Lost in Time

Chapter 3: Tintin, the Boy Reporter, 1919-3

The stairs descended into a parquet-floored hallway with a worn red and brown patterned runner, leading to what he assumed was the front door. There were several rooms leading off the hallway, most with doors ajar. From one of them voices were clearly audible and he followed the sound, cautiously, partly from fear of the unknown and partly because now he was actually on his feet he was a bit wobbly and less likely to diss the doctor’s concussion diagnosis. As he pushed the door fully open, the voices paused. Grouped by the window were three people: the doctor and two others, a woman and a man.

The woman was a cliché. Pretty much everything he had ever pictured when he had given the Twenties a passing thought. She had a dark bob in wisps around her face and was wearing a dress made of some sort of green, heavy, drapey stuff, all layered down to her calves. She wasn’t a flapper—too old, he thought, judgmentally—but she was stunning. She smiled at him. The second man was short and stocky and older. Balding, with glasses. Smart suit, crumpled round the edges. He turned and stepped forward, holding out his hand to shake. “Mr. Tyler! So good to see you vertical!” He was Scottish. “We thought you were a goner the other night! I’m McGovern, Callum McGovern. And let me present Mrs. Ella Fortune.”

Mrs. Fortune stepped forward and shook his hand, too, holding it for a moment. “Very pleased to meet you properly, Mr. Tyler. You worried us for a while, there. Please, won’t you sit down?” She gestured toward the table and there was a little shuffling around as they all took their seats.

“I’m very pleased to meet you both, as well. Thank you very much for your help.” He decided to get his cover in. “I’m so sorry—I’m still a rather fuzzy about what happened and everything is a bit of a blur.”

“Of course, of course,” the doctor chimed in. “You took quite a bang to the head, completely understandable. I’m surprised you’re up and about today, to be honest—we won’t be offended if you disappear again after lunch!”

Mrs. Fortune interrupted. “It was I who insisted Dr. Grimes ask you down to lunch. I overheard him asking Maisie to take you up another tray, didn’t I, Maisie?” She glanced across the room to the young woman who was serving the doctor.

“Yes, ma’am. Dr. Grimes was just reminding me the patient was awake.” She smiled at Lew. “I wasn’t going to leave you with only toast, though, sir. Really!”

“Well, my insatiable curiosity demanded he invite you to join us, and here you are.” She paused for breath and McGovern cut across her.

“Eat your ham, Ella, and leave him be for a bit. The chap is still white as a sheet.”

She laughed and apologized. “I’m so sorry. Please do ignore me, I’m being dreadfully rude!”

“Not at all, Mrs. Fortune, I’m just so grateful you found me. And thank you, Dr. Grimes, for your hospitality.”

“It’s a pleasure, Mr. Tyler. I’m delighted to be able to help. In fact, I believe that may also be on Mrs. Fortune’s agenda.” He turned to the lady again. “You might as well lay it out for him, Ella. You’re going to explode if you keep quiet any longer.” His voice was dryly amused.

“Mr. Tyler, in the course of looking through your possessions to find out who you were, we couldn’t help but notice you have a camera…” Her voice rose in a question.

“Yes, ma’am. A new hobby.” Oh f**k. They were going to expect him to know things and he could hear his accent wasn’t right. He tried to mimic theirs and say as little as possible. He realized he would have to train the twenty-first century out of his voice.

“Well, co-incidentally, Mr. McGovern here is a newspaper man. And he and I are going into business setting up a new paper.” There was a small silence whilst everyone stared at him. “We wondered if you might be interested in coming on board.” More silence. More staring at him. He coughed.

“That’s extremely kind of you both. But surely if you are already in the business you must know people who are already experienced? My interest is extremely new.” He abruptly stopped himself from speaking. This was awful. They were going to suss him out. He gulped. “I spent a lot time travelling overseas in recent years—I’m sure you can hear it in my accent!—and took it up as a hobby on my discharge.” He drew a breath, blinking. Would that be enough? Or would it open up more questions? He forced himself to keep his breathing even.

“I’ll soon decide whether you’ll do or not,” McGovern cut in, seeming to take his words at face value. “I’d like to give you a chance, that’s all, if you want it. You told Grimes you’re looking for work. You have a camera and a ‘cycle: that makes you mobile. You can have a trial and we’ll see if it works out.”