Good heavens! I'd traveled nearly a hundred years through time without noticing because that kiss had so totally and absolutely … well, surprised me. I couldn't look Gideon in the eye, so instead I kept staring at the brown polyester curtain in the confessional. Unfortunately, I was rather breathless, which tended to spoil the effect. 'Oh, I didn't think it was that bad,' I said, trying to sound as casual as possible. Hell? I came down from cloud nine with a bump and forgot the gargoyle. 'Hell!' Gideon moved back to his side of the confessional and rubbed the back of his head. That's why I hadn't noticed the flip-flop sensation inside me, and only now, when the little gargoyle folded his arms and flashed his eyes at me from his pew, only when I saw the confessional curtain-brown, although it had been green velvet a moment ago-did I work it out that meanwhile we'd traveled back to the present.

The fact was, however, that I hadn't been thinking anything at all, except maybe oh and hmm and more! Quite apart from the fact that I could do without any more chaos in my life, after discovering only two days ago that I'd inherited my family's time-traveling gene. I might also have stopped to remember that there was a wall between us, and a confessional window through which Gideon had squeezed his head and arms, and these were not the ideal conditions for kissing. I could have made analytical comparisons with kisses I'd had from other boys, trying to work out just why Gideon did it so much better. Of course I should have wondered why the idea came into his head so suddenly-in a confessional in a church somewhere in Belgravia in the year 1912-just after we'd been running full tilt in headlong flight, and my close-fitting, ankle-length dress with its silly sailor collar kept getting in the way. Gideon de Villiers had kissed me-me, Gwyneth Shepherd.

To be honest, my powers of thought had switched off entirely. Because basically my state of mind couldn't be called mere surprise. The speaker was a small gargoyle crouching in the pew right next to the confessional, as surprised to see me as I was to see him.Īlthough that was hardly possible.

But it wasn't the priest of this parish church who had disturbed our kiss. Startled, I opened my eyes and hastily sat up straight, expecting to see some old-fashioned priest hurrying indignantly toward me with his cassock billowing, all set to deliver a stern lecture. 'YOUNG PEOPLE, this is a church! No kissing allowed here!'

Sapphire blue