But if I asked Jem, he’d think I was mad, or simple. Or both.

  “Are we safe?” I blurted out when Jem stopped in the shadow of an overhanging building and turned to me.

  We were alone in this alleyway, at least as far as I could tell. It was so dark I could barely see Jem cock his head and look at me. “Safe enough.” Again a tooth flashed. “Rozzers don’t come down ’ere. They know what’s good for them.”

  It had an ominous ring. “If I wasn’t with you, would I be safe here?”

  “Maybe. Wouldn’t try it, mind. Same as last night, is it?”

  I was tempted. I was so very tempted. But I didn’t want to live with the guilt I knew I’d feel afterwards. Didn’t want Alasdair’s eyes to reproach me again, this time with even more cause. “Look, Jem—why don’t we go for a drink somewhere? Or a meal, even?” I added, remembering he might not have eaten all that well today—or at any time in his life, as a matter of fact.

  “You payin’?”

  Damn. “I haven’t got any money. But I could pay you back tomorrow.”

  “That’s no good. Think I come out here with a pocket full of the ready?”

  “Sorry.” I sighed, running a hand through my hair, over the ridges of my scars—and snatching it back down when I realised what I was doing. “I’m making a right tit of myself, aren’t I?” It came out more than a bit indistinct, to complete my humiliation, and I turned to leave.

  “Wait.” I felt Jem’s touch on my shoulder, the warmth of his hand penetrating my thin woollen sweater and reaching through the shirt beneath to sear my skin. I shivered, the tiny scrap of comfort emphasizing the damp chill of the still air around us. “Shh. Come here, now.”

  I let him draw me back into his arms. How long had it been since someone had hugged me?

  I could have worked it out to the day.

  I chose not to.

  His lean body was a furnace against my back; his arms held me tight, tethering me to reality. To him. From my shoulders to my knees, every inch of me was warmed by his touch. My head fell back against his neck, my throat bared in surrender.

  “That’s better,” Jem whispered, and he pressed a kiss into my hair. I’d always thought whores didn’t kiss. But it wasn’t on the lips, so maybe that was all right?

  It felt wrong, though, to think of Jem as a whore when he was doing this for me. Just holding me. Comforting me. Did he do this for anyone else?

  “Have you got a, a lover? Family?” I asked, surprising even myself as the words tumbled out.

  A sharp breath stirred the hair on the back of my head. It might have been a silent laugh. “Nah. No one.”

  There was a silence. “Don’t you want to know about me?” I asked, feeling hurt, and ridiculous for feeling so.

  “Most of my gentlemen don’t want me asking no questions.”

  No. Of course they wouldn’t. “You can ask me anything. My name’s Ted. Ted Ennis.”

  I felt him smile against my ear. “Jem Pocket, then, at your service. And might I enquire about sir’s family?”

  Laughter bubbled up at his mock-courtly tone but smothered almost instantly. “They’re all dead. An accident. Around a year and a half ago. I was injured in it. My...head.”

  He didn’t say anything, just kissed me again. In the almost perfect darkness, I felt no need to close my eyes. While he loosened his grip on me and shifted until we were face to face, I stood there, passive—then at the last minute, I turned my gaze to the ground, suddenly afraid.

  Jem was having none of it. He took my chin in his warm hands and urged it upwards, and then he dropped a gentle kiss on my lips. It tasted of beer and bacon, and there was a strength in his soft, moist lips that took my breath away. I kissed him back, pulling him towards me, pressing our bodies together to kindle the heat between us.

  “That’s better,” he murmured once more. “They’d want you to be happy, wouldn’t they, this family of yours? They wouldn’t want you to be alone. Year and a half’s a long time to be alone, ’specially for a fellow like you. You ain’t made to be alone.”

  “Not sure what I’m made for,” I whispered back.

  “Then you just ain’t found it yet. So what do you do, Ted Ennis, when you’re not kissing Mary-Anns?”

  “I work in the theatre. The Criterion, I mean.” I swallowed. “And I don’t kiss Mary-Anns as a rule. I don’t kiss anyone. Only you.” It was too much. I knew as soon as I’d said it. But he didn’t pull away.

  “Nothing special about me,” he said softly.

  “Does there have to be?” I countered. “Do people have to be special to be—” I broke off. I couldn’t say loved. We hardly knew one another, for God’s sake. And he was a whore. What the hell was happening to me? “You’re wrong,” I said instead.

  “No, I ain’t. Throw a stone from where Cheapside meets Poultry and you’ll hit ten of me. ’Course, we’ll run after you and thrash the daylights out of you if you try it. You, now, there’s something special about you. Where d’you come from? Not from around here.”

  I shivered again at the certainty in his tone. “If I told you, you’d think I was mad.”

  “Said I could ask you anything I wanted, didn’t you?”

  Somehow, in the darkness, with his arms around me, I could talk to him. “All right, then. I’m from...another time. The future. A hundred and fifty years or so from now, I think. What year is this?”

  “Been eighteen eighty-six all year.”

  “Then it’s a little less. Say a hundred and forty. Go on—tell me I’m mad.”

  Instead, he kissed me again. I leaned into him, trying to draw on his strength, his acceptance of me. His soft kisses, his warm touch, seemed to fill a hunger that had been gnawing at me so long I’d just accepted the pain as part of life. Did he believe me? I couldn’t imagine he did. Why the hell should he? But he didn’t turn away from me.

  “What’s it like, then, where you’re from?” he asked, stroking my hair.

  “Different. Better.” I laughed, the sound jarring in the quiet of the alley. “We could kiss in the street in broad daylight and not get arrested. It’s not illegal any more, to be...” I broke off. I’d been about to say gay, but what would that word mean to him? “For a man to love another man,” I finished. “Two men can even get married—sort of. It’s called a civil partnership.”

  “Sounds like a firm of lawyers.”

  I laughed again, and this time there was no hard edge to the sound. “It does, doesn’t it?”

  “So what else is different, then? Do the toffs all travel by flying machine?”

  Did he realise how much I appreciated it that he humoured me? “Everyone travels by flying machine. But not all the time. To be honest, it’s not nearly as exciting as it’s cracked up to be. And Piccadilly Circus is full of motorised traffic, and there’s not a horse in sight.”

  “But the theatre’s still there, right? The Criterion?” It seemed important to him, but the mention of it sobered me.

  “Yes. Jem, I have to get back. I work there. They’ll be wanting me for the interval.”

  I wanted him to tell me not to go, but he drew back, his arms falling from around my waist. Robbed of my borrowed warmth, I shivered with the sudden chill.

  “Yeah. We’ve all got work to do.”

  There was a bitter taste in my mouth. We turned and walked back the way we’d come, our bodies half a hip’s-width apart, carefully not touching once we’d left the cloaking darkness of the alley.

  “Why do you do it?” I blurted out as we reached the relative brightness of the Circus.

  Jem shrugged. “It’s better than starving.” He paused. “I’ll be here tomorrow night, if you’re around.”

  “Yes. I’ll come. And Jem, look, I don’t know if I can get any money, but I can bring some more gold, all right? So maybe we could go somewhere. For a meal, or something.”

  “Won’t you be working?”

  “I’ll...sort something out with Rob. My boss. He said I should take some time off.”

  “Yeah? Then you ought to do as he says. Got to keep the boss sweet, ain’t you?”

  “Yes.” I didn’t want to leave him, but I had to. For the very reason he’d just mentioned. “I’ve got to go now, but I’ll see you tomorrow, all right?”

  Jem nodded. “Tomorrow.”

  * * *

  That night, when I picked up Alasdair’s picture to say good night, I felt I could look him in the eye. “I paid him,” I whispered. “Is he real? He feels real when I’m with him. He feels like someone you might have wanted me to be with. He’s kind, like you. Rob’s kind, but he pities me. Worries about me. Jem just...accepts. Am I imagining him? Am I really so desperate—so damaged?” I waited, but no answer came. Perhaps I was asking the wrong question. “Would you have wanted me to find someone? To be happy with someone else?”

  I could almost hear Alasdair’s voice in my head. He sounded amused, exasperated. Like he often had, when I’d asked him a question he thought obvious. Well, I like to think you wouldn’t have expected me to become a monk, if our situations had been reversed. If you’d been the one driving.

  If I’d been the one driving... I’d wished that so many times since the accident. That I’d been the one who died, not Alasdair. It suddenly hit me how much of a selfish bastard I was being, wishing my present half-life on the man I professed to love.

  But I had to wish that, didn’t I? How could I be glad my lover—my husband—was dead? My head ached. I swallowed some painkillers and went to bed.

  Chapter Three

  Next day I went into London early and took the tube to Hatton Garden. I’d probably get ripped off there too, but at least I’d be able to buy the real thing, if Google was any guide.

  It was. There was a whole street of jewellers and pawnbrokers for me to choose from, although there was also a fair number of boarded-up shops and To Let signs. I avoided the larger, glitzier emporia and headed for a place with a dingy frontage, hoping they’d have prices to match. A bald-headed man in an old-fashioned waistcoat stood behind the counter. He seemed as tired and antiquated as his shop, and it struck me he’d fit in Jem’s world a damn sight better than I had these last two nights.

  “A plain gold chain, but Victorian?” He rubbed the most prominent of his chins. “You’ll find they’re quite similar to many modern chains, but of course you’ll be paying for the antique value. Might I ask how important the authenticity is to you? Will the article have to stand up to close scrutiny?”

  I wondered if he suspected me of planning some elaborate fraud based around supposed family heirlooms. “It just needs to look the part, I think. It’s for a, a film prop.”

  Watery grey eyes seemed to look right through me, and I flushed but stood my ground. In the end he sold me a nine-carat gold chain with heavy, round links and uncertain provenance. I decided to trust his assertion that it was, if not Victorian, certainly able to pass as such. It was probably more money than I should have spent—I knew that now, from what Jem had said about the ring—but I couldn’t bring myself to take the cheapest option. I wanted to give him something finer, something he might have been pleased to receive as a gift. Might have worn, even, were he not forced by circumstances to sell it.

  Rob’s eyes widened when I walked into the theatre.

  “Ooh, are you going out somewhere?” Miri asked, coming up behind me.

  I flushed. I’d tried to dress a little more appropriately for Jem’s time, which of course looked incongruous here, particularly compared to my usual casual wear. I’d put on a checked shirt under a tweedy jacket that had languished in my wardrobe ever since Alasdair had said how much he’d hated it, and proper trousers, not jeans. I’d wound a thin scarf around my neck, trying to approximate Victorian neckwear whilst not looking totally ridiculous to a modern eye. I wasn’t sure I’d succeeded.

  “Don’t tell me, I look like a poor man’s Quentin Crisp.” I tried to smile.

  “What? No, it’s fine. Suits you, actually.” She cocked her head on one side. “I mean, it’s a bit, well, gay, but I wouldn’t have thought that’d bother you, dearie.” She bustled off to do whatever it was she did. Much like mine, her job description seemed to stretch to fit whatever she fancied putting her hand to.

  Rob pursed his lips, evidently trying to decide whether he should say what he was thinking. “So, have you met someone, then?” he asked in the end.

  “I, um—yes. Sort of. But it’s still very early days,” I added hastily.

  His eyes flickered to the jeweller’s carrier bag in my hand, and I felt my colour deepen. “Well, that’s good,” he said, his tone a bit dubious.

  “Actually, I was hoping, would it be okay if I took an hour or so off tonight? Just while the first half’s on. I wanted to meet—him—for a drink.”

  “Of course. No problem.” He gave me a smile that didn’t look quite as genuine as he’d probably hoped.

  Guilt roiled in my guts. He’d done me a favour, giving me this job, and here I was taking advantage of him. “Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you in the lurch if I’m needed here.”

  “What? No—it’s just, well...” He sighed. “Be careful, all right? Some of the young lads you meet around here are only out for what they can get.”

  Christ, if only he knew. “I—he—” I caught myself. “I’ll be careful.” A possible alternative reason for his concern hit me. I raised my chin, not liking the thought much. “Do you think it’s too soon after Alasdair?”

  “What? No, of course not! Bloody hell, he wouldn’t have wanted you to become a monk. It’s just, I worry about you, that’s all. About people taking advantage. Ted?”

  I started. I’d been so caught up by the way he’d echoed Alasdair’s words—Alasdair’s imagined words, I reminded myself—I’d been too distracted even to take offence at his assumption that I was some virginal naïf who needed protecting against the wicked ways of the world. With his brow furrowed in concern, it seemed a little petty to take umbrage now.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I mean, I don’t mean to worry you.”

  “Ted. You don’t have to apologise, all right? I’m your friend. I’m supposed to worry about you.”

  I didn’t deserve him. But he probably knew that. I wanted to tell him how much I appreciated his support, his giving me this job—but all I could manage was, “I’m fine. Really.”

  Time seemed to move through treacle the rest of the day. I could hardly make myself wait for the curtain to rise on the night’s performance before giving Rob a wave and stepping out into Piccadilly Circus.

  Jem was there, leaning on his lamppost. He broke into a smile when he saw me, and I found myself smiling back as I approached him.

  “I brought you this,” I said, pulling the gold chain from my pocket and handing it to him, my heart thumping.

  Jem’s eyes widened. He glanced around as if to make sure no one was watching and examined the chain covertly before stashing it away within his clothing. “You nick it?”

  It was so unexpected I laughed. “No, of course not!”

  He shrugged. It was probably all the same to him, I supposed. In his world, we committed a crime every time we touched. How could a man live like that?

  “Is it enough?” I asked, suddenly anxious.

  “More’n enough,” Jem assured me. “Enough for anything you want to do.”

  I kept my eyes steady as I met his wary gaze. “I want to go out for a meal with you. Or at least somewhere we can talk.”

  “What kind of talk?” Still wary.

  “Just normal talk.” I found I was running my fingers through my neatly combed hair and jerked my hand away, fumbling instead for my Gauloises. “I just... Last night, you were kind to me. I’d like to go for a meal with you. To thank you. Please.”

  His brow cleared. “The Coach and Horses all right?”

  As if I’d know. “That’ll be great.” I shook out a cigarette and popped it in my mouth then offered Jem the packet. He took one with a smile then bent his head to mine so I could light both cigarettes together.

  The familiar, gravelly taste calmed me as we wound through dark streets and darker alleyways and came at last to a pub that sat squarely on the corner of a street. Jem pushed open the door, and a wave of warm air that reeked of beer, tobacco and sweat rolled over us. The place was dimly lit, most of the illumination coming from a great fireplace at one end. My eyes stung from the smokiness of the atmosphere. It seemed to be a place for quiet drinking and smoking, not the sort of Dickensian roistering beloved of Hollywood. No singing and dancing about oom-pah-pah here. Men—there were no women customers in the place—sat mostly alone, nursing their drinks, although here and there a pair sat at a table engaged in earnest conversation. Nobody looked up as we walked in. I needn’t have worried about being thrown out for being improperly dressed, not here.

  “What are you drinking?” Jem asked.

  “Just get a pint for yourself, and some food if you want it,” I said.

  He looked at me sharply but didn’t question me, just leaning over the bar to place his order for a pint of ale for him and plates of steak and kidney pudding for us both. He paid with a handful of coins I was too slow to see the value of—perhaps he’d had a good night tonight, but I preferred to think he’d come prepared for our outing.

  The barmaid served him a brimming pint, which he carried over to a table in a corner, as shielded as possible from public view.

  “Not thirsty, then?” Jem asked. “Or don’t you trust the ale in this place? It’s not too bad. Food’s good, too.”

  “I don’t drink.”

  “You don’t seem much of a Methodist to me.” He sounded amused. “It’s your head, right?”

  I flushed. “You remembered.” In the dark, it’d been easy to tell him my problems. It was different, hearing him refer to them with our faces revealed by the pub’s flickering gaslight.