Suddenly Harvey’s unwashed features paled visibly. “You mean you’ve actually seen this place?” he whispered. “And you drove past…High House?”
“Damn right!” George answered, abruptly feeling as though things were all unreal, a very vivid but meaningless daydream.
Harvey lifted a flap in the counter and waddled through to George’s side. He was a very big man, George suddenly noticed, and the color had come back to his face with a vengeance. There was a red, angry tinge to the man’s sallow features now; moreover, the cafeteria was quite empty of other souls, all bar the two of them.
“Now look here—” George blurted, as Harvey began to maneuver him into a corner.
“I shouldn’t ’av mentioned ’is money, should I?” the fat man cut him off, his piggy eyes fastening upon those of his patently intended victim, making his question more a statement than a question proper.
“See,” he continued, “I’d ’ad a couple of pints earlier, or I wouldn’t ’ave let it drop about ’is predicament. ’E’s been right good to me, Mr. Kent ’as. ’Elped me set this place up proper, ’e did—an’ I don’t cotton to the idea of some flyboy tryin’ to—”
Again his arm shot out and he grabbed Benson’s throat this time, trapping him in the dim corner. “So you’ve been down the road to Middle Hamborough, ’ave you?—And you’ve seen High House, eh? Well, let me tell you, I’ve been looking for that place close on six years, me an’ ol’ Kent, an’ not so much as a peep!
“Now I knows ’e’s a bit of a nut, but I like ’im an’ we gets on fine. Stays ’ere, cheap like, ’e does, an’ we do a bit of motorin’ in ’is ol’ car—lookin’ for those places you say you’ve seen, y’know? But we never finds ’em, an’ we never will, ’cos they’re not there, see? Kent bein’ a decent gent, I ’umors ’im an’ things is OK. But I’m no crook, if you see what I mean, though I’m not so sure I can say the same for everybody!”
He peered pointedly at George, releasing the pressure on his windpipe enough for him to croak: “I tell you I have seen High House, or at least, I saw a place of that name and answering the description I heard from Kent. And I have been on the road to—”
“What’s that about High House?” The question was a hoarse, quavering whisper—hesitant, and yet filled with excited expectancy. Hearing that whisper, Harvey immediately released his grip on Benson’s neck and turned to move over quickly to the thin, gray-haired, middle-aged man who had appeared out of a back room behind the service counter.
“Don’t get yourself all upset, Mr. Kent,” Harvey protested, holding up his hands solicitously. “It’s just some bloke tryin’ to pull a fast one, an’—”
“But I heard him say—” Kent’s eyes were wide, staring past the fat proprietor straight at Benson where he stood, still shaken, in the corner.
George found his voice again. “I said I’d seen High House, on the road to Middle Hamborough—and I did see it.” He shook himself, straightening his tie and shrugging his disarranged jacket back into position. “But I didn’t come back in here to get involved with a couple of nuts. And I don’t think much of your joke.”
George turned away and made for the door; then, remembering his previous trouble, he turned back to face Harvey. “Do you have a map of the area by any chance? I’ve been in Germany for a long time and seem to be out of touch over here. I can’t seem to find my way about anymore.”
For a moment Kent continued to stare very hard at the speaker; then he turned to Harvey. “He—he got lost! And he says he’s seen High House…! I’ve got to believe him. I daren’t miss the chance that—”
Almost sure by now that he was the victim of some cockeyed leg-pull (and yet still experiencing niggling little subconscious doubts), George Benson shrugged. “OK. No map,” he grumbled. “Well, goodnight, boys. Maybe I’ll drop in again sometime—like next visiting day!”
“No, wait!” the thin man cried. “Do you think that you can find…that you can find High House again?” His voice went back to a whisper on the last half dozen words.
“Sure, I can find it again,” George told him, nodding his head. “But it’s well out of my way.”
“I’ll make it worth your trouble,” Kent quickly answered, his voice rising rapidly in what sounded to George like a bad case of barely suppressed hysteria. “I’ll make it very worthwhile indeed!”
George was not the man to pass up a good thing. “My car’s outside,” he said. “Do you want to ride with me, or will you follow in your own car?”
“I’ll ride with you. My hands are shaking so badly that I—”
“I’m coming with you,” Harvey suddenly grunted, taking off his greasy apron.
“No, no, my friend,” Kent turned to him. “If we don’t find High House, I’ll be back. Until then, and just in case we do find it, this is for all you’ve done.” His hand was still shaking as he took out a checkbook and quickly, nervously, scribbled. He passed the check to Harvey and George managed to get a good look at it. His eyes went wide when he saw the amount it was made out for. Five hundred pounds!
“Now look ’ere, Mr. Kent,” Harvey blustered. “I don’t like the looks of this bloke. I reckon—”
“I understand your concern,” the older man told him, “but I’m sure Mr.—?” he turned to George.
“Er, Smith,” George told him, unwilling to reveal his real name. This could still be some crazy joke, but if so, it would be on some bloke called “Smith,” and not on George Benson!
“I’m sure that Mr. Smith is legitimate. And in any case I daren’t miss the chance to get…to get back home.” He was eager now to be on his way. “Are you ready, Mr. Smith?”
“Just as soon as you say,” George told him. “The sooner the better.”
They walked out into the night, to George’s car, leaving fat greasy Harvey worriedly squeezing his hands in the doorway to his all-nighter. Suddenly the night air seemed inordinately cold, and as George opened the passenger door to let Kent get in, he shivered. He walked round the. car, climbed into the driver’s seat and slammed the door.
As George started up the motor, Kent spoke up from where he crouched against the opposite door, a huddled shape in the dark interior of the car. “Are you sure that—that—”
“Look,” George answered, the utter craziness of the whole business abruptly dawning on him, souring his voice, “if this is some sort of nutty joke….” He let the threat hang, then snapped, “Of course I can find it again! High House, you’re talking about?
“Yes, yes. High House. The home I built for the woman who lives there, waiting for me.”
“For fifteen years?” George allowed himself to indulge in the other’s fantasy.
“She would wait until time froze!” Kent leaned over to spit the words in George’s ear. “And in any case, I have a theory.”
Yeah! George thought to himself. Me, too! Out loud, he said, “A theory?”
“Yes. I think—I hope—it’s possible that time itself is frozen at the moment of the fracture. If I can get back, it may all be unchanged. I may even regain my lost years!”
“A parallel dimension, eh?” George said, feeling strangely nervous.
“Right,” his passenger nodded emphatically. “That’s the way I see it.”
Humoring him, George asked, “What’s it like, this other world of yours?”
“Why, it’s just like this world—except that there’s a village called Middle Hamborough, and a house on a hill, and a building firm called Milton, Jones & Kent. There are probably other differences, too, but I haven’t found any yet to concern me. Do you know the theory of parallel worlds?”
“I’ve read some science fiction,” George guardedly answered. “Some of these other dimensions, or whatever they’re supposed to be, are just like this world. Maybe a few odd differences, like you say. Others are different, completely different. Horrible and alien—stuff like that.” He suddenly felt stupid. “That’s what I’ve read, anyway. Load of rubbish!”