‘Well, you don’t see many flotation devices for feet,’ said another, ‘so you may have a point.’

‘I wonder if we could draw up some sort of equation.’

‘Um, excuse me,’ said Jane.

Everyone looked around.

‘I’m up here. Look.’ She pointed to the pool.

Written on the soles of Bashford’s innovative but unsuccessful footwear were the words:

Matthew grinned at Jane. ‘Lovely people here. Very poor grasp of priorities.’

Jane was horrified. ‘Shouldn’t we pull him out?’

‘Yes, probably.’

It took the entire R&D team to yank him out. There was now nearly as much water on the floor as in the tank itself and an indignant Angus was giving a visual demonstration of the phrase madder than a wet hen.

‘Enough for today, I think,’ said Lingoss. ‘We’re upsetting Angus. And this young man is in desperate need of a haircut.’

‘True,’ said the professor, despondent over his failure. He brightened. ‘Still, it’s sheep’s stomach day tomorrow. Something to look forward to. And next week we have the origins of the Sacred Geese. Which reminds me . . .’ He turned to Miss Lingoss.

‘Already sorted, professor,’ she said. ‘Geese arriving Tuesday. If you’ll excuse me, everyone.’

She and Matthew disappeared for the haircutting session.

Remembering their manners, someone put a steaming mug in front of Bashford and another in front of Jane.

‘Oh, thank you. What is it?’

‘Tea.’

‘Oh.’ She floundered in a welter of social embarrassment. She hadn’t enjoyed the tea given her by the Plimptons – it had tasted like cabbage water. They were all beaming at her. She smiled uncertainly and took a sip. Yep – still cabbage water. She put it down carefully, hoping they’d think she was leaving it to cool.

Matthew returned some twenty minutes later, his shorter hair rendering his bald spots considerably less conspicuous. His hair still wasn’t styled to the demanding requirements of the Time Police but, as he said, that was their problem; it was time to go.

‘Well,’ said Jane, as they trotted down the stairs, ‘I never thought I’d be somewhere where I wasn’t the wettest person in the room.’

He stared in astonishment. ‘You’re not wet. Who told you that?’

‘My grandmother. All the time.’ She felt her cheeks begin the familiar burn. ‘If you hear something twenty times a day, every day, you do begin to believe it after a while.’

‘Well, your grandmother was wrong.’

She wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that so she changed the subject. ‘We mustn’t be late for the pod.’

Matthew’s dad escorted them outside.

‘Nice to have met you, Jane.’

‘And you, um . . .’ She tailed away.

‘Leon,’ he said, and smiled as if she were the most important person in the universe. Her blush became very nearly incandescent.