Doctor Who_ Last of the Gaderene - Mark Gatiss [18]
Two of them were athletic-looking men in neat black uniforms. Noah and Whistler recognised one of them as Captain McGarrigle, still sporting the same sunglasses.
The two men flanked a tall, rather fat woman, in a neat black trouser suit and white blouse. She had large, dark eyes which stood out from her pale face with the clarity of ink spots on blotting paper. An oily comma of black hair was slapped flat across her forehead.
She looked about at the assembled villagers and swept her intense gaze across them. Then she broke into a huge grin, exposing teeth that were small, even and perfectly white, like those in the head of a ventriloquist’s dummy.
‘Good morning, my friends,’ she said. Her voice was rich, deep and soothing.
For no reason he could fathom, Noah shivered.
‘I apologise for the abruptness of this meeting,’ continued the newcomer.
She crossed the room in a few swift strides, the two black-uniformed men keeping perfectly in step with her, and took her place at a lectern made of pale, blond wood. She smiled again and Whistler noticed how many of the villagers were responding to her evident cheerfulness.
‘My name is Bliss,’ said the newcomer, flattening down still further the black fringe which hung like a silky curtain across her forehead. And I bring great news for you all!’
Chapter Eight
The New Order
‘My dear Brigadier,’ said the Doctor, stretching back in a chair and folding his hands behind his head. ‘Running errands is not my forte. If you want someone to pop round to see your old friends, I suggest you try the Women’s Institute.’ He put his feet up on the Brigadier’s desk, the corners of his mouth turning up into a small smile. ‘I believe they make excellent jam.’
The Brigadier raised an eyebrow and shot a venomous look at the Doctor who had now closed his eyes, completing the picture of indifference.
He was glad the Doctor had returned, of course, and he was certainly looking back to his usual dapper self in emerald-green smoking jacket, narrow black trousers and bow tie.
However, he was displaying his familiar contempt for the Brigadier’s methods and seemed damnedly disinclined to get back to work. Or, at least what the Brigadier regarded as work.
‘Perhaps if you could explain a little more, sir,’ said Jo helpfully.
‘Oh very well,’ sighed Lethbridge-Stewart. He sat down and leant forward over the desk, crossing his hands in front of him. Alec Whistler is an old friend. He was a pilot during the war –’
‘Which war?’ said the Doctor, still with eyes closed.
‘Well, the last one, of course,’ cried the Brigadier in exasperation.
‘Oh, yes. I lose track. You have so many.’ The Doctor settled himself further into the chair.
The Brigadier cleared his throat. ‘Whistler flew Spitfires out of a base in East Anglia. A village called Culverton. He liked the place so much he decided to stay on there. It’s a lovely spot. Been down there myself more than once.’
The Doctor sighed theatrically.
The Brigadier pressed on. ‘Well, anyway, as I thought I’d explained, the old aerodrome closed down recently. Defence cuts and all that...’
‘And then these new people bought the place up? asked Jo.
The Brigadier nodded. ‘That’s right, Miss Grant.’
The Doctor spoke without opening his eyes. ‘And what has that got to do with us?’
The Brigadier looked down at his hands, a troubled expression flitting over his features.
‘Well?’ demanded the Doctor.
‘It may be nothing. But Alec Whistler says these new people are acting rather strangely. Convoys of lorries going up to the old aerodrome. Acting rather... officiously.’
The Doctor’s eyes opened and he nodded towards the armed guard at the door. ‘There’s a lot of it about.’
He sat up at last, a flicker of interest in his eyes. ‘Go on, Brigadier.’
‘Whistler asked me if I could do a bit of digging. I like the old boy, so I said I’d do what I could.’
‘And you dug?’ said Jo brightly.
‘I did. Or at least I tried to. It should have been fairly routine. The MOD