five seconds before putting his back to the wall and sliding down it until he was crouched on his heels in the dark. He listened, but all he could hear was breathing; his own, and a steady purring from the sofa. Sooner or later she was going to wake up (unless he killed her, smothered her with a cushion; after all, nobody even knew she existed, and wouldnât it save a lot of fuss, in the long run? No, not even close to being an option) and once she was awake, one way or another his life was going to be extremely fraught for a while. But, at least for now, he had a brief interlude of peace and quiet, enough time to think of some way out of this messâ
Well, he could tell her the truth (assuming the language barrier wasnât insuperable). He could tell her the truth, sure; he could also run himself a nice bath and jump into it while holding the switched-on toaster. Fortunately, he didnât have to do either. Instead, he could create a rather less provocative alternative, and who would there be to contradict him?
I was walking through the park, near the pond, and I heard this splash . . . So I ran over and there you were in the water, floundering about in that stagnant bit at the end, where itâs so deep. I think you mustâve bashed your head when you fell in; thatâs probably why you canât remember. Sorry, I looked but I couldnât see your clothes anywhere. So why did I bring you all the way up here, instead of calling an ambulance? Well . . .
He shook his head and thumbed the âresetâ button on his imagination.
I was just about to get into bed when I heard this awful thump out there on the landing. So I opened the door and there you were, lying on the floor. Sorry, no idea what happened to your clothes. The green slime? Search me . . .
He frowned. At a pinch, it might just do, depending on how well he put it across. But surely he could do better.
 . . . So I looked out and there was this amazingly bright light up in the sky, and this big silvery dish thing was sort of hanging in the air; and a flap opened in the underside, and this dazzling blue beam . . .
 . . .For Godâs sake, itâs bad enough being burgled, at least you could have the common decency to put some clothes on when you break into someoneâs flat. All right, yes, so I crept up behind you and smashed the goldfish bowl over your head; what was I expected to do, finding someone creeping round in the middle of the night . . .?
 . . . Excuse me, but have you got any idea whatâs going on? No, I just woke up myself. Never seen this place before in my life. God, my head hurts, I guess someone bashed me . . .
 . . . Oh boy. Doesnât Nigel throw the wildest parties . . .?
He thought about all of them and swept them into his mental trash. That just left the truth. All right, so letâs just run through that and see if it sounds any better.
 . . . Iâve been in love with you ever since I was a kid, even though youâve been dead for four hundred years, so I cloned you from a lock of your hair. Hope thatâs OK.
 . . .You were dead. I brought you back to life. And hereâs me thinking you might be just a little bit grateful . . .
 . . . Hey, you know what? Youâre even cuter than you look in your portrait. Will you marry me?
Slowly he shook his head. The fact had to be faced: all Mr Blairâs horses and all Mr Blairâs men couldnât get a decent spin on this one. He stood up and plodded into the bathroom, looking for his towelling robe. It might just help if she had something to drape round herself.
When he came back, she was sitting up on the sofa. And the light was on.
âBut . . .â he said. She looked at him.
âDate,â she said.
So that was what she sounded like. Of course, he could tell she was having a
Well, he could tell her the truth (assuming the language barrier wasnât insuperable). He could tell her the truth, sure; he could also run himself a nice bath and jump into it while holding the switched-on toaster. Fortunately, he didnât have to do either. Instead, he could create a rather less provocative alternative, and who would there be to contradict him?
I was walking through the park, near the pond, and I heard this splash . . . So I ran over and there you were in the water, floundering about in that stagnant bit at the end, where itâs so deep. I think you mustâve bashed your head when you fell in; thatâs probably why you canât remember. Sorry, I looked but I couldnât see your clothes anywhere. So why did I bring you all the way up here, instead of calling an ambulance? Well . . .
He shook his head and thumbed the âresetâ button on his imagination.
I was just about to get into bed when I heard this awful thump out there on the landing. So I opened the door and there you were, lying on the floor. Sorry, no idea what happened to your clothes. The green slime? Search me . . .
He frowned. At a pinch, it might just do, depending on how well he put it across. But surely he could do better.
 . . . So I looked out and there was this amazingly bright light up in the sky, and this big silvery dish thing was sort of hanging in the air; and a flap opened in the underside, and this dazzling blue beam . . .
 . . .For Godâs sake, itâs bad enough being burgled, at least you could have the common decency to put some clothes on when you break into someoneâs flat. All right, yes, so I crept up behind you and smashed the goldfish bowl over your head; what was I expected to do, finding someone creeping round in the middle of the night . . .?
 . . . Excuse me, but have you got any idea whatâs going on? No, I just woke up myself. Never seen this place before in my life. God, my head hurts, I guess someone bashed me . . .
 . . . Oh boy. Doesnât Nigel throw the wildest parties . . .?
He thought about all of them and swept them into his mental trash. That just left the truth. All right, so letâs just run through that and see if it sounds any better.
 . . . Iâve been in love with you ever since I was a kid, even though youâve been dead for four hundred years, so I cloned you from a lock of your hair. Hope thatâs OK.
 . . .You were dead. I brought you back to life. And hereâs me thinking you might be just a little bit grateful . . .
 . . . Hey, you know what? Youâre even cuter than you look in your portrait. Will you marry me?
Slowly he shook his head. The fact had to be faced: all Mr Blairâs horses and all Mr Blairâs men couldnât get a decent spin on this one. He stood up and plodded into the bathroom, looking for his towelling robe. It might just help if she had something to drape round herself.
When he came back, she was sitting up on the sofa. And the light was on.
âBut . . .â he said. She looked at him.
âDate,â she said.
So that was what she sounded like. Of course, he could tell she was having a
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