘Oh, really?’ I said, following him into the hall. ‘Where is that?’
He pointed towards the dining room. ‘Down there. A little alcove next to the dining room. Press the intercom and tell them what you want. I’ll just be a minute.’
My bare feet slapped on the cold, marble floor as I made my way to the alcove. The dumb waiter was set into the wall, a touch screen intercom next to it. I pressed the open button. There was a quiet whirr and a click and then the door slid open revealing an empty box about the size of a storage trunk. Before I had time to think, I gathered up my dress and squeezed myself into the empty space. I pressed the button that said Kitchen, the door slid shut and then I felt the sensation of falling.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, somehow believing that if I couldn’t see how dark and enclosed the space was, I wouldn’t panic. My blood thrummed through my ears, a roar that drowned out my thoughts. And then I stopped falling, the door opened smoothly and I began to breathe.
Clambering out, I discovered I was in an alcove off the kitchen. I could hear the clanging and banging of pots and pans, orders being barked by one of the staff, the sizzle and spit of food cooking. I straightened my dress and peeked round the corner. Sure enough, the kitchen was a hive of activity.
I slipped out of the door and found myself in a corridor that led to a stairwell and a bank of lifts. This was the service level. Hallways led in all directions. I tiptoed further into the corridor.
I heard a hum and a ding and the lift door opened. A young woman dressed in a maid’s uniform came out carrying a silver tray with a covered dinner plate on it. She jumped when she saw me.
‘Madam! You shouldn’t be here.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I took the wrong door. I was trying to find my way back to the ballroom but I think I found the wrong stairs.’
‘This is for staff only,’ she said. ‘But now you’re here, the quickest way to the ballroom is to go up one flight of stairs and follow the corridor to the end.’
I thanked her and waited for her to leave. I had a hunch that if I was to find a way to get to the South Wing, where the offices and the Time Court – and presumably Ryan’s cell – were located, it would be via the service level. Wishing I was wearing a uniform instead of my billowy gown, I headed quietly along the corridor.
I passed a suite of laundry rooms which smelt of sweet, fresh powder and hot ironing presses. Next up was a door simply labelled Stores. And then I saw something that made my heart beat faster: an old-fashioned analogue clock on the wall. The clock I had noticed on my way out of my cell, en route to the debrief with Admiral Wolfe two weeks earlier. I was close to the cells.
I shut my eyes and tried to remember which direction I had been coming from, which direction I was walking in, when Admiral Westland had escorted me to Admiral Wolfe. The clock had been on my right. I kept the clock on my left and headed down the next corridor.
I passed three empty cells, their doors open, before turning a corner and coming face to face with a guard. He was the only guard, standing outside the only closed cell. This had to be where Ryan was being kept.
‘Don’t move,’ said the guard. He raised his gun and pointed it at my chest. I was aware of a red dot trained on my heart.
‘I’m lost,’ I said, hoping he wouldn’t recognise me from the news. ‘I was looking for the ladies’ room and I think I took the lift to the wrong floor. Where am I?’
‘You’re in the lock-up, miss,’ said the guard, lowering his weapon. ‘You need to turn around and go right back the way you came.’