In the Time of the Caveman Read online

  “That’s it,” she smiled as she led him over to them.

  Saber held her hand and with their other hands, they both took hold of the rock points. She looked up at him and told him to trust her again. Saber nodded, even though he looked uncertain. But then, just as before, Melissa felt a surge of power run through her and Saber roared like a lion as the pain hit them and the earth began to move.

  The world went black, but she could still feel his hand.

  And then… nothing.

  A big arm cradled her, and as she opened her eyes, they met his.

  “Melissa,” he said with a smile as he brushed the hair out of her face and kissed her gently on the lips.

  She sat up and looked around in panic.

  Were they back? Had she brought him back to the present?

  They were in the cave and it looked similar to when she had been there with Quattro, but there was still something different.

  She looked down and they were both still wearing the fur pelts and their skin was dirty.

  “Dr. Quattro?” she called out, but her voice echoed around the cave. She knew there was no one there.

  “If this were 2015, this cave would be crawling with archaeologists after yesterday,” she said. “Something’s changed.”

  She could see the shaft they needed to climb in order to get back to the surface, and so she pointed to it and Saber led the way. He put her on his back and climbed it with his bare hands and feet with such incredible strength that Melissa couldn’t believe he was actually capable of doing it.

  He had lived a long time in a savage land with only himself to rely on, but now he had found her and he wanted to protect her. When he reached the top of the small cave opening, he heaved himself up and out with Melissa still clinging to him. As they rolled back onto the grass in the French field, Melissa looked around and was surprised that there was still no one there. The entire meadow was empty, not a van or scientist in sight.

  “Looks like we’ll have to walk,” she said.

  Saber put her over his shoulder again and headed east and Melissa held onto him tightly as they bounced along.

  They reached a road after about two hours and Melissa watched how Saber reacted to the sights that were being thrown at him. She tried to explain as best she could, but it was almost as if he had been expecting something incredible after meeting her. She had been so otherworldly to him, just as he had been to her, it was as if he instinctively knew strange things would happen.

  His eyes were wide as the first car pulled over and an old couple leaned over to the window. They looked both intrigued and confused by what they were seeing. Saber’s eyes were like saucers as he watched the car as if it were a predator, but Melissa assured him it was all fine. They climbed into the backseats and she held onto his hand for reassurance. And as they made their way back to Bordeaux, she asked the old couple in basic French what the date was.

  “April 10th, 1973,” the woman said as she turned to smile at her.

  Melissa’s heart pounded and she didn’t know where to look. Saber wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close.

  She wasn’t even born until 1990… She couldn’t help but laugh.

  She thought back to her life in 2015 and of all she was lacking. She may have had a great career, but she could still do that in 1973. Her family were long gone and she didn’t have a boyfriend or husband to speak of. The explorer in her wanted to stay where she was, to never tell anyone what had happened to her and to integrate Saber into society without anyone being any wiser.

  She looked at him, and when he looked back at her with his beautiful and innocent eyes, she knew they could make it work. They could stay in France and build a life. Now that they had each other, anything was possible.

  Neither of them were from that time and that made it all the more real. It made it so much more exciting for them to be experiencing this new journey together.

  “Let’s do this,” she smiled and she squeezed Saber’s hand.

  The archaeologist had her very own caveman, and they were about to embark on the wildest ride either of them would ever have thought possible.

  “Time doesn’t exist when you’ve got love,” she whispered to him. And even though he was still learning, she was pretty sure he understood every word.

  THE END

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  Chapter One

  The grey clouds gathered over Highgate cemetery. Even the white stone angels looked forlorn against the thundery skies. It was a day of endings and beginnings. Lady Christabel Montgomery paused for a moment to look at her reflection in the dressing table mirror. A young, white face stared back at her - wide eyed and innocent. The black looked well against her pale skin; a widow’s weeds suited her. Only for a moment did she feel guilty.

  A widow after only two months of marriage - they had been scarcely out of their honeymoon period before the unexpected death of her husband, the late Lord Charles Montgomery. He had been involved in an accident whilst traveling away on business and by the time she had been notified, it was too late even to say goodbye.

  She could not say that her marriage had been built on love; maybe that would have happened eventually. It had, after all, only been early days and she was young. It had been a marriage of convenience and unexpected lust. Christabel had been a naive virgin on her wedding night but had learned quickly. Charles had been a skilled and energetic lover and she had been eager to please her generous benefactor. She had been an orphan with neither prospects nor money of her own; her natural beauty being her only saving grace. The middle aged Charles had been more than happy to take the lovely young woman under his wing and had ached to feel her firm young flesh beneath him. Even without love, they had made the ideal couple. And so, after their first introductions, the unlikely couple were married within two months of meeting, much to the alarm of the rest of the Montgomery family.

  Christabel moved to the window and looked down from the window and onto the small park below. A few black-clothed nannies had ventured forth with their charges, wrapped snugly inside their iron wheeled perambulators; blissfully unaware of the weather outside or of life's constant cares. Black. The color of mourning, the color of nannies, the color of crows and the color of the chimney sweeps she occasionally saw rushing through the smoggy London air.

  Several smart carriages waited outside the house, including the elaborately adorned funeral hearse. Four large black plumed horses wearing full funeral regalia snorted their steamy breath into the bitter morning air. They were all waiting downstairs for her – Charles’ family; impatient for the dreariness to be over so they could get on with their own lives once again.

  She hardly knew them; they were strangers to her. Most of them had been against the marriage in the first place. Lord Charles Montgomery was a wealthy man, everyone knew that, and his family had presumed that they would eventually inherit all of the lands and fine houses he owned with no heir to speak of. Why he had suddenly decided to marry a young woman just old enough to be his daughter they could only guess, but many of the family members felt bitter towards the young interloper. At least now he was dead they could all breathe a sigh of relief – at least there would be no son and heir!

  There was a firm knock and the door opened gently. It was Hannah, her maid. Hannah had been in Christabel’s family since she was just a baby and had looked after her for most of her young life. Christabel noticed that the hair around her old companion’s temple was now greying,
but the eyes were still youthful and the face still attractive. She often wondered why the woman had never married.

  She had asked her once, one evening just before she was due to be married to Charles. Returning from a local ball, Hannah had stood behind her, brushing the long black hair that fell luxuriously down to her waist. Hannah had laughed and said that she could never leave Christabel, and if she did who would brush the young girl’s hair each evening? Yet Christabel had noticed a sorrow in the woman’s eyes as she spoke and had never mentioned the subject again.

  “They’re waiting downstairs for you Chrissy.”

  The older woman walked up to Christabel and placed her arms around her young charge for comfort. Her dear mother had died when she was five years old, and ever since then Hannah had acted more as a surrogate mother than a maid, and the two women were close.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “I will be alright Hannah, but I will be glad when this day is over.”

  “You better go down; I will be following on with the rest of the household to the church.”

  Reaching for the hat that sat idly upon the bed, Hannah placed it on top of her mistress’s hair, pinning it in place with a jet encrusted pin, before pulling down the dark veil to hide the pretty features beneath. Two years of wearing black; it seemed a pity for one so young, but that was the requirements for a woman in her position according to Cassel’s manual, the last word on funeral and mourning etiquette.

  Opening the door, Christabel inhaled deeply before walking across the landing and down the grand staircase to the awaiting group in the library. Glad for the veil to hide her emotions, or perhaps more importantly lack of them, she stepped slowly down towards the hall. Stephens, the butler was posted on duty, standing like a sentry against the front door, and as she approached he nodded his head gravely. He wore a black armband as a sign of respect. He had been with Charles for at least forty years and had been extremely loyal.

  Christabel had the feeling he did not approve of her, a young chit of a girl playing at being mistress in the grand house, but if he had felt it, he had not shown it outwardly in any of his actions or words. Occasionally, she had caught him staring at her during dinner and the look had disturbed her, leaving her cold.

  Opening the door to the library, Stephens led her into the room, the babble of voices almost ceasing as the group within stopped their conversations and turned to look at the young widow. Although it was only ten in the morning, the lamps in the room had been lit and the curtains closed, as was the custom. The dim light seemed appropriate. The silence seemed absolute, even the ticking clock had been stopped as a mark of respect for the late master of the house.

  The casket containing his body was now closed and nailed down and lay on a table in the center of the room. She had been expecting to sit with the body, watching over him day and night until the burial, but it hadn’t seemed a fitting duty for such a young widow. The wake had been carried out by members of the household staff, all of whom had reveled in its morbid curiosity.

  At first Christabel didn’t recognize anyone in the room and felt almost a stranger in her own home. The men in their mourning coats and hats, the woman in their crepe and silk, all stood like crows with their beady eyes shining; ready to devour the poor creature.

  “My dear.”

  A tall figure with a long, bushy beard stepped forward to take her hand. It was Edward Montgomery, Charles’ twin and younger brother by a matter of minutes. It was as if those few minutes had always come between them and caused a rift between the two siblings; vital minutes that had left Charles to inherit his father’s estate and leaving Edward with very little. Although identical in looks, Hannah could always tell the two men apart. She couldn't put her finger on it, but it was something in the eyes; a certain coldness in Edward that offset his brother’s warmth and generosity.

  He and his wife Anne were the first to greet her. Like Stephens, they had never approved of her and she had only met them once, briefly at her wedding. Edward was a cold fish with beady, mud-colored eyes that reminded her of the sea at Brighton where she used to holiday with her father. The thought of her dear departed Papa brought a sudden tear to her eye. He had been dead for almost four years, but suddenly her grief seemed raw and recent. Perhaps the sight of the men and women in black had brought back the memory of her father’s funeral? She had been only fourteen-years-old at the time and had worn a plain white dress; a strange contrast to the blackened figures around her. At the funeral tea, served in his large study after the burial, she had felt like a spectra.

  His palm was clammy as he held her black-gloved hand, the stickiness perceptible through the lace. Charles could be stern on occasion, but his eyes were warm, reflecting his generous spirit; nothing like his cold brother. Anne, in turn, grasped Christabel sharply by the arms in the pretence of a warm embrace, the effect convincing to no one. Christabel had the feeling that she had been the subject of the conversation before entering the room and a conversation that had not been very complimentary. The woman smiled with her mouth, yet her eyes, like her husband’s, remained cold.

  She couldn’t blame them too much. They would have inherited everything if it had not been for her. The will was due to be read the following day and was the main topic of debate amongst the family. Not that she expected much; the lands and the country estate would fall to Edward, but the couple were avaricious and wanted it all

  Arthur Chadwick was the next in line; a cousin of Charles and now serving in the army. He had seemed the most welcoming of the family at first, but had also been the most lascivious. On both of the occasions they had met, he had been drunk and suggestive; even on her wedding day. With his dark eyes and ruffled dark hair he was handsome enough, but too much of a rake; the wild card of the pack. He probably had a wife in every county. His breath was hot on the back of her hand as he pressed it to his lips and kissed it greedily. Hardly the etiquette for a funeral, but no one else seemed to notice or care.

  Suddenly she felt vulnerable, a deer amongst a pack of wolves. Charles had made her aware of her own sexual attractions and now she seemed to see the same look in the eyes of every man she met.

  Many of the people who shook her hand were strangers; she had never seen them before, or at least she did not think she had. The line seemed endless and just as she reached the end, the door opened and Mr. Williams was shown into the room. Englebert Williams was her late father’s second cousin and her only living blood relative. He had become her guardian when her father died and had been responsible for her welfare up to the time of marriage. He had always been kind, yet there was something about him that made her keep her distance. On her sixteenth birthday he had presented her with a gift; a row of exquisite pearls, but as he had placed them around her neck there had been something in his manner that unnerved her. Those warm fingers lingering for too long on her skin, his warm breath on the back of her neck; she had been wary of him ever since.

  “My dear Christabel.” He stepped forward, and as he politely kissed her hand she immediately felt a pang of guilt. He was the only person in the room who genuinely seemed to care about her; her only friend. Perhaps she had been wrong about him after all? It was difficult to think properly on a day like today.

  The pall bearers had entered the hallway and we're waiting patiently with their long and gaunt faces; a continuous expression of both grief and boredom. As they entered the room to remove the coffin, Christabel wondered if they normally looked this way, or if it were only a mask that they wore whilst on duty? Perhaps at home they were light hearted and gay? Somehow she doubted it.

  At last it was time to go, and as she clutched the arm of Edward Montgomery the solemn procession made its way to the awaiting carriages. It was to be a grand procession and Edward had spared no expense for his dear brother. It was Charles’s money, after all, and Edward and Anne had quickly taken over the arrangements and expenditure. It was so different to her father’s small burial.

  Four black ca
rriages waited to take the party to the small church of St. Michaels. Alongside the pall bearers, several mutes had been hired as was tradition, to slowly walk in front of the funeral procession. The church was festooned with white lilies, so much so that a stranger might have been mistaken in thinking that a wedding was taking place rather than a funeral, although the somber organ music and general atmosphere depicted otherwise. As Christabel walked through the oak doors, the sickly sweet smell was almost overpowering and she dabbed at her nose with a black silken handkerchief in an attempt to dull the scent. To the world it looked as though she was wiping her tears beneath the gauzy veil, and many looked on in pity at the poor young widow’s grief.

  The main body of the church was already crowded, the pews stacked with the great and good and those of the general public with a morbid sense of curiosity. Only the front few pews remained empty for the immediate family.

  She walked slowly down the aisle and her thoughts drifted to her wedding day. They had married in the cathedral and the day had been glorious, the sound of the bells ringing across London as she stepped out into the spring air to start her new life. Charles had seemed so happy, so vibrant. It was hard even now to think of him in so short a time dead; he had seemed so vibrant, so sensual and full of energy.

  Christabel nodded her head in acknowledgment as she passed the pew seating the household staff. Stephens looked particularly forlorn; although in all honesty, she had never seen him look particularly happy. She was surprised to see Hannah comforting Pearl Hudson, the housekeeper, who seemed inconsolable in her grief. Mrs. Hudson was a hard-faced middle-aged woman who had been cool, if not cold, in her attitude towards the young bride, making her feel most unwelcome. She hadn’t mentioned it to Charles; the woman had been with him for a long time and she hadn’t wanted to upset the equilibrium of the household.