Doctor Who_ Nightshade - Mark Gatiss [23]
door.
Stealthily she looked around and then, hunching her Ace dug her hands into her pockets, feeling her fingers shoulders against the blasting rain, she crossed the street numbing in spite of her gloves.
and looked into the exposed rear of the vehicle.
Rain bounced off the motley collection of boxlike cars, Inside, there were a couple of tartan blankets, some huddled against both kerbs like frightened sheep. Ace walking boots and a lot of fairly antiquated-looking wondered how people could ever have fitted into such machinery. Ace decided to have a better look and, again things, never mind think them classy. Most of them looked looking about her furtively, clambered into the back.
like old school radiators with pram wheels on each corner.
There was a distant clatter and she snapped up her head She ran a finger across the shiny metallic paintwork of a to look out of the tarpaulin-covered tail section. Vijay was Morris Oxford and gazed in at its snug interior. There was a leaving The Shepherd’s Cross, warmed, no doubt, by a glass pair of driving gloves on the dashboard and one of those or two of brandy.
wretched traffic-light air fresheners hanging from the mirror.
Without thinking, Ace flung one of the blankets over her Better than furry dice anyway, she thought.
head and crouched low amongst the machinery. One of the Across the street stood Crook Marsham’s little cinema, a walking boots was jammed against her face and smelt none tall, thin building sandwiched between a travel agent’s and too pleasant but she ignored it and kept very still. Vijay something which claimed to be a ‘boutique’. A red-lettered clambered on board and slammed the door. Ace heard him ABC sign, fairly new, partially obscured the grimy shadows cough, sigh and then start the engine. In a moment, the of the old name: The Plaza.
Land Rover pulled away and they were on their way to the Ace laughed to herself. Old picture houses always had station. Ace suppressed a smile. This way she got to see the such exotic names in spite of their locations.
only vaguely interesting thing in the whole place and could easily be back for her appointment with the Doctor.
66
67
DOCTOR WHO: NIGHTSHADE
DOCTOR WHO: NIGHTSHADE
‘Sorry, Mr Bond,’ she whispered as the vehicle sailed past large, black-robed man was bent studiously over a bed of the cinema.
soil.
Abbot Winstanley was enjoying the warmth of his The Doctor scurried under the impressive granite greenhouse and had cheerfully abandoned his Gannex archway of the monastery entrance, furling his umbrella mackintosh and sou’wester hat in favour of the apron and with some relief. In the shadows, he pressed himself against battered panama he normally reserved for summer. Despite a wall and watched the rain coming down in diagonal slants.
the ramshackle insulation, the greenhouse was as warm as The monastery was solid, imposing and stained with age, any July day and, if he blocked out the hiss of the rain, great mossy outcrops uglifying its splendid tower and Winstanley could almost hear the drone of pollen-laden porticos. The Doctor’s gaze ranged about the place and he bees as they flopped from one colourful bloom to the next.
rapidly determined the period, picturing the positions of the A light tapping at the pane broke his reverie and he open-air cloisters and dormitories in his mind’s eye.
turned to see a blurred, duffel-coated figure grinning Perhaps there was even a library. The thought of a peaceful hopefully at him from outside.
afternoon out of the rain amongst old books gave him a
‘Just a tick!’ Winstanley called chirpily, putting down his little thrill of pleasure.
trowel. In an instant, he had flung back the door and He walked through a covered colonnade towards the rear revealed the Doctor.
of the building. A huge, blank stone wall dominated this
‘Good morning. I’m the Doctor. I wonder if I might...’
eastern side and above it all loomed the spindly tower,
‘Come in, come in!’ urged