Doctor Who_ Just War - Lance Parkin [53]
‘Herr Doktor, the cows are concrete. Did you not realize?’
The Doctor shut up.
This time last year, the Salted Almond on the Trocadero had got into trouble for an advertisement it had placed in a couple of the national papers. Under the caption ‘All Set For Blitz-Leave’, there had been a picture of a dinner-jacketed waiter ushering a couple of bright young things to their table. In the foreground, a navy admiral entertained a pretty young woman in an elaborate ballgown and hat. In the background, a band played, and a beautiful dancer danced. The advertisement went on to offer an escape from the Blitz, a place where the privileged could while away the hours, safe from German bombs. At a time when the government were desperately trying to instil a sense of national unity and urging restraint, this picture summed up the fact that, for some, there had been few real sacrifices. The poor huddled together in the Tube stations, without even basic sanitation, let alone any real organization; the rich dined in top restaurants, and retreated to their country homes when night fell.
The advertisement had been withdrawn, but as Reed and Forrester entered the restaurant it was clear that down here nothing much had changed. This was still a place for the Establishment to shut out the war, and the scene was just the same as that shown in the picture. As the door was closed behind her, Roz realized that she had just stepped into another universe. Who needs a TARDIS? All you ever need is money. Her parents lived like this, barricaded in their palaces, blaming the poor for the problems of the galaxy.
The waiter showed them to their reserved seats. Roz had grown used to the sideways glances that a black woman got on the street in this period. Here, the people stared. She looked back, hoping to convey just a fraction of the moral superiority that she felt. A few looked down at their plates, apparently ashamed. Mission accomplished.
Reed pulled a chair back for Roz, then sat down opposite her. He’d lived all his life in places like this.
‘All right, what is going on?’ His face wasn’t really built for anger.
‘It’s lovely and warm in here, isn’t it?’
‘Tell me, Roz.’ George sounded genuinely angry. Roz didn’t want to push him too far. She produced the duplicate photographs that she had prepared using the facilities in the TARDIS. She had been careful to annotate everything by hand to make it look as if it was all her own work. There would be quite enough questions without the distraction of having to explain how she had managed to invent the computer.
‘London, on the morning of March the second. That was the night you and Chris met me at that police box. The night before the library was hit, yes?’
Reed agreed, adding that Paddington and St Kit’s hospital had also been hit that night.
‘You said the Germans were lucky, remember, and that a lot of the planes came from the Channel Islands,’ said Roz.
‘Now, what would you say if I told you that the spotters and radar both said that there weren’t many planes in the sky compared with other nights?’
‘I would remind you that Kendrick had taken us off raid analysis because we weren’t getting anywhere and told us to look out for von Wer.’
‘Von Wer isn’t a problem.’
‘And how can you make that judgement?’
A mental image of the Doctor’s gormless grin swam across Roz’s consciousness. ‘I just know, that’s all,’ she concluded.
Reed sighed.
‘Look, Lieutenant, trust me on that one. Now, logically, if, on only one night, less planes cause more hits, something odd is going on.’
‘You think the Germans used the superbomber?’
‘I know they did. Now, I got up early this morning and plotted out what happened on that night. This.’
She handed him the analysis prepared by the TARDIS.
Again, she had painstakingly copied it out in her own handwriting, rather than just making a hard copy. From the photographs, the computer had known where and when the damage took place. It was relatively simple for the computer to work out the