Doctor Who_ Bad Therapy - Matthew Jones [39]
And then Chris remembered that she was.
He allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. Patsy’s hair smelt of lacquer, strong and exotic. After the sterility of the police station it was intoxicating.
‘So, you’re a free man, Christopher Cwej.’
‘I’ve been “cautioned” – whatever that means.’
‘So tell me, are you going to be a good boy and act with caution from now on?’
He grinned, warming to her mischievous mood. ‘Is there an alternative?’
‘Baby, there’s always an alternative. You could always throw your “caution”
to the wind and risk breakfast with me.’
Chris sipped his tea and chewed slowly on some buttered toast and jam. The bread was bleached white and didn’t taste of anything. The butter was salty, too salty. Patsy had brought him to a café tucked away in the back of a musty old book shop off the Charing Cross Road. She’d explained that she’d once worked as a waitress in the café before she had been ‘discovered’ by her manager. It was owned by a cheerful middle-aged man called David, who doted on Patsy, referring to her as ‘our own little starlet.’
65
Patsy had slipped out to telephone Tilda, who joined them shortly afterwards. She arrived in a flustered state, wrapped up in a headscarf and dark glasses, and dragging hard on a strong Turkish cigarette.
‘Can’t be too careful, deahs,’ she barked. ‘I fear that the Tropics is under surveillance. Lilly Law is crawling over Soho like lice over a rugby scrum.
And just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, I hear that the Major’s been arrested.’ She wagged a finger at Patsy. ‘I thought I told you to keep an eye on the old thing.’
‘Mother!’ Angrily, Patsy ground her cigarette out in the remains of her breakfast. ‘Christopher and I saved his life.’
Chris nodded; he hadn’t forgotten Patsy’s strange unspoken communication in the Upstairs Room. ‘We shared a cell. He’s very ill, but the police didn’t take it very seriously. I asked for a doctor, but they weren’t interested.’
Tilda’s face became grim. ‘The silly old trout isn’t built to do bird,’ she snapped irritably, but the concern in her voice was evident. ‘A spell in prison is going to kill him just as surely as any bullet would.’
‘He was sure that he wasn’t going to be released this morning. He asked me to bring a message to you.’
‘Oh?’ Tilda looked directly at Chris, her expression carefully neutral. ‘What did he say?’
Chris thought back to the Major’s moment of lucidity in the cells. ‘He asked me to tell you that he was expecting some important guests to come and stay with him. He wanted you to go and collect them and take care of them in his absence.’
Patsy and Tilda exchanged glances. ‘I see,’ began Tilda, cautiously. ‘Was that all?’
‘Yep. That’s all. He made it sound important. Is it?’
Tilda ignored his question. She turned to Patsy and asked her if she would see to it. Patsy immediately agreed, all trace of her earlier annoyance gone.
The two women started to make travel plans, discussing the logistics of Patsy leaving London by lunchtime. It was clear from the way that they referred to them that these ‘guests’ were no casual visitors.
The two women were careful not to reveal the identities of their friends, and their selfconsciousness was making Chris feel more than a little left out.
‘If you tell me who these people are,’ he started, ‘and what this is all about, perhaps I can help.’
Patsy looked at Tilda and arched an eyebrow. ‘He did save the Major.’
Tilda shrugged dramatically in reply. ‘I suppose we could use his help. Very well, daughter, he won’t believe us anyway. But if this should all go wrong I shall be the first in line to lay the blame entirely at your doorstep.’
‘So what’s new?’ Patsy commented, and stole one of Tilda’s cigarettes.
66
Tilda turned to Chris, and took a long drag on her cigarette as