Doctor Who_ The Devil Goblins From Neptune - Keith Topping [9]
The Doctor missed the last comment, his eyes far away.
'You know, I'm reminded of the time I met Puccini in Milan...'
Something flickered to their left, a bright light through the shadows of the hedgerows. Probably just the sun glinting off a greenhouse or a wing mirror, thought Benton.
The noise of gunfire came a moment later.
Liz sat on the bed and unpacked her suitcase, deep in thought. The spare room was right at the top of the terrace, the only room on the third storey. It reminded her of a suburban Rapunzel's tower, the roof rising to a mock turret just above the window. The house was as quiet as when she had first arrived, but Mark's new friends would be back soon. For the moment Liz welcomed the peace.
Mark Wilson had moved house soon after Liz had left Cambridge to begin working for UNIT: it was strange to see him in an unfamiliar location, stranger still when so much water had passed under the bridge. Or had it? Mark clearly seemed to think that she was just the same old Liz, and certainly their conversation had been as complex as ever. It was so difficult to tell when Mark was using humour to make a serious point and when he was just trying to make her laugh. Their relationship - such as it was - had always been like that, as if they communicated in two different versions of the same basic code. Their inability to be truly honest with each other had finally scuppered any hint of something more serious and intimate, but, much as Liz would like to think otherwise, she still felt an attraction towards the man, for all his faults.
And it's not like you're little Miss Perfect, she reminded herself.
Still, it was good to be back in Cambridge, but she felt a certain melancholy that the place and the people she had once known so well had so successfully continued without her. She was an alien in a land made strange by the merest shift of time; perhaps that was how the Doctor always felt.
She left her suitcase half unpacked on the bed, and descended the two flights of stairs. Mark was watching the television in the gloom, a childlike expression on his face. He hadn't heard her come down, despite the creaking floorboards of the hallway. She watched him for a moment, his strong features standing out in profile, and wondered what would have happened if she had stayed.
She coughed self-consciously and walked into the room, returning to the uncomfortable sofa.
'Nice room, eh?' said Mark, still watching the television -
one of his more annoying habits. 'We all agreed that the guest room should always be tidy and ready for use. And because we hardly ever go in there it is.'
A face appeared on the television, a face Liz recognised.
'Ah, I see now why you're so interested. Bernard's looking well,' she said.
'Indeed. He's changed a lot since you left.'
'I notice he's still dodging the questions about British Rocket Group's latest unmanned mission to Neptune.'
'You can't blame him, can you? He wants to make sure that everyone comes to the press conference he's organised.
Anyway, we haven't finished analysing the data yet'
'And you're clearly rushed off your feet' Liz's comment sounded a little more sarcastic than she had intended.
'They owe me far more than an afternoon off,' replied Mark, oblivious to anything but the news report. 'Anyway, you can only look at so many figures and blurred photographs in one day.' The newsreader's face appeared, and Mark got to his feet, walking over to the television to turn down the sound. 'I wish we could afford one of those new IE remote-controlled TVs,' he said, returning to his seat and looking at Liz for the first time.
'But then think of all that exercise you'd miss, she said, smiling sweetly.
Four rapid shots took out Bessie's far-side tyres.
'Holy cow.' shouted Benton as the little car howled its own protest amid the squeal of punctured rubber. 'We're under attack!'
'So it seems,' said the Doctor