Doctor Who_ History 101 - Mags L. Halliday [2]
‘Go on, say it,’ she said. He frowned in puzzlement. Fitz grinned at them both.
‘Can I say it?’ he asked the still-confused Doctor, before turning back to her. ‘I told you so.’ Anji ran a hand over her bobbed hair. She always did when she was irritated: making sure she looked outwardly collected no matter what. Fitz was just showing off again. There was no way she was going to rise to the scruffy sod’s taunting.
‘OK,’ she conceded, in her being-reasonable voice, ’the Doctor was not making it all up. But just because he’s on debating terms with Sartre doesn’t prove all his other claims.’
Fitz snorted. ‘Now you’re just being contrary.’
The lanky Englishman slouched back in his seat, reaching for the lager set before him on the small table. Anji had forgotten how smug Fitz could look, when his face wasn’t creased with stress. It brought out her more militant debating skills and she realised she was automatically leaning forward to continue the argument.
‘Go on, give me proof – empirical proof – that you’ve been everywhere you say you have.’
The Doctor sipped his lemonade. He looked distracted, as if he was musing on the previous discussion still. Anji had to admit he was on form today. His jacket had been slung over the back of the chair, his cravat hung loose and the wide sleeves of his shirt were rolled up in a concession to the dry heat. As usual, he looked as if he belonged, as if he had spent years passing leisurely afternoons sat outside French café‐bars. Whereas Fitz looked like he was expecting to be asked to move on by the staff at any moment and she felt convinced people were looking at her curiously. Then again, perhaps the Doctor had spent years like this – he was on debating terms with Sartre after all. Plus, he seemed unfazed by the heat that was making her own white cotton shirt stick to her skin. No fair.
He put his lemonade down and glanced sideways at Fitz. ‘I’ll never understand this human desire to gloat. Although, when I think about it, quite a few alien species –’
He stopped, as both Anji and Fitz rolled their eyes, and covered his pause with another sip of lemonade.
‘Who’s for some exercise?’ he asked and, without pausing for an answer, he flung down the right amount of francs – plus a healthy tip – on to the metal table top, picked up his jacket and set off, leaving his two companions to follow.
* * *
The pavements through the Left Bank were just too narrow for the three to walk abreast, so the Doctor was constantly switching positions. One moment behind them, then hopping into the gutter to overtake, almost causing Anji to trip on his heels as he dived in front of her. He was in one of his expansive moods, she noted, giving them a running commentary as they walked.
‘Paris!’ he exclaimed. ‘Summer 1937,’ he continued, walking backwards now, hands in trouser pockets, expertly avoiding the occasional lamppost. ‘A fascinating time. Europe is in the midst of complete social upheaval and Paris is a bit of a magnet for it all. Full of refugees from other states. I thought I saw Max Castle earlier. You know? Great German expressionist film director? Or was he Polish?’ He took in their blank faces.
‘Anyway, now we’re here – thanks to Anji’s disbelief in me,’ the Doctor continued, giving her his hurt puppy look, ‘we should enjoy it. See the sights, that sort of thing. I don’t believe either of you have visited Paris before the Second World War, have you?’
He had led them confidently through the back streets, until now they passed through large black iron gates into a typically formal park. High, carefully trimmed shrubs bordered the wide gravel paths along which groups of Parisians strolled leisurely in the mid-afternoon sun. The Doctor bounced ahead, like an overenthusiastic teacher on a school outing, positive that his charges would enjoy everything. Anji smiled to herself: it was better than that sixth form trip to Aberystwyth, anyway.