The Connoisseur

Chapter 32 - Losing Time

“When you next reach your birthday,” said Alexander, “How old will you be?”

Sophia frowned.  “You know how old.”

“I do.  Do you?”

At those words, Sophia felt as though a switch had been flicked in her head, plunging her into darkness.  Twenty-three, she thought.  Of course I’ll be twenty-three.  How could I not be?

“Twenty-three,” she whispered.

“No.  You’ll be twenty-three, and three weeks.”  He looked at her sadly.  “Time travel, Sophia.  It doesn’t stop you ageing.”

She stared at him.  “I don’t understand.  What do you...”

And then she did.  She shivered, and passed a hand through her hair.  Her eyes opened wide.

“Most times we’ve met,” said Alexander, “You have come through to my house at some normal hour of the evening.  Then we’ve spent a night, a day, sometimes more together.  But I’ve always brought you back just a few hours after you left.  You’ve been gaining time on the real world.”

“Three weeks,” said Sophia.  “That’s how long we’ve spent away.”

“Yes, approximately.  How long ago, then, did we first start seeing one another?”

“It was early December, the night at the theatre,” said Sophia.  Her head was spinning.  “That’s four months ago.  But with three weeks...”

“It’s closer to five months, yes.  For you, at least.  For myself, eight or nine.”

“Because you ran.”

He looked at her savagely then, and for a moment she wished she had not said so.  His anger, though, swiftly subsided, and he nodded.

“Because I ran.”

They watched as the dancers ended the cotillion.  The string quartet made way for a larger ensemble and more guests were appearing.  The room and the corridors were full of chattering.  Mostly it was above board, but in the corners Sophia could see conspirators: officers whispering and gesturing urgently, their gaiety dropping for a moment into seriousness.  It couldn’t quite distract her. 

Three weeks.  It felt impossible.  How could she be three weeks older than she was?  Yet it was true.  She couldn’t deny it.

“You hardly notice it, do you?” said Alexander.

“No.”

She looked at him; there was sorrow in his eyes.

“But you will,” he said.  “Say that we continue seeing one another, just for one day a week; an eighth day in the week.”

Sophia closed her eyes.  She almost told him to stop.  “Okay.”

“A year passes, to your eyes, and we have seen one another every week.  So, for each of the fifty-two weeks in that year, you have lived an extra day with me.  Every year, you gain fifty-two days.”

“I get it.”

“Seven years pass.  You have gained a whole extra year.”

“I get it, Alex.”

“Say we really do want to make this work, say this is a relationship that will last.”  Alexander spoke quickly.  “In fifty years, you will have gained seven whole years.  You friends will think you seventy, but you will be seventy-seven.” 

“I get it, okay!” cried Sophia.  “Just stop, please.  Please, stop.”

Alexander took her hand in both of his.  “And that, Sophia, is if we see one another for one day each week.  My God, one day, one day.  It’s not enough.”