Robin inhaled as she shrugged off her jacket and hung it in the closet. God, she wasn’t used to this, coming home to a cooked meal and a table laid as if they’d be dining with guests. She left her knapsack on the floor near the boot mat and went into the kitchen.

  Margaret was leaning against the kitchen counter; she lowered the newspaper and smiled, and Robin’s heart leaped. As she had every time she’d stepped into the kitchen this week upon returning home, she wanted to go to Margaret and kiss her full on the lips. But how would Margaret react? Robin, be patient. Don’t blow it. Sage advice, but she’d have to risk a passionate kiss sometime. “Sorry I’m a little late. Steve was running behind.”

  Margaret lifted an eyebrow. “You must be relieved that your hair is now a quarter of an inch long, rather than half an inch.”

  Robin opened her mouth to retort, then noticed Margaret’s bright eyes. Two could play at this game. “I’ve scheduled you an appointment. He’ll cut your hair on Saturday.”

  Margaret gaped. “What?”

  “Trust me, you’ll feel much better without all that hair.”

  “But—my hair—” Margaret sputtered. Then her eyes narrowed. “You’re teasing.”

  “Guilty as charged,” Robin admitted, not wanting to unduly alarm her. Margaret seemed in good spirits now, but that hadn’t been the case last night, when she’d read a newspaper article about a man who reminded her of her father. Again, Robin fought the desire to sweep Margaret into her arms and give her much more than a friendly and supportive hug. “You have beautiful hair, Margaret.”

  Margaret’s face flushed. “Thank you.”

  Not wanting to offend, Robin carefully chose her next words. “Not many of today’s women wear their hair as long as you do. If you ever decide that you do want to cut your hair—not as short as mine,” she said with a laugh, “but shorter—just say.”

  “The thought has crossed my mind,” Margaret said, to Robin’s surprise. “When I read the Fashion section of the newspaper, I take note of the hairstyles women wear in the advertisements and photos. Perhaps I will consider cutting mine.”

  Women actually paid attention to that stuff? Wow.

  “And I neglected to say that I quite like your hairstyle—on you.” Margaret folded the newspaper and handed it to Robin. “Dinner will be ready soon. I’ve made spaghetti. I hope it’s up to your standards.”

  “The sauce smells great.”

  “Thank you,” Margaret murmured again. “I’ve signed the resignation letter. Do you want to see?”

  Robin’s stomach fluttered as she nodded. Tomorrow she’d personally hand the letter to Pam’s manager. She wanted to see Sue’s reaction, not try to divine it from an email, though if Sue appeared suspicious, Robin didn’t know what she’d do. Suddenly leaving Toronto with Margaret would make them look guilty. She lifted the newspaper. “Have you finished with this?” At Margaret’s answering nod, she added the newspaper to the recycling pile, then followed her up to the study.

  Margaret lifted a paper from the desk. “I hope it’s adequate. I had to try a few times.” She tipped her head toward the crumpled papers she’d tossed into the waste bin.

  “We can always print off more.” Robin peered at the signature, then placed the resignation letter on the desk, next to the copy of a bank deposit record that contained Pam’s signature. She looked from one to the other. “That’s pretty damn good. Sue’s not going to examine the signature with a magnifying glass.”

  Margaret stood next to her and stared down at the two documents. “Is there no other way? I feel as if we’re doing something criminal.”

  She’d said the same when Robin had shown her the photos of Pam and Jasper out golfing—altered, of course, to make it appear that they were at a resort, not a city golf course. “I know how you feel. I’ll probably look guilty as sin when I drop in at Pam’s work tomorrow. But we have to do this, otherwise her work will probably report her missing and we’ll have police poking around here. That’s the last thing we want.”

  “Perhaps we shouldn’t have burned the book,” Margaret said quietly.

  “Are you saying that because you want to return to your time, or—”

  “No. I don’t want you to be in trouble with the police.”

  Robin slipped her arm around Margaret’s shoulders, squeezed her, and kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry about me.” She was more worried about Margaret and her lack of an official identity. Robin smiled when she felt Margaret’s arm around her waist. “How many topics did you add to your list today?”

  “Mmm, around seventeen.”

  “Only seventeen? Soon you’ll be down to one or two. I have to work on an assignment tonight, but we’ll try to get through a couple more. Did you look at the course schedules I brought home, or the ones I printed last night?”

  Margaret shook her head.

  “Maybe you can have a look at them tomorrow.”

  “I’ll try,” Margaret said, but her voice lacked enthusiasm. She was probably worried about participating in a class on her own.

  Robin twisted to look at her. “I know taking a class feels daunting, but it won’t feel as intimidating in two months.” Her heart skipped a beat when she met Margaret’s gorgeous eyes. How would Margaret react if she leaned in and kissed her right now?

  When Margaret leaned into her, Robin thought she was about to be kissed, but Margaret murmured, “I should check the sauce,” and fled the room.

  Robin stared after her. Margaret had wanted to kiss her; she’d stake her life on it! Be patient. Don’t blow it. Margaret had managed to kiss her in the bedroom that night, but she’d thought they’d never see each other again. Still, she had it in her to initiate a kiss; it was just a matter of time. Pam was right. Patience. Margaret was worth it.

  *****

  Robin forced a smile when Sue strode into the reception area and shook her head. “Oh god, do I want to know?” She beckoned for Robin to follow her and led her into an office with a Susan Burke nameplate to the right of its door. “Sit down,” Sue said, plunking into her own chair.

  “It’s okay, I’m not staying long,” Robin said, too keyed up to sit. She swung her knapsack off her back, unzipped a side pocket, and pulled out the resignation letter.

  Sue accepted it with a sigh. “I’ve been half expecting this.” Robin held her breath as Sue tore open the envelope, unfolded the letter, and read it. “When did you get this?” she asked, her eyes still on the letter. “Why didn’t Pam bring it?”

  “She’s already in England. I had to meet her at Pearson last night to pick up the letter and talk about the house and stuff. They only had a couple of hours before their connecting flight.”

  “Christ.” Sue dropped the letter onto her desk. “Like I said, I half expected it. The moment I got that first email, I—” She waved in the direction of the door. “Brenda! Get in here!”

  Brenda stepped into the office. Sue held up the letter. “You were right. She’s not coming back.”

  “I told you! I knew at my party the two of them were meant for each other. Fiancée, schmiancée. That marriage was doomed to never take place.”

  “She’s in England.”

  “England!” Brenda squealed. “Lucky bitch!” She turned to Robin. “When’s she coming back?”

  Robin had met Brenda several times, at the house and the odd time Pam had dragged her to a social event with her work colleagues. She’d also talked to Sue at a couple of those. “She’s not. Jasper’s starting a job there, and she decided to go with him. Forget her job.” Robin frowned. “Forget her friends.”

  The other two women shook their heads and tutted. “Trust Pam,” Sue muttered.

  “But can you blame her?” Brenda pressed her hand against her chest. “I can’t. I’d probably do the same in her position.”

  “I’m not sure I’d be so quick to throw my life away for someone else’s,” Sue said.

  “You saw them at the party. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other on the balcony.”

  Really? Pam had apparently left out an important detail when she’d told Robin about the party.

  “Not that I was spying on them or anything. I just happened to be passing by the balcony doors when—well, anyway. Robin, what’s going to happen to you?” Brenda asked.

  Robin knew she meant the house. “Well, she’s not selling the house immediately, so maybe she is hedging her bets a little.”

  “Tell her that if she changes her mind in the next month or so, she can have her job back.” Sue waved a finger. “After that, no guarantees.”

  “I’ll tell her.”

  “And tell her to email us now and then.” Brenda’s eyes grew misty. “I’ll miss her.”

  Sue barked a laugh. “I’m sure she’s not missing us. She’s too busy with Mr. Right.”

  Robin smiled and shrugged on her knapsack. “Well, I should go. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

  “Hey, it’s not your fault,” Sue said. “Take care.”

  “Bye,” Brenda murmured as Robin left the office.

  “Bye,” Robin said over her shoulder. Brenda and Sue had already forgotten about her; they were chattering about Pam’s resignation and her new life in England. Fighting the urge to run, Robin strode down the corridor, waved good-bye to the receptionist, and swung open the company’s glass door. Fortunately the elevator didn’t take long to arrive.

  A minute later, she stood on the sidewalk. Her heart thumped when a police cruiser drove past. As Margaret had said when she’d forged Pam’s signature, Robin felt like a criminal. Strictly speaking, she and Margaret were criminals. They hadn’t done away with Pam, but they were impersonating her, right?

  At least Pam’s employer was satisfied for now, and it would probably remain that way. When Robin had left her jobs, everyone had always tearfully promised to stay in touch, but that was the last she’d spoken to any of them. For all she knew, they were all dead. So, okay, she mentally ticked off Pam’s work, but that had been the easy part. Now the hard part: getting Margaret out into 2010. Then the really hard part: introducing Margaret to her family. Maybe Robin shouldn’t even consider passionately kissing Margaret. After Margaret met her mother, she’d want nothing more to do with her. She’d spend all her time searching for a copy of the rhyme book, as Pam and Jasper had in 1910.

  Chapter Six

  Looking forward to an entire day with Robin, Margaret examined herself in the bathroom mirror one last time. As she was brushing her hair in the bedroom after showering and dressing, she’d heard Robin rise, and a peek into Robin’s bedroom—or was it still Pam’s?—on her way to the bathroom had confirmed that Robin was up. She wished Robin’s bedroom had a mirror, but what would Robin use it for? She didn’t wear makeup, and a shake of her head after showering was the only attention her hair required.

  Margaret descended the stairs, strode into the kitchen, and—oh! Robin was walking to the kitchen counter, and she wasn’t dressed. She wore a t-shirt that came down past her hips, sweat pants, and . . . Margaret looked down . . . thick, fuzzy socks. When she lifted her head, Robin was leaning against the counter and staring at her with amused eyes. “They’re more comfortable than slippers. Comfort’s important. I’m glad you no longer wear those silly shoes that are too tight.”

  Her cheeks grew warm. She’d taken to padding around in a pair of old slippers Robin had handed to her one morning. Pam’s, she presumed, and because they’d been worn many times, she didn’t have to squeeze her feet into them. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to dress nicely for Robin, but she’d quickly learned that vain gestures, such as hobbling around in too-small pretty shoes, didn’t impress her.

  Robin turned back to the counter. “Tea?”

  “Yes, please. Have you eaten?”

  “No. I—”

  Margaret moved to the pantry. “I’ll—”

  “No, sit. I can make my own breakfast, and yours. What would you like?”

  “You’ve been at school all week.”

  “And you’ve been hard at work reading newspapers and cooking dinner.” Robin chuckled. “And forging Pam’s signature.” She switched on the kettle and turned to Margaret. “You’re almost through your first week here as a permanent resident. Given what you left behind, I wouldn’t have been surprised if you’d spent the week moping. I’m proud of you.”

  Margaret swallowed. Robin’s praise meant more to her than she could express. “I’ve had a few weepy moments,” she felt compelled to confess. “Not because I don’t want to be here. For those who aren’t with me.” Her voice quavered. When Robin held out her arms and stepped forward, Margaret didn’t hesitate to meet her halfway. She wrapped her arms around Robin’s neck and clung to her.

  Robin’s breasts pressed against her through the thin t-shirt; Margaret’s fingers rested on skin, rather than on a shirt collar or sweatshirt. Despite her sudden bout of melancholy, desire stirred. She resisted the impulse to pull away, not wanting to deny herself for the sake of what was proper. Holding Robin like this, feeling Robin’s arms around her and the warmth of her cheek, was most pleasant, evoking sensations she wanted to savour, not end. Her eyelids slid shut. “Did you sleep in these clothes?” she murmured dreamily.

  Robin’s cheek pushed against Margaret’s; her chuckle vibrated under Margaret’s fingers. Good Lord! What an impolite and—and improper question to ask! Where was her head? She tried to draw back and apologize, but Robin’s arms wouldn’t give an inch. “I don’t wear the socks to bed.” Robin paused. “Or the pants. I put the pants on for you.”

  “That was thoughtful of you,” Margaret said faintly. Could Robin feel her racing heart? “You said you wear pyjamas.”

  “Sorry, I can see why I confused you. To me, ‘pyjamas’ means ‘not a nightie.’ When it’s not too cold, I usually just sleep in a t-shirt and my undies. I wear proper pyjamas during winter. I wore them when I was sharing the bedroom with Pam, too.”

  “I see,” Margaret breathed, sure her cheek must be scorching Robin’s. Robin without pants . . . She’d seen her girlfriends in various states of undress, but she’d never needed a fan. Robin, though . . . If—when—if they decided to consummate their love, Margaret hoped she wouldn’t scuttle the experience by passing out when she beheld Robin’s nude . . . Oh, Lord! If Robin were to scoop her up into her arms and carry her upstairs right now, Margaret’s protests would be feeble.

  “I should start breakfast,” Robin said, to Margaret’s relief—and disappointment. “What do you want?”

  Margaret opened her mouth to reply; it hung open when Robin’s lips pressed against her cheek and lingered. Robin finally stepped back, then turned to the counter and lifted the lid from the teabag jar. Margaret understood why: that moment in the study a few nights ago when she’d fled the room. By immediately turning away, Robin hadn’t put her into the position of facing the same decision again. She wanted to kiss Robin, but she was afraid of where it might lead. Perhaps she was worrying for nothing and should trust herself more. Robin’s touch did have a way of banishing rational thought, but Margaret fervently believed that she must be sure, must be ready, or regret would win the day. “An egg, and a piece of toast with jam, would be welcome.”

  Robin turned to her and smiled. “I’ll miss that when you start sounding like a 2010 native.”

  Margaret had no idea what she meant, but the remark didn’t sound derogatory.

  “Do you want some hash browns? I’m making some for me.”

  She’d learned what those were during her first month in this time period. “Since you’re preparing them anyway, yes, please.” Feeling a bit at a loose end, Margaret sat at the kitchen table and graciously accepted a cup of tea and her breakfast, even though she would have preferred to cook her own breakfast, and Robin’s. She silently said grace.

  Robin sprinkled salt on her hash browns and forked a few into her mouth. “Did you have a chance to look at the course schedules?”

  Margaret nodded. “I’ve chosen a course.”

  Robin’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

  “Yes. Beginner sewing.”

  “Beginner sewing,” Robin drawled. “Okay. It’s a start.”

  Margaret’s heart sank. “Do you want me to choose another one?”

  “No, no. You’re taking it to get yourself out there. It doesn’t have to be anything serious.”

  Sewing was serious. “Do you know how to sew?”

  “I can sew a button on, in a pinch. It wouldn’t be pretty, but it would stay on.”

  “I can make clothes!”

  Robin’s brow furrowed. “Then why beginner sewing?”

  “Because I’m familiar with it. I’m following your advice.” But apparently she’d disappointed Robin. Not serious, indeed. Margaret’s desire to take care of Robin was wrong-headed. Robin would rather she be out in the world participating in—what had Pam called them?—bitch sessions.

  “You’re right.” Robin patted Margaret’s hand. “I didn’t mean to belittle you and your talents. I couldn’t knit the clothes you made for me. I’ll enjoy wearing them even more, now that you’ll be here to see me in them.”

  Margaret grinned. Robin certainly knew how to appease!

  “Don’t be offended, but I hope you didn’t choose the sewing course only because you’re familiar with it. I suggested doing that so you won’t be learning something completely new when you’re worrying about interacting with people, but I’m probably being overprotective. If there was something else that appealed, but you decided against it because of what I said . . .”

  Margaret shook her head. “I haven’t used a modern sewing machine, so I will learn something new. Your advice was sound. I will feel more confident in a sewing class than I would in a computer class.”

  Robin sipped her tea. “You might not feel that way in a couple of months. I thought we’d spend some time in front of the computer tomorrow. I’d like to start teaching you how to use one.”

  “I would like that.” While she’d gathered that workers often used computers to perform their duties, she also knew that people used them to accomplish household tasks, such as sending letters, conversing, and shopping. “But what about your schoolwork?”

 

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