The Seeds of Time

She shook her head.

‘We’ll have to go on being careful, but it is queer. Something to do with Uncle Donald, I expect. He’s not really mechanically minded, poor dear. Well, you can tell that by the way he set the machine two years wrong when he came to see you. But there’s nothing we can do except wait, and be careful.’

I went on reflecting. Presently: ‘I shall have to get a job soon. That may make it difficult to keep a watch for them,’ I told her.

‘Job?’ she said.

‘In spite of what they say, two can’t live as cheap as one. And wives hanker after certain standards, and ought to have them-within reason, of course. The little money I have won’t run to them.’

‘You don’t need to worry about that, darling,’ Tavia assured me. ‘You can just invent something.’

‘Me? Invent?’ I exclaimed.

‘Yes. You’re already fairly well up on radio, aren’t you?’

‘They put me on a few radar courses when I was in the R.A.F.’

‘Ah! The R.A.F.!’ she said, ecstatically. ‘To think that you actually fought in the Second Great War! Did you know Monty and Ike and all those wonderful people?’

‘Not personally. Different arm of the Services,’ I said.

‘What a pity, everyone liked Ike. But about the other thing. All you have to do is to get some advanced radio and electronics books, and I’ll show you what to invent.’

‘You’ll-? Oh, I see. But do you think that would be quite ethical?’ I asked, doubtfully.

‘I don’t see why not. After all the things have got to be invented by somebody, or I couldn’t have learnt about them at school, could I?’

‘I-er, I think I’ll have to think a bit about that,’ I told her.

It was, I suppose, coincidence that I should have mentioned the lack of interruption that particular morning-at least,’ it may have been: I have become increasingly suspicious of coincidences since I first saw Tavia. At any rate, in the middle of that same morning Tavia, looking out of the window, said:

‘Darling, there’s somebody waving from the trees over there.’

I went over to have a look, and sure enough I had a view of a stick with a white handkerchief tied to it, swinging slowly from side to side. Through field-glasses I was able to distinguish the operator, an elderly man almost hidden in the bushes. I handed the glasses to Tavia.

‘Oh, dear! Uncle Donald,’ she exclaimed. ‘I suppose we had better see him. He seems to be alone.’

I went outside, down to the end of my path, and waved him forward. Presently he emerged, carrying the stick and handkerchief bannerwise. His voice reached me faintly:

‘Don’t shoot!’

I spread my hand wide to show that I was unarmed. Tavia came down the path and stood beside me. As he drew close, he transferred the stick to his left hand, lifted his hat with the other, and inclined his head politely.

‘Ah, Sir Gerald! A pleasure to meet you again,’ he said.

‘He isn’t Sir Gerald, Uncle. He’s Mr Lattery,’ said Tavia.

‘Dear me. Stupid of me. Mr Lattery,’ he went on, ‘I am sure you’ll be glad to hear that the wound was more uncomfortable than serious. Just a matter of the poor fellow having to lie on his front for a while.’

‘Poor fellow-?’ I repeated, blankly.

“The one you shot yesterday.’

‘I shot?’

‘Probably tomorrow or the next day,’ Tavia said, briskly. ‘Uncle, you really are dreadful with those settings, you know.’

‘I understand the principles well enough, my dear. It’s just the operation that I sometimes find a little confusing.’

‘Never mind. Now you are here you’d better come indoors,’ she told him. ‘And you can put that handkerchief away in your pocket,’ she added.

As he entered I saw him give a quick glance round the room, and nod to himself as if satisfied with the authenticity of its contents. We sat down. Tavia said:

‘Just before we go any further, Uncle Donald, I think you ought to know that I am married to Gerald-Mr Lattery.’

Dr Gobie peered closely at her.

‘Married?’ he repeated. ‘What for?’

‘Oh, dear,’ said Tavia. She explained patiently: ‘I am in love with him, and he’s in love with me, so I am his wife. It’s the way things happen here.’

‘Teh, tch!’ said Dr Gobie, and shook his head. ‘Of course I am well aware of your sentimental penchant for the Twentieth Century and its ways, my dear, but surely it wasn’t quite necessary for you to-er-go native?’

‘I like it, quite a lot,’ Tavia told him.

‘Young women will be romantic, I know. But have you thought of the trouble you will be causing Sir Ger-er, Mr Lattery?’

‘But I’m saving him trouble, Uncle Donald. They sniff at you here if you don’t get married, and I didn’t like him being sniffed at.’