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“Stay there, I’ll get you a cool drink. You look like you need it.”

When Alice returned, he took the tumbler of water gratefully. Closing his eyes, he drank deeply to soothe his parched throat. “Thanks.”

“I’m pleased to hear you have another friend.”

“It’s hard, Alice, so I spend most of my time in the twenty-first century when I’m not on tour with the band.

“Only the twenty-first century?” Alice stared at him, a frown marring her face. “You haven’t been exploring other times, have you? I warned you about that.”

“No, I listened to you.” David took another gulp. “Alice, apart from loving my music and performing, I hate the whole seventies scene. The drugs, the—pardon me, free sex—the groupies. The whole lack of privacy thing. And then dealing with Emma’s death while she was in our employ…” He stared out the window. “You know what a mess I was last year and I’ll be forever grateful to you for helping me get through it. It suits me very well to live in the twenty-first century. I get the best of both times without being a part of that ghastly scene, and I don’t want to put my privacy in jeopardy.”

The morning light shimmered in the distance and a quiver of unease shot through him.

“I arrived in 2008, and I stayed there. The only time I come back to the seventies is to tour occasionally and to record with the band. That does my head in enough.”

“David, you must—”

He held up his hand as he interrupted her. “Sorry to be rude, but I have to get back to the festival and find Megan. If she discovers what’s happened to her, she’ll freak out. And I don’t want her to find out she’s gone back in time.”

“Listen to me.” Alice caught his hand between hers. “You have to stop taking responsibility for everyone. People make their own choices and you can’t protect everyone.”

“You are a wise lady, but I don’t think so, not in this case.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek and was immediately cocooned in the heady fragrance of sandalwood oil. “Now I have to go.”

Alice looked at him curiously. “Am I still around in 2008?”

“Yes, and you are the sweetest old lady.” David looked at her with a smile as he handed her the glass. “I have to go and find Megan.”

“Be happy, David.”

He set out across the field as the door closed softly behind him At least he didn’t have to tell Alice that 2008 was the year she’d passed away, and now three years later, the woman he was looking for was staying in her cottage.

***

Despite feeling a little bit lost, Megan fought the uncertainty tugging at her. She smiled as she strolled along the edge of the road in the softly dappled shade of the hedgerows and she took a deep breath of the fresh, clean air. The sweet twittering of tiny birds as they flitted in and out of the tangled vines gradually replaced the sound of the music fading behind her and calm filled her. The soft morning light and the gentle music of the birds were so different to home. Even in the city amid the traffic noises, the raucous sounds of kookaburras and crows filled the air around her apartment. As she thought of home, the calm disappeared and a sudden knot formed in her stomach. She really needed to get in touch with Tony and find out if he had made any progress in incriminating Greg, or there would be no point to all her research at the festival. If they threw her out of her job, it would apply to her doctoral study too.

Breathing deeply, she blocked the thoughts from her mind and concentrated on enjoying the walk to the village. Her visit to the festival was far from what she’d anticipated—including the tryst with David last night.

Turning into the main street, she crossed the village green to the shop and was taken aback to see a large sign in the window.

Bold black block letters proclaimed, hippies not welcome.

Strange. Not a term used for the Generation Xers and Yers of the twenty-first century. Not in Australia, anyway. The bucolic countryside of rural England was certainly still living in the past. And it was just what David had told her about the seventies festivals.

No, it was impossible.

If it was a dream, it was the longest, strangest dream she’d ever had.

More material for my thesis. She needed to get back to the cottage and get some of this down before she forgot half of it. Yawning, she rubbed her eyes. Her mind was still fuzzy around the edges and she needed to take a quick nap before she returned to the festival.

The bell on the door tinkled as she pushed it open and entered the dark shop.

“We haven’t got none.” A sharp voice came from behind the counter. Megan looked around to see who the woman was speaking to, but as far as she could see, she was the only customer in the shop.

A shopkeeper stood with her arms folded and a frown wrinkling her forehead.

“Ah, do you have any shoes here?” Megan pointed down to her bare feet. “Just a pair of rubber thongs—I mean flip-flops—will do.”

“No.” The woman scowled at her. “Go back to your hippie friends and share theirs. I don’t sell any.”