Lost in a Good Book (Thursday Next 2)

'Enjoy yourselves,' I said.

'Oh, we will!' he said, bidding us all goodbye again and disappearing into the workshop. Polly kissed us all, waved farewell and followed him, closing the door behind her.

'It won't be the same without him and his daft projects, will it?' said Landen

'No,' I replied. 'It's—'

I felt a strong tingling sensation as a noiseless white light erupted from within the workshop and shone in pencil-thin beams from every crack and rivet hole, each speck of grime showing up on the dirty windows, every crack in the glass suddenly alive with a rainbow of colours. We winced and shielded our eyes, but no sooner had the light started than it had gone again, faded to nothing in a crackle of electricity. Landen and I exchanged looks and stepped forward. The door opened easily and we stood there, staring into the large and now very empty workshop. Every single piece of equipment had gone. Not a screw, not a bolt, not a washer.

'He isn't just going to write romantic novels in his retirement,' observed Joffy.

'Most probably he just took it all so no one else would carry on with his work. Mycroft's scruples were the equal of his intellect.'

My mother was sitting on an upturned wheelbarrow, her dodos clustered around her on the off-chance of a marshmallow.

'They're not coming back,' said my mother sadly. 'You know that, don't you?'

'Yes,' I said, 'I know.'

7

White Horse, Uffington, picnics for the use of

* * *

'We decided that "Parke-Laine-Next" was a bit of a mouthful, so I kept my surname and he kept his. I called myself "Ms" instead of "Miss", but nothing else changed. I liked being called his wife in the same way I liked calling Landen my husband. It felt sort of tingly. I had the same feeling when I stared at my wedding ring. They say you get used to it but I hoped that they were wrong. Marriage, like spinach and opera, was something I had never thought I would like. I changed my mind about opera when I was nine years old. My father took me to the first night of Madame Butterfly at Brescia in 1904. After the performance Dad cooked while Puccini regaled me with hilarious stories and signed my autograph book – from that day on I was a devoted fan. In the same way, it took being in love with Landen to make me change my mind about marriage. I found it exciting and exhilarating, two people, together, as one. It was where I was meant to be. I was happy, I was contented, I was fulfilled.

And spinach? Well, I'm still waiting

THURSDAY NEXT – private diaries

'What do you think they'll do?' asked Landen as we lay in bed, he with one hand resting gently on my stomach and the other wrapped tightly around me. The bedclothes had been thrown off and we had only just regained our breath.

'Who?'

'SO-1 this afternoon. About you punching the Neanderthal.'

'Oh, that. I don't know. Technically speaking I really haven't done anything wrong at all. I think they'll let me off, considering all the good PR work I've done – looks a bit daft to arrest their star operative, don't you think?'

'That's always assuming they think logically like you or I.'

'It does, doesn't it?'

I sighed.

'People have been busted for less. SO-1 like to make an example from time to time.'

'You don't have to work, you know.'

I looked across at him but he was too close to focus on, which was sort of nice, in its way.

'I know,' I replied, 'but I'd like to keep it up. I don't really see myself as a mumsy sort of person.'

'Your cooking might tend to support that fact.'

'Mother's cooking is terrible, too – I think it's hereditary. My SO-1 hearing is at four. Want to go and see the mammoth migration?'

'Sure.'