The day James Paul Moody discovered the internet was also the day he discovered a splendid little gadgetry called the microwave.

He rose early to wash and dress, as was his habit in the Royal Navy, and good practice for any cat-nanny superintending a busy household.

Tying one of Miss Amberflaw's white aprons over a fresh dry T-shirt tailored by The Beatles, he got himself to work on making the Miss breakfast, as any good cat-butler would.

Fascinated, was he, by the Miss's little fireless furnace and its little clock that counted backwards to the exact minute, with a happy little bell sounding at the end when one's meal was ready.

Miss Amberflaw informed him that she never took breakfast, never having any extra time, but she was good enough to show him how to use the furnace box properly.

"Step 1: Read instructions on TV dinner."

And lucky for Miss Amberflaw, that meant a scrumptious and convenient be-off-with-you, boxed for easy preparation and take-away when there is no time to be had.

James mumbled the lettering on the box to himself as he read, "Stouffer's Salisbury Steak Family Frozen Dinner Meals...Gor blimey, an entire family can be fed from this singular box?...Roasted patty made with 100% beef topped with onions and gravy with mashed potatoes."

James's mouth watered at the photographed steak on the box, flavorful, juicy, and sultry all glazed with gravy and spuds.

"A classic dish always freshly made and simply frozen," he read on. "With all the ingredients you can feel good about, for a homemade taste you'll love."

And the rumble of James's stomach served as a punishing reminder that he hadn't eaten since his last dinner on Titanic. A hearty third class serving of Vegetable stew, Fried Tripe, and Swedish bread.

Only First Class passengers and his senior officers might've enjoyed a nice slice of beef like this Stouffer's right next to their caviar.

It was just his jammy then that filet mignon steak was so plentiful here in 2022, that even the working-class man could enjoy his divvy.

All's he needed was to fix he and Miss Amberflaw up some toast and beans, and they'd be eating world-class in a fraction of the time.

"Step two: Hit the "Open" button on the microwave-ONCE."

But, as it were, Miss Amberflaw was still getting herself ready in the lavatory, and would be none the wiser should James push the OPEN button at least one-two-three-four-seven extra times.

All for the pleasure of hearing that satisfying Click the little furnace made when the door popped open, and the miniature lantern lit up automatically from the back.

"Step Three: Put in food and close door."

James followed it to the letter, resisting the urge to push the OPEN button one last time.

"Step Four: Punch 3 minutes on the timer."

James hit the OPEN button.

Click.

"Step Four: Punch 3 minutes on the timer," he repeated the last step again, as his finger slowly hunted down the buttons for the numbers. "Three...Nowt...and nowt."

"Step Five: Wait for the bell."

"How about that, old man?" James said to Captain Wentworth, who sat like a dark hourglass on the green kitchen rug next to James's feet. "It's already simmering up nice and hot."

Both he and cat staring transfixed into the microwave as they watched the TV Dinner go round and round.

Who knew making one's scran in the future would be as riveting as watching a rugby match?

Indeed, the future could keep its dreary weather and its dreary dollhouse for apartments, but the microwave, James could never get on without again.

"Champion," the officer couldn't stop praising the oven. "I've not seen owt like it."

And he couldn't wait to stick knife and fork in the brilliant cuisine of this brilliant machine.

But after setting the table for two to breakfast, James still waited for the Miss to join him.

"I'm sorry for calling again," he heard Emily mumbling from inside the bathroom, as he set her knife, fork, and serviette next to her TV dinner. "It's just, I still haven't heard anything from this hospital yet. I'm calling about my brother, Paxton Amberflaw. He's been missing, and I'm worried something might've happened to him...The last time I saw him was around Christmas. He said he had to run an important errand, but he never came back...No, sorry, I don't know that. He didn't say exactly where he was going...Yes, I've called so many hospitals already, you're number 82 for me...Ok, I appreciate you doing that. Thank you for all your help."

It was then James heard the bathroom door open, and Emily made her entrance into the kitchen, hot to trot for another day pretending to be a stewardess at her shop.

And upon seeing the lady join him at last in the room, James immediately stood up from his seat for her, and nodded a warm greeting to his hostess.

"Alright, miss?" His brows drew together in concern. "Sleep well, did ye?"

Leading Emily to a pause, mildly surprised by his cordial gesture that knocked her off course of whatever she'd been so worried about before. As clearly, she'd never seen a man behave so mannerly when a lady entered a room.

But knowing how sorely men of the future had failed her, James was determined to change that, treating her as any proper gentleman would for a lady of his day.

"Oddly enough," she answered him. "I did."

"Jibe Ho-I mean, do sit down," James invited her, pulling out a chair for her opposite his own seat. "For a Miss who gets t'werk as hard as ye do, ye shouldn't go so long about your day without a proper meal. I've prepared us Stouffer's and toast. Mind ye, it's not a full English, but I've managed to keep it hot."

"Wow...you didn't have to?"

"Nay, lass, it's no trouble at all. You've lent me your home, and I shan't be a rakefire to you," he said. "I've put the ket'le on for us as well. Fancy a cuppa?"

And after seating the astonished lady-who might've otherwise grabbed a granola bar for breakfast as she hurried out the door-James returned to the stove to catch the cozily whistling kettle.

"How do you take your brew, Miss Amberflaw?"

Millie's eyes skated up and down his strikingly well-fitted Beatles T-shirt, smartly tied apron, cozy pygama pants, and her steaming tea kettle, all topped off with his neatly combed side-part and formally polished dressed shoes.

"Tall," replied she. "And extra sweet."

"Aye, hearty, with a tutty more honey then," James nodded his understanding, as he went to work on her coffee mug. "Very good, miss."

And after taking care that the Miss was served adequately, samming up her cup, saucer, spoon, milk, and an extra dish of honey, James could hardly wait to get back to his seat to cut into his own beef steak.

There he sat with impeccable posture, mouthwatering to dig in as he shook out his serviette and folded it in half, with the crease facing away from him.

But remembering his manners, Moody restrained his knife and fork at ready as he waited for Miss Amberflaw to take her bite first.

And much to the agony of James's growling stomach, Emily went for her brew instead.

Striking him with the way she lifted her coffee mug, holding the teacup pinching her thumb and index finger between the handle, and her other fingers following the shape of the handle for support.

The same way James had been shown by his mother, should he ever find himself dining with a Lord-such-and-such or Lady-thus-and-so.

"The tea is perfect," Emily complimented him, after taking a sip.

"Of course," James said confidently. "We do tea properly in Yorkshire."

"Not to brag, that is," Emily interjected on his behalf.

"Why shouldn't I?" James countered. "If I know assuredly I'm the best you've ever had."

Emily's bevy froze at her lips.

But as usual, James appeared oblivious to all context but his.

In fact, should she desire for him to whittle down his argument further, he'd gradly take her upon that very table to defend the virility of a good Yorkshire brew.

And judging by the way the color blushed her cheeks since her first taste of his, James was confident the winning of such an argument was well in his favor.

With the Miss's mood thus whetted, James supposed that now was as good a time as any to bring up his questions of yesternight.

"I wondered if I might ask you something," James said to her.

"Mhm?" Emily finally swallowed her mouthful, setting her tea mug down.

"Forgive me," James began. "I couldn't help noticing...there are no family portraits hung on your walls...Neither of you or your brother."

"Oh, right, it's just really small here," Emily told him. "I mean, there are lots of pictures of me... somewhere around here...Pax told me he put them all in storage, just before I came home after the accident."

"The accident?"

"Car accident," Emily explained. "It was stupid of me, really. It was raining that day, like it always does here in April, so I don't know what I was thinking-maybe I just wanted to get home faster out of the storm-but I took a shortcut down by Bitter Tears Cross. It's this hiking area by the Great South Bay, right next to the shore. You can take a ferry there in 20 minutes from the Statue of Liberty. Lots of cliffs and trees, but not much else to see. Nobody ever really goes up there, which made me going there even stupider."

"The Statue of Liberty, you say?" James asked curiously. "That's not far from where I came adrift here."

"Doesn't surprise me, honestly. People are always getting in accidents up there, but maybe I thought I could handle it," Millie said. "Anyway, I lost control of the car. I don't remember it, but that's what Pax told me...It's hard to remember anything before it, actually...I was covered in so much blood when they found me wandering the shore, they thought I'd hit my head pretty bad and was having a mental break. It's why I was seeing things...I mean, I actually thought I was someone else for a whole month until my brother finally found me at the hospital...And then, I had to relearn everything I thought I knew about myself."

"Who did you believe yourself to be?" James asked.

"I'm not sure who I thought I was," Emily said, absently tearing her cold toast in half. "All I can say is, I felt like I didn't belong here. But eventually, reality hit and that was that...It's called Risperdal, by the way. In case you were wondering."

Slowly, she began buttering her toast.

"Anyway, Pax said he had to put away all our pictures, because I wouldn't stop having nightmares and flashbacks about almost drowning in my car. He said he didn't want me to be frustrated for not being able to remember anything in my old photographs. But when I was finally ready to ask him for my pictures back, he disappeared."

And setting her toast down again to meet James's eyes, she said, "I guess I just saw a little bit of myself in you, yesterday at the museum."

"These nightmares of yours, are they always-"

James's question was cut-off abruptly when the grandfather clock sounded on the hour above their table.

Emily glanced at her phone.

"It's 7 already? Gosh, I swear, I just sat down."

And feeling pressured by the time, Emily finally picked up her fork and knife to cut into her cold steak.

Drawing James's attention again to how gracefully she did it.

Her cutlery held with her knife in her right hand, and fork in her left. Her index finger going down the fork, stopping just before the bridge. Her other extending down the knife, stopping where the blade and handle meet. With a disciplined control over guiding her cutlery to delicately pin her steak, she scarcely made any rattling of her plate as she cut it.

And now given the chance he'd been dying for, James generously sliced off his own steak and spuds, popping his fork in his mouth for his long-awaited bite.

And the rest is history.

"Are you ok?" Millie asked him.

"Quite," James panted hoarsely, still choking for breath as he grabbed his serviette to keep himself from gagging the morsel back up into his plate. "It's just..."

He barked a cough into his serviette, struggling to pull the mammoth sized bite he'd taken of the microwaved steak down his throat. Managing it only after downing the entirety of his boiling tea mug.

"What in God's name have I consumed?" James asked Emily. "It can't be food, can it?"

"'Food' enough, I guess," Millie shrugged.

James gawked at the Miss, appalled, as she took another undaunted bite.

Jaw-hung.

Betrayed.

Hell fire! How could she eat any of that manky, ketty mutton bow-wow.

More Salisbury than any steak, it was!

And though he was a worldly man, James had not even the slightest where Salisbury was anyway.

Only that they had no authority whatever on steak.

It was so unlike the picture on the box, that it could've easily been dog flesh, for all James reckoned.

All blooming lies, he should say!

And he could hardly handle forcing down two more bites, before gladly resting his fork and knife on his plate, as was socially proper.

All while Miss Amberflaw went on chewing cheek-fulls, as she stared at that bloody gadget of hers, with neigh a care in the world.

"Why does everyone here stare perpetually at that thing?" James asked her. "Seems a rather dull way to pass one's time, if you ask me."

"Oh, you mean a phone?"

"You call that dinky thing a phone?" James asked. "It can't be."

"It's even got internet."

"An inner net, you say?" James chewed over. "How much can this net hold, exactly?"

"Everything," Millie whispered enticingly to him. "64 GB, to be exact. People use it to get information about things. Kind of like a library, but infinite. See?"

She passed her phone over to him with a Google page open and ready.

"You mean, I can ask it just about owt?" James wondered. "Any question I'd like, and it will have an answer for me?"

"Mhm," she nodded.

"Then can I ask it about fair winds and following seas?"

"Um, sure."

"Can it calculate the exact sextant readings of any navigating point in high seas?"

"It's called GPS."

"Blimey...what about informing me of the singular purpose of a refrigerator magnet?"

"Also very doable."

"How to drive a motorcar Honda 2015?"

Emily narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him.

"Absolutely not."

"What about how a man should invest his money, if he wishes to make himself rich in American Hippo Farming?"

"I...don't see why not."

"How about that tittle-tattle no one ever seemed to dummy up about...if milk really does taste better when the cow is serenaded during milking?"

But before giving her a chance to answer, Moody fired off another question everyone had been dying to know since the 1890s.

"Does it by any chance know who Jack the Ripper was? I bet quite the Argentine Peso on my guesses with one señor I met at port in Buenos Ayres."

"I...guess?"

"Well then, if that doesn't bang up the elephant," James nodded his approval. "Alright, Miss Amberflaw, I stand corrected. I may do you in at tea, but your phone chalks up the win this time. Suppose that makes us even now, from my year to yours."

But reminded again of 1912, and how somberly he missed being home, James went on to ask quietly,

"Can it also tell me anything I wish to know about what happened that night, when Titanic was lost? A list, of some sort, for those who escaped and those who perished?"

Emily brought up the passenger and crew list for him in Wikipedia.

"Do you remember anything about any of these names?" she asked him, hoping that at least one would trigger some of his memories.

Allowing the shipwrecked officer to scan the 679 crew names on the list very carefully for any friends he recognized.

Blue, confirming their survival, and white, confirming their death.

And to James's great relief, in blue were the names Charles "Lights" Lightoller, who he held in high regard. Herbert Pitman, another good chap he'd share a pipe with after his night watch under the stars. Joseph Boxhall, a dark horse with whom James was cordial with but hardly shared anything in common.

And Fifth Officer Harold Lowe.

Taking James back to that last time he saw Lowe, as the 5th officer stood next to him on the deck. How James had stepped back from Lifeboat 14, trusting Lowe to take charge of it instead, and see to the care of those 40 passengers Moody had helped board safely. And reading on still, that Lowe had not only gotten them away safely from the ship, but had turned his boat around and gone back for more.

"Well done, old man," James muttered proudly of his Welsh comrade.

As Lowe's last solemn words for him gradually came back to Moody.

'When I say get yourself away with number 16, I mean every word of it, James. Don't wait. I'm not going to say that you being a ruddy Englishman, and an out-and-out fool on more than one occasion, means I've gotten on with you the most. But if you don't come in that boat right after me, I shall never live to forget this night.'

And then James's eyes stumbled into his own name.

6th Officer James Paul Moody...White.

As well as the many other good men with names in white on that list, warming James with a swelling pride for having died along with them.

Mr. Thomas Andrews, naval architect, white. Chief Engineer, Joseph Bell, white. Chief Electrician, Peter Sloan, white. Mr. Albert William Stanley Nichols, Boatswain, white. Mr. Wallace Henry Hartley, bandleader, white. James's great pal, Jack Phillips, the Marconi operator, white.

Captain Edward John Smith...White.

Chief Officer Henry Tingle Wilde...White.

First Officer William McMaster Murdoch...White.

James's heart sank then.

Murdoch and Wilde were chiefly good men, and never were there better officers. Murdoch being cool and quick on his toes, and always so pleasant to everyone, no matter their rank on the ship. Always appearing at just the right moments when James found himself nose-to-nose with trouble. Stern, to boot, but always in that warm way James never felt knocked down by, knowing the 1st officer was only looking out for him.

"Go ye steady on, Mr. Moody," Murdoch would always say to James.

A man inspiring the young officer to everything James had hoped to become as a senior officer someday.

Many in the ranks had written Wilde off as an aloof widower of two years, who didn't care when or how he went out of this world anymore, so long as he joined his wife soon.

Next to Boxhall, the grief-stricken Wilde was the quietest among James's superiors. A man never quite the same after the untimely death of his wife and children, but still, he had tons of wisdoms and stories that inspired James beyond just his understanding of being a sailor.

In exchange, James became Wilde's unofficial thesaurus, as Wilde didn't always have the words to talk about Pollie.

Wilde had asked James once in the officer's mess what he was always writing about. To which the older officer let Moody know that he'd once found a good use for paper too.

'I told Pollie while I was in the Lansdowne Hotel in Portrush, Northern Ireland,' he'd said. 'Been round all the rooms and filled up their boots with paper. It was a great joke when the people got to put their boots on. Next thing I know, I'm putting me jacket on to get back to sea, and its full of the stuff. Every pocket, every sock, every cuff of mine. And I got to light my pipe, and there's another one there, where Pollie had written 'Write me when you make it aboard Hornby Castle. You've plenty enough paper now.' Only we two couldn't stop laughing about it.'

James hadn't seen Wilde crack up quite like that before, and it was then, he knew he liked the man very much.

'Take nothing for granted, Mr. Moody,' Wilde had confessed to the 6th officer, as many of his fellow crew seemed to find comfort in telling James their heart's deepest regrets. 'When you meet the woman you love, love her deeply, as if God will take you both tomorrow. I can't think of anything but the cruel fate that took my Pollie away from me. Surely, I could've put up with anything but this, it being a terrible loss to bear. I am nearly heartbroken at times, don't know how I am going to get over it. Nobody can understand my feelings. The emptiness seems unbearable...It seems impossible that such a thing can have ever happened.'

And never before had Moody understood the regrettable heartsickness behind Wilde's words as he did stumbling upon Titanic's Victualling list.

Of the 23 ladies listed as stewardesses, all but three survived.

Mrs. Kate Walsh, Second Class Stewardess. White.

Mrs. Lucy Violet Snape, Second Class Stewardess. White.

Mrs. Catherine Jane Moore Wallis, Assistant Matron, Third Class. White.

No woman by the name of Millicent Crawley was ever recorded.

Leaving James with only more questions.

Had Miss Crawley survived after all, as he'd hoped?

Or had she not been accounted for among the unidentified dead?

He knew changes in ship assignments and rosters were not uncommon, for replacement crew assigned for deserters and those who had missed ship.

If Miss Crawley joined Titanic at the last moment, somewhere at Belfast, or Southampton, or Queenstown, perhaps the record had not been updated before the sinking.

And if that were so...could it be that there wasn't any existing record of her as a stewardess at all?

James glanced at Millie again as she took a sip of her tea. His eyes drawn suddenly to the Miss's hands.

A working girl's hands.

And now seemed as good a time as any to bring up his haunting ideas of yesternight.

"Why a Titanic museum, miss?" James wondered. "Have you any connection with the ship?"

"No, I just love history and old-timey stuff, so it was inevitable that I ended up there," Emily said. "Some people might find it weird, but I've always felt a little bit like an old soul. And when I almost drowned a year ago, maybe I just felt connected to all those people who died that way. I can't explain it...But that's what dreams do, don't they? They're meant to feel like dejavu."

Gradually, Moody stopped spooning his own cold tea, his gaze considering her as she squinted in deep thought at her own cup, as if it had all the answers she didn't.

And realizing that Moody's eyes were intensely focused on her, Emily smiled awkwardly. "You probably think I'm weird too. It's ok, if you do."

"No, it's not at all what I was thinking. I actually find you quite fascinating, miss," Moody commented. And slipping his next remark in as casually as he might've told a joke, James added, "Are you sure I'm not the only one with a past life?"

Millie's hand froze suddenly around her spoon in her cup, as she cocked her head questionably at him.

"Why are you so interested in me and my job all of a sudden?" she asked him. "This is about you and anything you can remember that'll help us get you back."

"Titanic was never only about me, miss," James told her. "When I passed on...I wasn't alone. I remember a stewardess with me. We tried to save each other, but I was badly wounded. Because I couldn't go any further with her, I worry that she also...What I mean is, I hope that she is only 'misplaced', as I am...Suppose it were possible that she met the same fate, and has no memory of it?...That she has assumed another name, in the meantime...and that there are no portraits of her either?"

"Wait...are you saying you think this woman is me?"

"You bear striking similarities to the one I remember, I should say. And there are many coincidences between us that aren't easily ignored," James pursued his theory. "I hope you won't think of me as being too bold, Miss Amberflaw, but since the moment I first saw you, I've felt these unimaginably intimate feelings for you...as I might've had for her."

"That's impossible, James," she whispered.

'Well, am I alone, Miss Amberflaw?" he asked her directly. "Was there ever more to the accident, or your reason for helping me? Was there ever a moment you questioned your memory of it all?"

"Whatever my reasons were, it wasn't time travel," Millie said. "I wanted to help because it's what I wished someone had done...if I were in your shoes."

"But is it really so unimaginable that we could be the same?"

"Completely unimaginable," Millie insisted. " And I have proof. I have a birth certificate, a social security number, and a whole bunch of other documents that say I'm Emily Kora Amberflaw, and that I was born April 12th, 2001.

"Where?"

"What?"

"Where were you born, might I ask?" James questioned her. "Can you recall any memories of your tender years in New York?"

"Sure, things have been fuzzy since the accident," Emily admitted. "But I know I have them, if I think hard enough."

"It's rather convenient, wouldn't you say?" James remarked. "The accident and your lack of memory after it. Almost leaving one's remembering vulnerable to the power of another's suggestion."

"Not sure what you're implying here, James, but it's not why I'm so fucked up," Emily told him. "I didn't die on the Titanic."

And dazedly stirring her tea in deeper thought, Millie continued more gently to the officer.

"But...I do understand why you feel like it can't be the end of the story for you...How lonely it must feel here, ripped away from everything you once knew...And how desperately you wish someone would understand it...If I was in your place, I'd hope there was someone else out there too...And I'm sorry...I'm just not her."

"Anno...Of course you aren't," James answered just as quietly. "Forgive me, Miss Amberflaw. I thought there might be a chance, but now I see, I was gravely mistaken."

Millie sighed, feeling a little guilty for not being able to say anything more comforting for him.

Even if she couldn't understand Titanic the way Moody did, it was hard not to feel sorry for the guy.

"You know, you don't have to call me Miss Amberflaw all the time," she told him lightly, distracting them both from the topic. "I mean, now that we've officially 'slept together' and braved through a TV dinner, we're mates now, right?"

James chuckled to himself.

How funny it was, hearing an American girl calling him a mate, but he rather liked the way she said it.

"It's a mouthful, to be sure," he admitted. "Would you rather I called you Emily then?"

"Millie's fine."

"Right...I like you best as a Millie as well," James agreed with a little smile. "'Alright then. Miss Millie, it is."

And though she did a good job of trying to hide it, James swore he saw her blush up a bit at that, as she scooped some beans onto her last bit of toast.

Accidently catching James's rather adoring gaze still lingering on her.

"What?" asked she.

"Nothing," answered he.

"But you're still looking at me like you think I'm from another century."

"It's just extraordinary, is all," Moody replied fondly. "I've never known an American who happily took their toast with beans."

"Well, now you know one."

"That's the funny thing about it, I suppose. Even if you aren't the one I thought I knew from my memory, I feel as if I've known you for much longer. A lifetime, really. I've never felt so much at home with anyone," James confessed to the Miss.

"I guess I could get that," she told him. "Honestly, it'll be hard not to look at a grandfather clock from now on, and not think of you."

"It'll be impossible for me to look at any clock the same again," James agreed.

Emily gave in to another bashful smile.

"Hypothetically speaking, though," she found her way back to their original topic. "If it is true somehow, and the woman you remember from Titanic ended up here too...then what? Why is it so important that you find her?"

"Because I believe it may explain something of what's happened to me," James said. "The necklace I showed you, you said yourself that it has a history of strange goings-on, surrounding tragic circumstances. Titanic, as one instance...I suspect then that such a tragedy hangs over she and I. If we assume-hypothetically speaking, of course-that Le Cœur de la Mer has an inscrutable aura that attracts ill-fated happenings, for all one knows, it may have summat to do with this turn of events. I had the diamond in my pocket the night Titanic sank."

"I don't know, James," Millie sighed. "It really was just a good story."

"And I am just a dead man, Miss Millie," James countered. "Or shouldn't I be?"

"And you really believe she's here too?"

"I very much hope so...as I feel tremendously guilty and partly to blame for her death...As an officer, I'm afraid I have fallen short in so many ways," James said. "I can't say why it was me who came about here. But if your tale about the diamond bears any truth, I should think that if anyone deserves a second chance, it was her."

"Ok, but," Millie thoughtfully presented another angle to their debate. "What if the woman you remember doesn't want to be found?...What if helping her remember that she died horrifyingly in a shipwreck isn't what's best for her? I mean, think about it. This could really be her second chance at, well, literally everything. What if she's happier here? There's so much more freedoms for a woman here than in 1912. She can vote. She can divorce without losing her children or being judged for it. She can stay single. Go to work. Go to school. Start a business. Travel without a chaperone. She can go after anything she wants in this world without being told that she can't."

"I reckon you have a point there," James nodded.

"And if there really is an actual 'curse' around the Heart of the Ocean," Emily mused on. "What if never finding her is the better option in the end? It doesn't seem like this thing really cares if it works in your favor or not...So, who's to say that, when you do find her, something devastating doesn't happen all over again?"

"I've worried the same, since I first learnt of its history," James confessed. "That being the case, I wouldn't want to take any chances. If she is walking among us, and I unknowingly met her without realizing it, I wouldn't want to carry on with the thing tagging along with me."

"Right," Millie agreed. "Until we know more about how you got here, exactly, it's probably better to put it away somewhere safe."

"Though not in your home, Miss Millie," James insisted. "It may do as it wishes with me, but I wouldn't want it stirring up any trouble for you."

"I have a locker at work I can put it in," Emily suggested. "That way it's out of this house, but still close by, if we need it."

"Perhaps it's for the best."

"Which reminds me, I was going to put your, uh, Captain Crunch suit in the dry cleaners today," Millie said. "Which means I should probably get going, if I'm gonna make it to my locker before clocking in. Oh! And one more favor."

Getting away to the kitchen again, she fetched a red container reading Folgers Coffee, dropping the thing so hard on the table, James's silverware shrieked.

"We're out of milk," she said. "Think you can manage?"

"Blimey," he whispered, starstruck as he looked in at the container filled with American pennies. "Never mind the milk. You could buy the whole bloody cow with all this. Surely, this is plenty enough?"

"I hope so. I counted it all last night," Millie said, as she grabbed her keys and made for the door. "Happy cat-sitting!"

But James's eyes didn't follow his hostess as she left, still trained on Emily's plate.

Her cutlery placed together like a clock-face, fixed in a very posh finishing position at 6:30, with the tines of the fork facing upwards. Her napkin neatly heaped on the left side of her setting.

"Right," James answered her mutely as she went. "In a bit then, mate."