Free The Trouble With Time by Lexi Revellian Page A

fastidiously pastiching Quinn’s writing style: Sweetheart, something’s come up. We’re going to have to reschedule . . . Five years ago the man had been married and living in a Fulham mews; apparently he was now playing the field. Or had been. The bread and cheese arrived and he took a bite. God, that’s good . He looked up to see Floss about to clean the floor with a cloth she must have found in the kitchen.
    “Vacwash.” The machine hummed into the room, homing in on the mess, nudging Floss out of the way. She perched on the sofa arm and watched as the floor became pristine once more. The vacwash sprayed an ocean perfume and put itself away in the kitchen visible through an archway off the living room.
    “What do we do next?” she said.
    “Nothing until I’ve had a shower. Make yourself at home. If you want food or anything, tell the computer. Don’t answer the door.”
     
    The shower was fantastic, his first for five years. There had been no running water where he came from, unless you counted the rain. In summer he used to dip in the canal while fishing. No soap, though, or shampoo. He smiled with pure pleasure at the hot water running down his back as the shower went through the leisurely cycle he had selected.
    When he’d finished he found scissors and trimmed his beard, then used Quinn’s shaver set to stubble. Jace hadn’t liked his bearded backwoodsman look, but for anyone living rough the style had its advantages; it was effort-free and kept your neck warm.
    He walked naked through the bedroom and into the vast walk-in wardrobe. Who needed this many clothes? Quinn had been his height, luckily, and had lost some weight in the last five years, so they were much the same size. His taste wasn’t quite Jace’s, but everything was expensive, stylish and nearly new. He’d clearly done as he intended, and become obscenely rich. Bastard. Jace chose britches, a shirt and a gilet, and put them on.
    He picked up his pile of old clothes. He had not realized, while wearing them year after year, day and night, just how much they stank. After taking them to the chute, he went into the living room, carrying his own boots since Quinn’s were a size too small. He had wondered if a bit of polish would make them pass, but now that he took a good look at them, he could see they were beyond redemption.
    The girl was sitting feet up on the sofa eating the last slice of a pizza and drinking champagne, vintage music pounding, a light display pulsing. As he walked in she swung her feet to the floor, gave him a startled look, and told the computer to put on the main lights and stop the music.
    In the sudden silence she said, “Is that what people are wearing these days?”
    He glanced down. “Yes. Why? This is maybe a bit fancier than I’d choose . . .” He handed her a comb and the scissors while she stared at his altered appearance. “I need you to cut my hair.”
    “I’ll give it a go.” She swallowed the last mouthful of pizza. “After that we’ll go and see your friend and get me home? How short do you want it?”
    “Just shorter. I’m going to catch up with stuff first, find out what’s going on. All my information’s five years out of date.”
    “Can’t you do that after?”
    “No.”
    He pulled out a dining chair and sat in front of a long mirror. Floss combed and snipped carefully, studying the result in the mirror as she worked. He was amused to note his transformation from squalor to respectability had made her less wary of him, more relaxed. Amazing what soap, water and new clothes could do. She started to speak, stopped, paused, started again. “That man. Why did you kill him?”
    “I needed his TiTrav. His time travel device.”
    “You didn’t have to kill him. You had him overpowered. You could have just left him there.”
    “Yeah, I could. That’s what he did to me. Left me to die. After he’d handcuffed my wrists and ankles, then tied them together.”
    Jace would never forget