Doctor Who_ Island of Death - Barry Letts [66]
„However, Brother Alex needs to know where he stands...‟
Hilda continued.
Brother!
After a glance at the others, Hilda spoke directly to Alex. „I can see that we are not likely to reach a consensus tonight.
So, in accordance with our practice, the matter will be decided by a majority vote of a full meeting. Tomorrow morning. It may be that they will be as divided as we are. In which case, it may come to my having to use my casting vote.
It‟s only fair to tell you that as I feel at the moment, I consider that you have recognised the culpable nature of your behaviour. If I am not persuaded otherwise tomorrow, I shall make it known that I think you deserve another chance.‟
For a moment it looked as if Will Cabot was about to object, and object with some force. Instead, he took a deep breath and pushed his way through the group towards Alex.
Was he going to attack him physically?
But no. He came to a stop less than a yard in front of him, leaned forward, looked him straight in the eye, and spoke quite softly. „Over my dead body, mate.‟
Alex watched him as he stalked away towards the door in the marble wall that lead to his chamber.
„Okay,‟ he thought. „If that‟s the way you want to play it.‟
It was indeed a difficult night. Sarah thought it best to keep well away from everybody else, in case their artificial bonhomie infected her and she lost her grip on reality along with the rest. But sheer hunger drove her from her cabin, where she‟d been keeping her feet precariously on the ground with the help of John Betjeman, her favourite modern poet, doing her best not to listen to the unmistakable sounds of a ship-wide booze-up.
„Sarah! Where‟ve you been? We‟ve missed your pretty face.
Where‟s the delectable Miss Smith, the world‟s been asking.
Come and join the party!‟
Unbelievably, it was the Brig uttering these totally un-Briggish words. He was sitting in the wardroom with a half-empty bottle of Scotch at his hand and half shouting over the voice of Fats Waller, at full volume, telling the assembled company what his very good friend the milkman had said to him.
The Brig of all people! She knew he liked a dram or three, but he‟d always known when to stop.
Two of the three officers gave her an even bigger welcome, pressing large gins and dry-roasted peanuts on her.
„Here‟s to Sarah, for she‟s true blue! She‟s a good „un through and through...‟ sang Bob Simkins off-key, a slight bowdlerisation of the real words (which Sammy had taught her).
Chris, who was sitting on the floor, raised his glass and said vaguely, „So drink, chug-a-lug, chug-a-lug...‟ and draining his glass he sank onto the carpet, gently snoring.
Pete Andrews lifted his own gin. „To Sarah Jane Smith, the one and only,‟ he said, solemnly, with all the dignity of his recent elevation, spoilt only by a furriness of the voice to match his beard, and the Chinese coolie hat on his head, which had „A Present from Hong Kong‟ printed on the side.
For a moment, the flattery of being treated as the only woman in the world nearly pulled her into the stream of inexorable jollity, to be swept away by the current. But then she caught sight of the Doctor, sitting quietly in the corner with an untouched glass of wine on the table in front of him.
He didn‟t even have to raise an eyebrow.
Grabbing a handful of Wong Chang‟s best eggy sandwiches, she fled, with a quick „See you later!‟. Cries of protest followed her out onto the deck.
When she went to bed, she found it impossible to sleep.
Although the sounds of the British seaman at play started to die down at about two o‟clock, it was 3-25 when she looked at her alarm clock for the umpteenth time. In just over an hour the Doctor expected her to be ready... what was that expression the American astronauts used? Yeah. „...bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.‟ Huh! He‟d be lucky.
Her exhausted brain gave up the struggle and she fell into the depths of sleep.
Brother Alex‟s night was no easier than Sarah‟s. His excision had not only had the most devastating effect on himself, it had also completely thrown the timetable