The Apothecary Page 0,92

from down the aisle.

“Were you followed?” Benjamin whispered.

“I don’t think so,” I said. My parents and I slid into the seats at the end of the row.

The first newsreel ended, and another began. It wasn’t about a foiled nuclear test in Nova Zembla, but about new ladies’ fashions. The models wore full skirts with tiny belted waists, like Maid Marian had worn when I’d first gone to Riverton Studios such a long time ago. The voice of the newsreader described the remarkable imagination that went into these new skirts and dresses. My parents were getting restless.

The apothecary must have been satisfied that there was nothing in the newsreels about us, because he stood. “Let’s go to the refreshment counter,” he whispered.

The theater was on a sort of mezzanine above the train station, and the tables were empty at that hour, and hidden from the crowds below.

“Thank you for helping us escape on the dock,” I said to Pip.

“I shouldn’t’ve—I missed ev’rything!”

“Did the policemen catch you?”

“Course not. Fat old coppers.”

“This is our friend Pip,” I told my parents. “Dad, you already know Mr Burrows, the apothecary. And this is my mom, Marjorie Scott.”

“I’m so pleased you’ve come,” the apothecary said. “I owe you both an explanation.”

“You bet you do,” my father said.

“Please, sit down. Pip, will you fetch some glasses?”

We took a table, and my mother unwrapped her scarf, her face alert for lies. My father, too, surveyed the apothecary with scepticism and curiosity, deciding how trustworthy he was. I felt protective of him, and hoped he would live up to my parents’ standards. Benjamin looked healthier than he had the day before. His freckles had gotten back some of their colour.

“First, a toast,” the apothecary said. He uncorked a bottle of champagne and poured the golden, fizzy liquid into the small glasses Pip brought. “I think it will be all right if the children have a sip today. We have so many reasons to be grateful.”

He lifted his glass in a toast, and we all drank. The champagne was cold and tangy, and the bubbles tickled my nose.

The apothecary watched us. Finally, he said, in a deliberate tone, “We traveled by sea to an island in the archipelago of Nova Zembla.”

“To where?” my father said.

“It’s in Russia,” I said.

“In Russia?”

“I have been concerned for some time,” the apothecary said, “about our current race to develop catastrophic weapons. So I had been working on a way to contain an atomic bomb after it had been detonated. The Soviet Union was testing a new weapon in Nova Zembla, providing an ideal opportunity for our own test. I didn’t know when we would have another chance.”

I glanced at my parents, who looked like they were listening to someone speaking another language. I wasn’t sure his meaning was sinking in. Or maybe they just thought he was insane. In a way, I thought he was insane, to tell them so much. It was a clear security risk. But I had told the apothecary that I wanted to tell them everything, and he seemed to have taken me at my word.

My father turned to me. “Is that really where you were, Janie?”

I nodded.

“Janie and Benjamin helped me escape capture in London,” the apothecary said. “They wanted to go to Nova Zembla, but I refused to take them. In the end, they stowed away on the boat, over my objections. I have to say I was grateful for their help. But I can’t imagine the anguish it must have caused you to have your daughter missing for so long. I offer my heartfelt apologies. Please, have some more champagne.”

“Wait, back up,” my father said, holding up his hands. “Did you say you wanted to contain an atomic bomb after it had been detonated?”

“To control its impact,” the apothecary said. “Immediately after detonation.”

“Are you working for the British government?” my mother asked.

The apothecary shook his head. “Our Security Service has a bit of a problem with spies, I’m afraid. And nations with atomic weapons, or with the intention to possess them, have their own interests in mind. Their power lies in the fear the bomb creates. If there were no fear, there would be no power. Those nations, including our own, would want to prevent the use and knowledge of any antidote to the bomb.”

“So you’re saying—it worked?” my father said.

“It did. And now that we’ve proven that it’s possible, we can improve our methods, in league with scientists in other countries doing similar work. If a