Chasing Stars

Chapter 17

Peg opened the door.

‘Can I come in?’ I heard Clarence ask.

‘Sure.’ Peg turned and winked at me.

Clarence was dressed in a cream linen suit with a silk bow tie the exact same colour as my dress.

‘I knew that colour would suit you,’ he said, running his eyes slowly up my body, from the blue heels to the plunging neckline.

‘What time are you planning on bringing her home?’ asked Peg.

Clarence raised his eyebrows. ‘Pegasus, I know you’re now her legal guardian, but that doesn’t give you an excuse to act like her father.’

‘If you touch her . . .’

‘What?’

‘She’s sixteen.’

‘Peg, I’ll be fine,’ I said, glaring at him.

‘Last time I checked she was over a hundred years old,’ said Clarence with a smirk.

He took my arm and we walked – slowly, me tottering, despite an hour of practice in the living room – down the stairs and across the street to the waiting car. Someone must have tipped off the press because the number of photo­graphers was ten times the usual number that loitered outside the entrance.

‘Just look down and let your hair fall in front of your face,’ said Clarence. ‘Don’t let them get a good shot.’

He held the door open and then climbed in the back of the car with me. A driver in a white uniform and hat checked that we were ready to leave and then pulled out into the traffic.

‘We’ll have to do the red carpet,’ said Clarence. ‘It’s just five minutes of posing for photographs and shaking hands. And then I’ll introduce you to my family, because they’ll expect to meet my date. But the rest of the evening will be fun, I promise.’

The car drove right up to the barricades around the red carpet. The driver opened the door for us, and Clarence – thankfully – lent me a hand so I could get out without revealing too much thigh. My shoes were pinching the skin of my foot, right where the ankle met the heel, so I walked slowly, clutching Clarence’s arm and trying not to limp, determined not to broadcast my high-heel inexperience to the whole world.

After shaking hands with a few people, he guided me to the middle of the carpet to pose for photographs. He put an arm loosely around my waist. Cameras flashed from every direction, but the questions were gentler than what I was used to.

‘Such a beautiful dress, Eden. Who is the designer?’

‘Did you pick it yourself?’

‘How long have you known Clarence?’

‘The designer is Miller,’ said Clarence. ‘Eden and I met through mutual friends. I knew her friend Orion Westland.’

The main entrance of the Institute had been transformed. A wooden arbour had been constructed in front of the white stone doorway; hundreds of red and pink roses were twined around it. The scent from the flowers was overpowering.

Once inside, a welcoming party of the Guardians and their spouses – all except the Westlands – awaited us.

‘It’s OK, they won’t bite,’ Clarence whispered.

Clarence introduced me to just one couple: his parents.

‘Mother, Father,’ said Clarence with exaggerated politeness, ‘may I introduce Eden Anfield.’

Clarence’s mother – a petite blonde with bright red lipstick and unnaturally white teeth – almost curtseyed. ‘How lovely to meet you in person.’

Admiral Wolfe shook my hand. ‘I’m pleased to see you’ve settled into life in Lakeborough,’ he said tonelessly.

I smiled at the man who had determined my life was nothing more than collateral damage. ‘I’ve found the locals to be exceptionally friendly.’

We walked into the room. It was a formal hall, the sort of thing I’d only ever seen in stately homes in England, though they probably existed in palaces and official buildings all over the world. The ceiling was as high as three floors and the dimensions of the room were as big as a football pitch. The walls were the same white stone as most of the Institute, but tonight they glowed a warm pink – the result of thousands of fairy lights strung around the walls.

There were hundreds of people in the hall, and the sound of their laughter and chattering bounced harshly off the cold floor and high ceilings. I was grateful to Clarence for quickly ushering me through the room – with just a few polite introductions – to the courtyard garden at the rear of the Institute. This, clearly, was where the real party was happening.

Under a gazebo at one end of the lawn an orchestra was noisily tuning up. We wandered across the grass to the other side where a lone harpist was plucking the strings of her instrument, creating a timeless, haunting melody. In between the two musical acts were dozens of food and drink stations, and ahead of us – on the lake – thousands of white candles floated and bobbed on the calm water.

‘It’s beautiful,’ I said.

Clarence smiled. ‘Isn’t it? And everyone who matters in the whole of the Federation is here tonight. The Guardians, admirals, judges, film stars, musicians, diplomats, fuel tycoons, the young, the rich and the beautiful. And you.’

I bit my lip and tried to think of something to say. It was a genuinely stunning spectacle. And Clarence seemed all right to me, despite Lyra’s warnings and Peg’s obvious dislike.

‘Is it true what you said about being Ryan’s friend?’ I asked.

Clarence smiled. ‘Of course. We were in school together. Sat next to one another in Advanced Maths for Portal Creation.’ He leant in and whispered in my ear. ‘I stole the fuel that sent him back to 2012.’

‘You did?’

‘My family’s filthy lucre comes from fuel,’ he said. ‘If anyone can get their hands on large quantities of it without attracting attention, it’s me.’

Peg and Lyra had never said anything about Clarence being one of the good guys, one of those who helped Ryan get back to me. Was it possible they didn’t know?

‘You were part of the whole plan?’

‘Yep. Now this is your first Late Summer Ball. What would you like to drink?’

‘Since it’s a special occasion, how about a glass of your finest champagne?’

‘We do have Canada’s finest champagne. However, if you want to really celebrate in style, we could share a magnum of Alaskan beer.’

‘Whatever you suggest.’

Clarence grabbed an enormous champagne-shaped bottle of beer and two tall champagne flutes from one of the drinks stations. He popped the stopper and poured us each a full glass with a frothy head that spilled over the top of the glass and all over our hands.

‘Here’s to the future,’ he said, knocking his glass against mine.

I sipped, but got only a mouthful of froth. That was fine; I had to remember – whatever Clarence said about having helped Ryan – I was here for a reason, and I needed a clear head.

‘Let me give you the low-down on some of these people,’ said Clarence. He topped up his glass. ‘That’s Claudette Legrand, the president’s daughter.’ He pointed to a beautiful young woman in a silver ballgown. ‘Terrible drug habit. Started on opium at fifteen. Lucky for her she’s exceedingly rich.’ He pointed at another young woman. ‘Juliette Bernard. Highest paid actress in Hollywood. And that’s Simon Pratt standing next to her. He’s dating her. He used to be her chauffeur.’

The orchestra began playing and men and women in ballgowns and suits of every shade of the spectrum moved towards the wooden dance floor that had been constructed in front of the lake. Clarence took my hand and led me to it. I remembered that he was a good dancer from the night I danced with him at the Watering Hole.

‘I don’t know any of the dances,’ I reminded him.

‘It’s a simple four-step,’ he said.

I watched his feet. It was a straightforward back and forth, left and right shuffle. I looked at the floor and copied his moves.

‘You’re doing great,’ he whispered after a while. ‘Now look at me and let your feet follow their instincts.’

I met his eyes, held on to him and tried to ignore the moves my feet were making. To my surprise, the combination of music, the atmosphere and Clarence’s lead all conspired to make the whole experience a thoughtless, effortless event.

We were being watched and photographed, not only by the official photographers, but by many of the other partygoers as well. I closed my eyes to block them out and held on tight to Clarence, letting him guide me through the moves.

‘You OK?’ Clarence asked me.

‘Just trying to pretend that people aren’t watching us.’

‘People are bound to be interested,’ Clarence said. ‘I’m the eldest son of one of the richest men on the planet. You’re the first person to travel through time before time travel was invented.’

‘When you put it like that,’ I said, ‘I almost understand their interest in us.’

The song ended and Clarence led me to a drinks table.

‘Another beer?’ he asked.

‘Great.’

He unplugged another bottle and filled two glasses.

‘Cheers,’ I said.

Clarence leant across the table and tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His hand lingered on the side of my face. Cameras clicked and lights flashed.

I shut my eyes and tried to hide my revulsion. ‘Clarence,’ I said.

‘You’re not just any old time traveller from pre-time travel,’ he said, taking his hand back. ‘You happen to be stunningly beautiful. Your face is selling millions of extra copies of magazines and newspapers. Do you have any idea how many women are getting their hair dyed red since you arrived?’

I shrugged, embarrassed.

‘Not that I read the fashion pages,’ said Clarence, ‘but I flicked through my mother’s port-com yesterday. And apparently early twenty-first century fashion is going to be the next big thing. All because of you.’

I laughed. ‘I was probably the least fashion-conscious person I knew back in the twenty-first century. I practically lived in T-shirts and jeans.’

‘That’s what they were talking about,’ said Clarence. ‘Jeans.’

‘I hope they do come back in fashion. I’m not wild about twenty-second century styles.’

‘You’d look good in anything.’ He was looking at me in a way that made me feel uncomfortable.

The band started playing a jaunty tune.

‘Another dance?’ I asked.

‘You can’t get enough of my smooth moves, huh?’

‘This sounds like very danceable music. I’m determined to learn at least one dance.’

For the next two hours we danced. When we stopped for a rest – or for Clarence to top up his drink once again – he pointed out the rich, famous and infamous. He introduced me to his friends and only danced with other girls after ensuring I had a dance partner myself.

As Earth gently dipped away from the sun, the lights and candles grew brighter, the orchestra played louder, the guests laughed harder. Clarence had dispensed with his beer glass some time ago and was now swigging directly from the bottle, one arm around my shoulder, the other swinging the bottle by his side, his breath warm and beery as we danced.

‘You having a good time?’ he asked.

‘I’m having a great time,’ I said. ‘But my feet are starting to hurt from all the dancing. How about you give me a tour of the Institute?’

He crinkled his forehead. ‘Seriously?’

‘You have a residence here, don’t you? How about giving me the grand tour?’

His eyes twinkled. ‘You want to see my apartment? Absolutely.’

I slipped off my heels and walked barefoot across the cool lawn, glad to feel the soft, yielding earth beneath my sore feet. Clarence grabbed another large magnum of beer – his sixth or seventh now by my count – and led me around the side of the east wing.

‘If you want to see something really impressive, you should come up to Quebec and see our mansion up there,’ he was saying as we approached the side entrance.

A doorman smiled at Clarence and held the door and just like that we were inside. When I’d visited the Westlands in their apartment, I’d assumed the lack of security measures was because I was with Admiral Westland. But even with Clarence, there was no security protocol, no X-rays or body scanners or handbag search. Clarence pressed a button for the lift and we travelled up to the top floor.

‘They just let you in?’ I asked. ‘Why isn’t there any security?’

‘Don’t worry – you’re safe,’ he said, his voice slurring a little. ‘The doorman knows me. And you can’t access the administration block from here so no one really cares.’

‘Does this entrance only go to the apartments then?’

‘Yep. It’s completely self-contained.’

It suddenly dawned on me that I was going to be alone in an apartment with a very drunk boy I hardly knew. The lift door opened and we walked into a wide hallway.

‘Welcome to the penthouse,’ said Clarence. ‘One of them, anyway.’

He gave me the tour. There was a formal sitting room and a dining room with shiny walnut floors and a chandelier the size of a small car. His father’s office, which was adjacent to a large library, opened on to a roof terrace with views over the lawn and lake below. Clarence pushed open the glass doors and we wandered on to the terrace. The orchestra was still playing and the dancers were still dancing, and from this height – away from the spilled beer, the smell of flesh sweating in the warm evening air – the lawn looked like it was inhabited by hundreds of little flowers swaying and tumbling across the lawn.

Clarence lit a cigarette and leant out over the edge of the balcony. ‘All the world’s beautiful people gathered in one place,’ he said. ‘You can be a part of this set, Eden. You’re unique. Everyone wants to know you.’ He sucked hard on his cigarette and blew smoke rings into the air. ‘You could come to Quebec with me for Christmas. It’s the best place for parties. And then skiing in Alaska in February. Cruising the Arctic ocean in June – midnight sun and all that. It’s not a bad life.’

‘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.’

Ten minutes later I was back on the lawn. I wished I had a pen and paper so I could map out the route I’d taken. But it wasn’t so difficult to remember. The kitchen led to the service corridor which led everywhere. So long as I could get into Clarence’s apartment, I could access the service area and the lock-up. We’d need to find a way to get Ryan out of his cell, but once we’d done so, we could get him into the service area and out through the kitchen. This evening hadn’t been a complete waste of time after all.

‘There you are!’ bellowed a familiar voice.

There was a good chance I would need Clarence – or access to his apartment – to execute the rescue. So I gritted my teeth, turned on a smile and walked towards him, a fake stagger in my steps. Clarence opened his arms to receive me in a hug, and I was relieved to see he had changed his shirt.

‘Where did you go?’ he asked.

I shrugged. ‘I couldn’t work out the intercom so I came outside to get a drink.’

He laughed hard. ‘You silly thing. Don’t they have intercoms in 2012?’

I shrugged and smiled. ‘No.’

He picked up a bottle of water from a table and we walked down to the lake’s edge. A few candles still bobbed along the shoreline, though most had burnt themselves out by now.

‘Stillwater Lake,’ said Clarence. ‘It belongs to the Institute. Families rent pedaloes here on summer afternoons, but they never go beyond the cove. If you paddle beyond the corner there, the lake opens up. It’s twice the size it looks from here.’

‘It’s lovely,’ I said.

‘Give me a hand.’

Clarence pulled at a small rowing boat until it was freed from its protective covers. He dragged it to the water.

‘Jump in,’ he said.

I sat in the boat, while he kicked off his shoes and rolled up his trousers. Effortlessly, he pushed the boat down the beach and into the water, paddling up to his knees. Once it was floating, he clambered in and sat opposite me. He fitted the oars into their slots and began rowing us out beyond the cove. The orchestra had stopped playing, but the deep notes of a lone saxophone followed us across the water.

‘Close your eyes,’ he said.

I did as he asked and listened to the creak and groan of the oars, the slap of the water as the oars pushed it aside, the quiet rustle of leaves in the trees. I trailed one hand in the cool silk of the lake and focused on my own slow breathing.

The oars rattled in their rowlocks and we stopped rowing. I felt the tilt and wobble of the boat on the water.

‘Open your eyes,’ said Clarence.

I opened them. All around me was intense darkness. The water was black. The trees were shady silhouettes in the distance. But above was the most incredible show of glittering stars.

I gasped.

It was like magic. I might be living in a different country with different people in a completely different time, but some things hadn’t changed. The constellations winked at me like old friends.

Clarence stopped rowing. He hoisted the oars inside the boat.

‘Lie back,’ he said. ‘You can see the whole sky from here.’

I rested my head on the wooden bench and laid my legs across the bench by his head. He lay the opposite way and there we were head to toe, gazing up at the inky, star-studded night sky.

I found myself scanning the sky for Orion, but the constellation was nowhere to be seen. Still missing. Ryan had told me once that it was a winter constellation, that the days would be shortening before I would see it again. The first constellation I recognised was Cassiopeia, its w-shape a clear message in the sky. I navigated from there to Vega and then to the big square of Pegasus. Finally I found Perseus and fixed on Algol, the so-called demon star with its slow wink. The ancients thought it was bad luck, but I didn’t think that. Luck was too close to Fate – and I didn’t believe in Fate. I might not be able to influence the vast tides of time, but I would control my own destiny. A star shot across the sky, leaving a bright trail in its wake.

‘Did you see that?’ I asked.

‘It’s the Perseid meteor shower,’ said Clarence. ‘It peaked a couple of nights ago, but there should still be a few shooting stars.’

Before the words were out of his mouth, another star shot across the sky.

‘This is so beautiful,’ I said.

His fingertips brushed mine, an accidental touch, fleeting, like the stardust burning in the sky.

Another star grazed the night sky.

‘Did you see that one?’ asked Clarence.

‘Yes.’

His fingers moved over mine and stayed there, the warmth of his hand now wilfully, knowingly touching me. I didn’t move. I held my breath and reminded myself I was doing this for Ryan. Minutes passed. More stars tripped across the sky.

‘They’re not really stars,’ I said. ‘It’s just dust burning up in our atmosphere.’

‘I know.’

Clarence’s fingers caressed mine. It was a light touch. But it was a step too far. I retracted my hand, curled it into a tight fist.

‘I’ve always loved this lake,’ said Clarence. ‘I learnt to swim in it, I learnt to sail on it. I even learnt to scuba-dive here. It’s much deeper than you might think.’

My heart jolted. I knew how we were going to get Ryan off the grounds of the Institute: under the water.

‘But this is perfect, isn’t it?’ said Clarence.

It was perfect: the lake; the stars; the music.

And now I had the perfect plan.