“And what’s your favorite food?”
The boys with the overhead projector looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. James himself frowned. “What sort of question is that? I have absolutely no appetite just now.”
“Never mind. That can wait till tomorrow too. Good-bye, James.”
“I’m Finley, you daft cow,” said one of the projector pushers, and the other grinned and said, “And my name’s Adam, but hey, I don’t mind! You’re welcome to call me James if you like.”
I ignored them both and linked arms with Lesley.
“What was all that about?” she asked on the way downstairs.
“When I meet James at that ball, I want to warn him against catching smallpox,” I explained. “He was only twenty-one. Too young to die, don’t you agree?”
“I’m not sure that you ought to meddle with that kind of thing,” said Lesley. “You know what I mean—fate, predestination, and so on.”
“But there must be some reason why he’s still haunting this building. Maybe I’m predestined to help him.”
“Why exactly do you have to go to this ball?” Lesley inquired.
I shrugged my shoulders. “Apparently Count Saint-Germain said I had to in those nutty Annals. So he can get to know me better, or something.”
Lesley raised her eyebrows. “Or something?”
I sighed. “Whatever. Anyway, the ball is held in September 1782, but James didn’t catch smallpox until 1783. If I can manage to warn him, he might be able to go into the country, for instance, when the epidemic breaks out. Or at least keep away from Lord Thingy’s house, where he caught it. Why are you grinning like that?”
“You’re going to say you come from the future, and you know he’s soon going to be infected with smallpox, and by way of proof, you’ll tell him the name of his favorite horse?”
“Er … well, I haven’t quite worked out all the details of the plan yet.”
“Vaccination would be better,” said Lesley, pushing the door to the school yard open. “But that wouldn’t be easy to fix either.”
“No. What is easy to fix these days?” I said, and groaned. “Oh, damn it!” Charlotte was standing beside the limousine waiting to take me to the Guardians’ HQ, where I went every day now. And that could mean only one thing: I was to undergo more torture by minuets, the right way to curtsey, and the date of the Siege of Gibraltar. Useful knowledge for someone going to a ball in 1782, or at least the Guardians thought so.
Oddly enough, that left me cold today, or almost. Maybe because I was too excited by the thought of my next meeting with Gideon.
Lesley narrowed her eyes. “Who’s that guy with Charlotte?” She was pointing to red-haired Mr. Marley, an Adept First Degree, whose main distinction along with that resounding title was an ability to blush all over his face and both ears. He was standing beside Charlotte, head hunched down.
I told Lesley who he was. “I think he’s scared of Charlotte,” I added. “But he still thinks she’s great.”
Charlotte had spotted us and was waving impatiently.
“At least they go wonderfully well together where their hair color is concerned,” said Lesley, hugging me. “Good luck. Remember what we were discussing. And go carefully. Oh, and please take a photo of that Mr. Giordano.”
“Giordano, just Giordano, if you please,” I said, imitating my dancing master’s nasal tone of voice. “See you this evening.”
“Yes, and Gwenny? Don’t make it too easy for Gideon, will you?”
“At last!” Charlotte snapped at me as I went over to the car. “We’ve been waiting here forever. With everyone staring at us.”
“As if that would bother you. Hello, Mr. Marley, how are you?”
“Er. Fine. Er … how are you?” And Mr. Marley was already blushing. I felt sorry for him. I blushed easily myself, but with Mr. Marley, the blood didn’t go just to his cheeks—his ears and his throat also turned the color of ripe tomatoes. Terrible!
“Very well indeed,” I said, although I’d have loved to see his face if I’d said “bloody awful” instead. He held the car door open for us, and Charlotte sat down gracefully on the back seat.
I took the seat opposite her.
The car began moving off. Charlotte looked out of the window, and I stared into space as I wondered whether I ought to be cool and offended when I met Gideon, or perfectly friendly but indifferent. I wished I’d discussed that with Lesley. When we were halfway along the Strand, Charlotte stopped looking at our surroundings and turned her attention to her fingernails instead. Then she suddenly looked up, scrutinized me from head to foot, and asked aggressively, “Who are you going to Cynthia’s party with?”
She was obviously spoiling for a fight. What a good thing we’d soon have arrived. The limousine was already turning into the parking area in Crown Office Road. “Hm,” I said, “I haven’t decided yet. Either Kermit the Frog or Shrek, if he has time. How about you?”
“Gideon said he’d come with me,” said Charlotte, looking at me intently. She was only too clearly expecting some reaction.
“Well, that’s nice of him,” I said in a friendly way, smiling. It wasn’t even difficult for me, because by now I was pretty sure how things were with Gideon.
“But I don’t know whether I ought to accept his offer.” Charlotte sighed, but the lurking, watchful look in her eyes was still the same. “I’m sure he’d hate being with all those childish kids. He’s complained to me often enough of the naivety and immaturity of some sixteen-year-olds.…”
For a fraction of a second, I considered simply keeping my temper and telling her the truth. But even if I did—well, I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of having scored a hit. My nod was very understanding. “However, he’ll have your mature and enlightened company, Charlotte, and if that’s not enough for him, he can always have a serious conversation with Mr. Dale about the terrible consequences of alcohol consumption by the young.”
The car braked and went into one of the reserved parking slots outside the house, which for centuries had been the headquarters of the Secret Society of the Guardians. The driver switched off the engine, and at the same moment, Mr. Marley jumped out of the passenger’s seat at the front. I managed to open the back door of the car just before he reached it. By now I had a good idea how the Queen must feel, not even allowed to get out of a car by herself.
I picked up my bag, climbed out of the car, ignoring Mr. Marley’s hand, and said as cheerfully as I could, “I’d say that green is Gideon’s color too.”
Aha! Charlotte didn’t move a muscle, but that round had definitely gone to me. When I’d taken a few steps and could be sure no one would see it, I allowed myself a tiny little triumphant grin. However, next moment the grin froze on my face. Gideon was sitting in the sun on the steps outside the entrance to the Guardians’ HQ. Damn! I’d been much too busy thinking up a good answer to Charlotte to notice my surroundings. My stupid marzipan heart didn’t know whether to shrink in discomfort or beat faster for joy.
When Gideon saw us, he stood up and knocked the dust off his jeans. I slowed down, still trying to decide how to behave to him. The “friendly but indifferent” approach probably wouldn’t be very convincing if my lower lip was trembling. Unfortunately the “cool but offended for very good reasons” approach couldn’t be put into practice either, in view of my overwhelming need just to fling myself into his arms. So I bit my uncooperative lower lip and tried to look as neutral as possible. As I came closer, I saw with a certain satisfaction that Gideon was chewing his own lower lip, and he too seemed rather nervous. Although he needed a shave and his brown hair looked as if he’d been combing it with his fingers, if at all, I was captivated all over again by the way he looked. I stood at the foot of the steps, feeling undecided, and we looked straight into each other’s eyes for about two seconds. Then his gaze moved to the front of the house opposite, and he said hello to it. At least, I didn’t feel that he was speaking to me. Charlotte pushed past me on her way up the steps. She put one arm around Gideon’s neck and kissed him on the cheek.
“Hello, you,” she said.
Admittedly that was much more elegant than standing rooted to the spot and goggling stupidly. My behavior must have seemed to Mr. Marley like a little attack of faintness, because he asked, “Would you like me to carry your bag, Miss Shepherd?”
“No, thank you, I’m fine,” I said. I pulled myself together, picked up the bag, which had slipped to the ground, and started moving again. Instead of tossing my hair back and sweeping past Gideon and Charlotte with an icy glance, I climbed the steps with all the carefree verve of a snail dying of old age. It could be that Lesley and I had just seen far too many romantic films. But then Gideon moved Charlotte to one side and reached for my arm.
“Can I have a quick word with you, Gwen?” he asked.
I was so relieved that my knees almost gave way. “Of course.”
Mr. Marley shifted nervously from foot to foot. “We’re a little late already,” he murmured, his ears fiery red.
“He’s right,” chirruped Charlotte. “Gwenny has to practice dancing before she elapses, and you know what Giordano is like if anyone keeps him waiting.” I had no idea how she did it, but her peal of silvery laughter really sounded genuine.
“She’ll be there in ten minutes’ time,” said Gideon.
“Can’t it wait until later?”
“I said ten minutes.” Gideon’s tone of voice was on the verge of downright rude, and Mr. Marley looked really alarmed. I expect I did too.
Charlotte shrugged her shoulders. “As you like,” she said, tossing her head and sweeping past. She did it very well. Mr. Marley dutifully followed her.
When the pair of them had disappeared into the front hall of the house, Gideon seemed to have forgotten what he wanted to say. He went on staring at the stupid house opposite and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand as if it felt very tense. Finally we both took a deep breath at the same time. “How’s your arm?” I asked, and at the same moment Gideon asked, “Are you all right?” and that made us both grin.
“My arm is fine.” At last he looked at me. Oh, my God, those eyes! I instantly felt weak at the knees again, and I was glad that Mr. Marley wasn’t there with us anymore.
“Gwyneth, I’m terribly sorry about all this. I … I behaved very irresponsibly. You really didn’t deserve that.” He was looking so unhappy that I could hardly bear it. “I tried calling you on your mobile about a hundred times yesterday evening, but I couldn’t get through.”
I wondered whether to cut this short and fling myself straight into his arms. But Lesley had said I shouldn’t make it too easy for him. So I just raised my eyebrows and waited for more.
“I didn’t want to hurt you, please believe that,” he said, and he obviously meant it, his voice was so husky. “You looked so dreadfully sad and disappointed yesterday evening.”