Christopher Priest: The Space Machine

“So you also live at Reynolds House?” I said. “It is not merely employment?”

“I am paid a small wage for my work, but Sir William has made a suite of rooms in one of the wings available to me.”

“I should greatly like to meet Sir William,” I said, fervently.

“So that he may try your goggles in your presence?” Amelia said.

“I am regretting that I brought them to you.”

“And I am glad you did. You have inadvertently enlivened my evening. I was beginning to suspect that Mrs Anson was the only person in this hotel, so tight was her hold on me Anyway, I’m sure Sir William will consider purchasing your goggles, even though he does not drive his horseless carriage these days.”

I looked at her in surprise. “But I understood Sir William was a keen motorist Why has he lost interest?”

“He is a scientist, Edward. His invention is prolific, and he is constantly turning to new devices.”

In this way we conversed for a long time, and the longer we spoke the more relaxed I became. Our subjects were inconsequential for the most part,. dwelling on our past lives and experiences. I soon learnt that Amelia was much better travelled than me, having accompanied Sir William on some of his overseas journeys. She told me of her visit to New York, and to Dresden and Leipzig, and I was greatly interested.

At last the fire burned down, and we had drunk the last of the brandy.

I said, regretfully: “Amelia, do you think I should now return to my room?”

For a moment her expression did not change, but then she smiled briefly and to my surprise laid her hand gently on my arm.

“Only if you wish to,” she said.

“Then I think I shall stay a few minutes longer.”

Immediately I said this I regretted it. In spite of her friendly gesture I felt that we had spoken enough of the matters that interested us, and that further delay was only an admission of the considerable degree of distraction her nearness to me was causing. I had no idea how long it was since Mrs Anson had left us—and to take out my watch would have been Unpardonable—but I felt sure that it must be much more than the hour we had agreed. Further delay was improper.

Amelia had not removed her hand from my arm.

“We must speak again, Edward,” she said. “Let us meet m London one evening; perhaps you would invite me to join you for dinner. Then, without having to hush our voices, we can talk to our hearts’ content.”

I said: “When are you returning to Surrey?”

“I think it will be tomorrow afternoon.”

“I shall be in town during the day. Will you join me for luncheon? There is a small inn on the Ilkley road…”

“Yes, Edward. I shall enjoy that”

“Now I had better return.” I took my watch from my pocket, and saw that an hour and a half had elapsed since Mrs Anson’s intrusion. “I’m very sorry to have talked for so long.”

Amelia said nothing, but simply shook her head slowly.

I took my samples-case, and walked quietly to the door. Amelia stood up too, and blew out the oil4amp.

“I’ll help you with the screen,” she said.

The only illumination in the room was from the dying embers of the fire. I saw Amelia silhouetted against the glow as she came towards me. Together we shifted the folding screen to one side, then I turned the handle of the door. All was still and silent beyond. Suddenly, in that great quietness I wondered how well the screen had muffled our voices, and whether in fact our innocent liaison had been overheard by more than one other person.

I turned back to her.

“Good night, Miss Fitzgibbon,” I said.

Her hand touched my arm again, and I felt a warmth of breath on my cheek. Her lips touched me for a fraction of a second.

“Good night, Mr Turnbull.” Her fingers tightened on my arm, then she moved back and her door closed silently.

My room and bed were cold, and I could not sleep. I lay awake all night, my thoughts circling endlessly around subjects that could not be further removed from my immediate surroundings. In the morning, surprisingly alert in spite of my sleeplessness, I was first down to the breakfast-room, and as I sat at my usual table the head waiter approached me.

“Mrs Anson’s compliments, sir,” he said. “Would you kindly attend to this directly you have finished breakfast?”

I opened the slim brown envelope and found that it contained my account. When I left the breakfast-room I discovered that my luggage had been packed, and was ready for me in the entrance hall. The head waiter took my money, and conducted me to the door. None of the other guests had seen me leave; there had been no sign of Mrs Anson. I stood in the sharp cool of the morning air, still stunned by the abruptness of my enforced departure.

After a while I carried my bags to the station and deposited them at the luggage office. I stayed in the vicinity of the hotel all day, but saw no sign of Amelia. At midday I went to the inn on the Ilkley road, but she did not appear. As evening drew on I went back to the station, and caught the last train of the day to London.

During the week following my premature return from Skipton, I was away on business in Nottingham. Here I applied myself to my work to such a degree that I adequately made up for the poor sales I had achieved in Skipton. By the Saturday evening, when I returned to my lodgings near Regent’s Park, the incident had receded to a regrettable memory. To say this is not wholly accurate, however, for in spite of the consequences, meeting Amelia had been an uplifting experience. I felt I should not hope to see her again, but I did feel the need to apologize.

As I should have known it would, though, the next move came from Amelia, for waiting for me on that Saturday evening was a letter postmarked in Richmond.

The main part of the letter was type-written, and simply stated that Sir William had been told of the motoring aid I had demonstrated, and that he had expressed a desire to meet me. Accordingly, I was invited to the house on Sunday, 21St May, when Sir William would be glad to speak to me over afternoon tea. It was signed: “A. Fitzgibbon”.

Underneath this main message, Amelia had added a hand-written postscript:

Sir William is usually busy in his laboratory during most of the daylight hours, so would you care to arrive at about 2.00p.m.? As the weather is now so much finer I thought you and I might enjoy bicycling through Richmond Park.

I did not take long to make up my mind. Indeed, within minutes I had written my acceptance, and posted it within the hour. I was very glad to be invited to tea.

On the appointed day I left Richmond Station, and walked slowly through the town. Most of the shops were closed, but there was much traffic—mostly phaetons and broughams, carrying families on Sunday outings—and the pavements were crowded with pedestrians. I strolled along with everyone else, feeling smart and fashionable in the new clothes I had bought the day before. To celebrate the occasion I had even indulged myself in the extravagance of a new straw boater, and this I wore at a jaunty angle, reflecting the carefree mood I was in. The only reminder of my normal way of life was the samples-case I carried. This I had emptied of everything except the three pairs of goggles. Even the unwonted lightness of the case, though, emphasized the special nature of this visit.

I was far too early, of course, having left my lodgings soon after breakfast. I was determined not to be late, and so had over-estimated the amount of time it would take me to reach here. I had enjoyed a leisurely walk through London to Waterloo Station, the train journey had taken only twenty minutes or so, and here I was, enjoying the mild air and warm sunshine of a May morning.