“Do you think it’s what your man is after?” Harley’s question broke into her thoughts.
“Spinners?”
“Aye. Is that why he’s found his way here, to this time?”
“He wants something, there’s no doubt about that. And I’m actually rather hoping it is the book he’s come for. Because if it’s not, then the only other reason he would go to the trouble and the risk of spinning time to get here is…”
“… for you,” Harley finished her sentence.
“It’s not a pleasant thought.”
Harley gave a snort. “You’re right about that, hen. From what you’ve told me the man’s a right bastard.” He took another long gulp of his beer, his expression thoughtful. “Way I look at it is, whether it’s the book he’s after or taking his revenge on you for tricking him the way you did, well … one way or another he’s trouble. But you’ve not seen him again?”
“No, still just the one time, standing at the top of our street. But I know he’s close.”
“You sure you’re not imagining that? I mean, it’s understandable you’re spooked, but if he hasn’t turned up again maybe it was just a one-off and he’s gone back to wherever—whenever—he came from.”
“I wish I believed that, but I don’t. I know he’s still around. I can sense his presence, sometimes really strongly. I think he’s waiting for something. And then…”
“… and then?”
Xanthe drank deeply from her beer bottle. She paused, taking a breath. “Mistress Flyte was right. He’s not a fit person to have something so powerful. A Spinner should respect the order of things, the way things are meant to be. They shouldn’t change them to suit their own purposes.”
“No pressure then.” Harley shifted his not inconsiderable weight, making the leather sofa creak. “In the meantime, you’ve plenty on your plate with the band. Annie says we’re lucky to book you now!”
She smiled. “I’ll always find time for The Feathers, you know that. Actually, it’s Liam who’s elusive at the moment. He’s been really busy with work. He’s up in Oxford today delivering a recent restoration. A beautiful blue Jaguar.”
“Hell’s teeth! Has he won you over to classic cars too? He must be even more bloody charming than he looks.”
Xanthe recalled the first time she had seen Liam and how his good looks had made her wary of him, her experience of beautiful men up to that point not having been entirely positive. He had worn his hair cropped short then, giving an edge to his appearance. Lately he had grown it out a little, causing her to tease him about being a secret surfer. The truth was, he’d look highly appealing either way. “I’m just quoting him,” she said. “He’s been so passionate about the thing it would be hard not to remember what it was. Anyway, he’s doing a second one for the same enthusiast. He said it’ll take another few weeks. He should be more available for gigs after that.”
“Let’s hope so. We miss your singing, lassie.”
“Trust me, the other members of Tin Lid won’t let him get away with much more shirking.”
* * *
As always after her chats with Harley, Xanthe felt reassured. She was not dealing with everything on her own anymore. Whatever her future as a Spinner held, she had a confidant. A part of her was sorry it wasn’t Liam. Their friendship mattered to her and they had become closer since Christmas, so she was increasingly uncomfortable about keeping secrets from him. And time travel was a pretty big secret. She wondered, briefly, what would happen if she allowed herself to truly care for him. If she let herself fall for him she knew he would be waiting with open arms to catch her, but would she ever be able to tell him about the Spinners? Could he understand? Would he even be able to believe her? It was a lot to ask. And then there was Flora to consider. The more people who knew about her other life, the greater the chance that her mother would find out. Would she be terrified at the thought of what her daughter had been doing, and would, Xanthe knew, continue to do? Would she beg her never to step through the blind house again? If coming to terms with her own abilities and true identity was challenging, sharing it with people who cared about her seemed one of the biggest challenges. And yet increasingly she was drawn to the idea that she should tell her mother everything. In fact, there were days when she came close to doing so, when her excitement about being a Spinner came close to making her blurt it all out. Flora had long accepted that Xanthe had the gift of psychometry; surely she of all people would be the most accepting, even of something so incredible.
By the time she left the pub it was nearly seven, properly dark, and cold enough to remind her that spring was still in its infant days. The peal of the church bells sounded through the thickening air of the evening, seemingly suspended in the damp chill that was descending. Not for the first time she was reminded that Flora had her own life outside the shop now, her own friends, her own interests. Her joining the Marlborough bell ringers had been a significant step toward that. As the ancient iron bells pealed on Xanthe allowed herself to take comfort from this. There would, one way or another, she believed, come a time when her mother would have to do without her. It was good that she was establishing herself in the community of Marlborough, slowly but surely. It lifted a little of the weight of responsibility from Xanthe’s shoulders. As she walked she fancied she detected an urgent note to the tolling of the bells. Their usual celebratory pealing appeared to have been replaced with something more like a warning.
In the wide main street the daytime bustle had been replaced by the early evening crowd. There were workers heading home, some pausing to take advantage of happy hour in their favorite pub or a glass of wine in a lively bar to signify the switch from business to leisure time. Others were on their way out, striding purposefully to the supermarket for their shopping, or arm in arm, destined for one of the many quality eating places. All was happily familiar and quietly lovely. And yet Xanthe could not shake off a feeling of unease. Her stomach tightened, and she was aware of a nervousness in her posture. However safe and normal things were around her she could not rid herself of the thought of Fairfax and the feeling that he was somehow watching her, whether from the shadows in the doorways of the old shops and houses, or via a vision granted him by some device even though he might have been centuries distant. Either way, she felt his presence. She quickened her step, wishing only to be home talking to Flora, enjoying light conversation and sharing simple food. It was as she turned down the narrow cobbled street in which their shop was situated that she became convinced she was being followed. She dared not look around; did not want to see who might be there. She strode on, resisting the urge to run, telling herself there was no real danger with so many other people about. She reached the shop door and fumbled in her bag for the key. As she tried to wriggle it into the lock she felt the unmistakable sensation of warm breath upon the back of her neck. With a half-suppressed shout she wheeled around, the bunch of keys held high ready, to strike.
Liam raised his hands in supplication. “Hey! No need for violence.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Liam!” She felt relief surging through her, and yet fear remained, real and powerful. For an instant, Liam’s features were clouded, indistinct, as if shadowed by something, and a fierce sense of peril emanated from him. It made no sense. She shook away the unwelcome emotions, telling herself she was simply reacting to a moment of panic and to being startled. “You scared me half to death, creeping up like that. What were you thinking?”