Doctor Who_ Relative Dementias - Mark Michalowski [17]
‘Cheer up, Professor – you might be able to get a cuppa at the pub.’ She pointed down the street to where a sign, decorated with a painting of two little fox cubs peering out of a hole in the ground, flapped lazily to and fro, catching the morning sunshine.
‘But then a pub’s not likely to be open yet either, is it?’
‘Highly unlikely. In that case, perhaps we should kill two birds with one stone and see if we’re in time for breakfast somewhere else.’
‘Where?’
‘At Joyce’s hotel.’
‘Right.’ Ace looked at him dubiously. ‘Is this the point where you finally decide that I should be let in on things?’
‘The big picture, Ace. Remember the big picture.’ He paused and patted his breast pocket. ‘One of the postcards I picked up from the Countess was from an old friend of mine. Joyce Brunner. One of UNIT’S top physicists. From what I can gather, she’s here with her mother.’
‘On holiday?’
‘On a mercy mission. Her mother’s suffering from Alzheimer’s disease, and Joyce has her booked into Graystairs, a local Alzheimer’s treatment clinic. And she’s worried about something.’
‘Don’t suppose she actually said what it was, did she?’
‘No, I’m afraid she didn’t.’ He smiled brightly at her. ‘But that’s what we’re here to find out, isn’t it?’
Joyce’s card had told the Doctor the name of her B&B, and after politely enquiring of an elderly lady with a shopping trolley that clinked and clattered like it was full of empty bottles, they found it, out on the edge of the village. Set in a small, tidy garden of neatly-trimmed box hedges – and one rather lopsided topiary dog – the B&B radiated an air of quiet calm that Ace found intensely irritating, but which the Doctor seemed to appreciate.
An unfeasibly clean welcome mat greeted them at the door as the Doctor rang the bell.
A bright little woman in her fifties, dressed in a blue overall, answered the door with a cheery smile, beckoning them in.
‘Beautiful day, isn’t it?’ she said, bustling around to the other side of the reception desk, tucking a fluffy yel ow duster into her overall pocket as she did so.
‘It is indeed,’ agreed the Doctor.
‘How can I help you?’
‘We’d like two rooms, if possible. We’re meeting a friend of ours who we believe is staying here.’
‘Oh,’ the woman said, opening up the guest book. ‘And who would that be, then?’
‘Joyce Brunner. Doctor Joyce Brunner.’
She leafed through the book to find the newest page. ‘Mrs Brunner. Yes. Haven’t seen her since yesterday morning. Here to see her mother, isn’t she?’
‘At Graystairs, yes, I believe she is. How is her mother, by the way?’
‘I wouldn’t know, Mister...?’
‘Doctor. Doctor John Smith.’
‘Doctor Smith. I’m Mary – Mary Christmas.’ She chuckled.
‘Yes, I know. Blame my husband! I’d have been plain old Mary McIntire if he hadn’t badgered me into marrying him. She keeps herself to herself does Mrs Brunner. A very private person, I get the impression.’ She nodded knowledgably, as if imparting some valuable piece of information to the two of them.
The Doctor just smiled as Mary started to fill in the guest book. She looked up at Ace, eyebrows raised.
‘Ace,’ she said simply.
‘Ace?’
‘Dorothy,’ the Doctor stepped in with a glance at Ace.
‘Dorothy McShane.’ Ace pulled a face, but Mary was too busy scribbling to notice.
‘And how long will you be staying?’
‘Well that all depends. Just put us down for a couple of nights – we’ll see how it goes. If that’s alright with you.’
‘Fine, Doctor, fine.’ Mary gave a little laugh. ‘You’ll have the doctors up at Graystairs getting worried, you know – you and Mrs Brunner. All these medical people around. They’ll be worrying about their jobs.’
‘I don’t think they need to worry about that,’ Ace said.