The Eyre Affair (Thursday Next 1)

“Look.”

He pointed at the car. It was shaking slightly as a localized gust of wind seemed to batter it.

“I can’t leave her—me—in this predicament!”

But Bowden was pulling me toward the car, which was rocking more violently and starting to fade.

“Wait!”

I struggled free, pulled out my automatic and hid it behind one of the wheels of the nearest car, then ran after Bowden and leaped into the back of the Speedster. I was just in time. There was a bright flash and a peal of thunder and then silence. I opened an eye. It was daylight. I looked at Bowden, who had made it into the driver’s seat. The motorway services car park had vanished and in its place was a quiet country lane. The journey was over.

“You all right?” I asked.

Bowden felt the three-day stubble that had inexplicably grown on his chin.

“I think so. How about you?”

“As well as can be expected.”

I checked my shoulder holster. It was empty.

“I’m bursting for a pee, though. I feel like I haven’t gone for a week.”

Bowden made a pained expression and nodded.

“I think I could say the same.”

I nipped behind a wall. Bowden walked stiffly across to the other side of the road and relieved himself in the hedge.

“Where do you suppose we are?” I shouted to Bowden from behind the wall. “Or more to the point, when?”

“Car twenty-eight,” crackled the wireless, “come in please.”

“Who knows?” called out Bowden over his shoulder. “But if you want to try that again you can do it with someone else.”

Much relieved, we reconvened at the car. It was a beautiful day, dry and quite warm. The smell of haymaking was in the air, and in the distance we could hear a tractor lumbering across a field.

“What was all that motorway services thing about?” asked Bowden. “Last Thursday or next Thursday?”

I shrugged.

“Don’t ask me to explain. I just hope I got out of that jam. Those guys didn’t look as though they were out collecting for the church fund.”

“You’ll find out.”

“I guess. I wonder who that man was I was trying to protect?”

“Search me.”

I sat on the hood and donned a pair of dark glasses. Bowden walked to a gate and looked over. In a dip in the valley was a village built of gray stone, and in the field a herd of cows was grazing peacefully.

Bowden pointed to a milestone he had found.

“That’s a spot of luck.”

The milestone told him we were six miles from Haworth.

I wasn’t listening to him. I was now puzzling over seeing myself in the hospital bed. If I hadn’t seen myself I wouldn’t have gone to Swindon and if I hadn’t gone to Swindon I wouldn’t have been able to warn myself to go there. Doubtless it would make complete sense to my father, but I might well go nuts trying to figure it out.