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up the conversation
that always followed one of her unusually long silences. “Who
do you think was more surprised?”
    “You were.” Laura knew that
he understood the rules, and he always played by them. “I had
the advantage, remember, of history. I had at least seen films with
people dressed like you.”
    This time she added the question
bubbling within, “Do I look any older?”
    Matt glanced across at her. “No.
If anything, you look younger.”
    Younger! She looked younger? That was
all right then. She hadn’t suddenly aged. The terror that woke
her at nights could sometimes be put away in its box. But it always
crawled out.
    He’d looked at her – wet
and sandy. She’d remember that look all her life, no matter how
long she lived. He had eyes that listened; deep brown eyes which had
encouraged her to ask, ‘Sir, would you kindly assist me. I was
aboard the SS Kismet when it collided with a sandbank.” She’d
hesitated before adding the stark consequence, “and sank.”
He had taken a step forwards and lifted her trunk. The tar had ruined
his T-shirt but he never mentioned it. He’d asked where she was
trying to go and she’d replied, “America.” He
hadn’t laughed, though the little group of people gathered
about were smirking. One of them, unasked, gave Matt directions to
the hospital. What would she have done without Matt? Another tear
trickled down her face.
    “Nearly there, Laura. Have you a
plan?”
    Plan? It consisted, so far, of arriving
with Matt. The past had intruded and overwhelmed her thoughts yet
again.
    “I think,” he said, “that
all I can do is go straight inside. It’s unlikely the gang is
trying to kidnap you too because any description you could give,
‘heavily disguised as a pirate’, probably isn’t
worth much. However, you must stay in the car.” Hmm… she
could say how tall he was, and she’d recognize his voice; was
Matt merely trying to protect her?
    Usually Laura loved a trip to London,
especially with Matt in his XKR. As they edged their way through the
congested roads, Laura caught glimpses of the street entertainers in
Covent Garden. A clown, with a painted smile and tufty hair, was
juggling apples and tossing them to the children. No doubt the Health
and Safety regulations disallowed that, she thought sadly. Then there
was a woman on a Penny-Farthing cycling around a man on stilts with a
long, garishly striped cloak. Colour, laughter. Life goes on
regardless of what happens to some poor sparrow. Not that Xandra was
a sparrow. Xandra was more of a swift or swallow, circling high above
the melée below, then swooping…
    “Do you smell smoke, Matt?”
Matt’s careful non-alarming reply was interrupted by the sound
of fire engines rattling through the streets. With difficulty he
jammed the car into a small parking space, leapt out, threw the keys
at Laura, called to her to stay where she was, and ran towards the
smoke.
    Laura had to follow. Black smoke
swirled above the heads of the crowd outside the jewellers –
representational of this whole damned situation. She could not get
close enough to be of any assistance – anyway what could she
do? A buzz of what sounded horribly like excitement trickled through
the throng. Laura peered over their heads to see a fireman carrying
Xandra slung over his back. He was gingerly edging his way down the
ladder from the blazing building. Laura fought her way through to
find Matt standing alongside an ambulance. Xandra was soon being
driven away as fast as London’s traffic allowed. Matt showed no
surprise as he took hold of Laura’s hand which was full of car
keys. “I locked the car up, Matt.”
    Matt nodded with a grim-faced smile
then spoke to the fire crew who confirmed his suspicions by saying,
“Yep, probably arson. Yellow flame and black smoke usually
means a petrol accelerant.”
    Matt took Laura back to the car and
drove towards The Royal London Hospital in Whitechapel. “I’m
told Xandra was not burned,