Doctor Who_ The Dying Days - Lance Parkin [20]
The Doctor left Bernice behind, crossing the busy road and jumping up the steps, two at a time. When he tried the door, it wouldn't open.
'It's closed until ten-thirty,' an American voice informed him.
The Doctor turned to see a young woman winding up her microphone cable. She and her cameraman were packing up their equipment. Her two interviewees had disappeared.
'Eve Waugh. I've just seen your interview - well done, I know the Professor and he's a bit crotchety nowadays.'
She was shorter than she looked on television, but also a bit more willing to smile. 'Thanks, but I've faced worse.'
'Of course: your work during the Mexican War. I saw that, too: you saved a lot of lives, exposed a lot of evil men.'
She frowned. 'You have me confused with someone else. Wait a minute, how did you see my interview? It was only broadcast in the States.'
Bernice had finished her quick survey and had crossed over to join them. 'Hel o, Doctor. I see you've made a new friend.' She held out her hand. 'Professor Bernice Summerfield.'
'Eve Waugh. Yeah, I know: my folks were big fans of his, particularly Brideshead.' She looked Bernice up and down. 'So you're a Professor? And you are Doctor ... who?'
'Quite,' the Doctor nodded sagely.
'This museum doesn't open for another hour and a half,' Bernice interrupted. She was looking at the little card in the door.
'You academics should read your invitations,' Eve suggested. 'I'm going to be there, but I've got plenty to do before that - change into my gown for one thing. So, see you at ten-thirty,' she flashed them both a smile. 'Ready Alan?'
Her bearded cameraman nodded, but didn't say anything. Together they descended the steps.
Bernice waited until they were out of earshot. 'Nice woman. Right - so it looks like we've got to go back to the TARDIS and hop forward an hour and a half.'
'Time doesn't work like that. Now we're here we'l have to find something to do for ninety minutes. And we're not going to sit around in the TARDIS when we could be exploring this city.'
'Now why did I know you were going to say that? OK, but let me pop back, find my room and get changed into a party dress. If we're going to a posh do, there's no way I'm going to let anyone out-frock me.'
21
C
hapter Three
Return To Mars
Mrs Fukuyama and her husband had arrived in London the afternoon before, but until now their only contact with the city had been the view of the suburban streets from the window of the coach that had whisked them from the airport to their eight-storey hotel in Kensington. The view from their window was of a flat expanse of converted mews and modern hotels, broken only by a large building cal ed Earls Court. The hotel room was clean and air-conditioned, but could have been anywhere in the world from Boston to Beirut.
After breakfast, they had ventured out of the hotel to explore the City. The Tube station was just around the corner.
They'd bought their tickets and descended into the world beneath the city.
They had emerged at Big Ben, walked around it, taken their photos and walked a little way up the banks of the Thames. The city was busy, the roads full of traffic, but few of the shops were open yet. It had been a short walk from there to Trafalgar Square, or so it had appeared on the map. In actuality it had taken half an hour to get there, punctuated by a couple of stops at tea shops that had struggled open. It was a public holiday, apparently, something to do