Doctor Who_ The Dying Days - Lance Parkin [45]
'Where is he?'
'London. Lex and I had better meet him there, straight away.'
'So you won't be home for dinner?'
Alistair kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’m afraid England needs me.’
44
Chapter Six
Close Encounters
The lift door slid smoothly open and Eve Waugh stepped out into Lord Greyhaven's office. She hadn't known what to expect of it - the headquarters of Greyhaven’s company, EG, was an unprepossessing Victorian edifice near the Old Bailey. On the way up she had pictured the office one of two ways. It could have been a room like Sherlock Holmes' with antiques on the mantelpiece, leather-bound chairs and oil paintings on the wall. Either that or a chrome and steel symphony of state-of-the-art technology with a wall of flatpanel TVs. In the event it was a messy compromise of both styles that was rather less than the sum of its parts.
From this building, from this room, EG, a multinational string of electronics companies, component manufacturers and the like all across Europe were al co-ordinated. It wasn't a large company by international standards, but it was influential. The company's main asset was its chairman, who was standing by the window, talking to a couple of men in trench coats. His office gave an impressive view out over St Paul's Cathedral.
'That wil be all,' he told the two men. There was a bulky canvas kit bag on the desk, which the taller of the two men took with him as he left. 'Oh, could you ask Adele to bring in a pot of coffee?' Greyhaven cal ed after them.
'Very good, Lord Greyhaven,' the tall man responded gruffly. He glanced at the new arrival appreciatively as he passed her.
'Good afternoon, Eve,' Greyhaven said.
'Hi.' She looked around the office, taking it in. The desk was mahogany, and looked like an antique. 'This room is a lot smal er than I thought it would be.'
'We British are a modest race, Eve: we don't share the American taste for ostentation.'
'You're a bil ionaire, sir, I think you're allowed to buy yourself a new carpet.'
'I'm only a dollar billionaire,' he noted lightly, removing a couple of tumblers and a decanter from a smal cabinet.
She moved towards the high-backed chair in front of the desk.
Greyhaven chuckled, pointing over her shoulder. There was a closed white door.
'I have a flat... an apartment here. It's a little less formal. You don't mind that?'
'No, not at all,' she said in a giddy-schoolgirl voice that she immediately regretted.
Greyhaven walked over to the door and held it open for Eve.
'Again, not very large, but a useful pied-á-terre. It makes commuting to work easy, if nothing else.'
The room was almost filled by a vast leather sofa and a low glass table, much of the rest of the space was taken up by a little kitchen unit. Two doors led off: bathroom and bedroom, Eve guessed.
They walked over to the sofa together. Greyhaven sat down; Eve hovered for a moment. There was another good view of the Thames from here. Hanging on the wall was a neat row of photographs: Greyhaven with other senior politicians and scientists and various social events and public occasions.
'Is that the Queen? Sorry, that's a really dumb question.'
He watched her as she scrutinised them. 'A touch of ostentation, I'm afraid.'
The same fine middle-aged woman appeared on a couple of the photographs. 'Your wife?'
He smiled. 'Yes. Sit down.' He was pouring a generous double whisky for her. She sat close to him and took a sip of the whisky. As she had expected, it was the best she'd ever tasted.
'Does your wife know?' she asked.
Greyhaven arched his eyebrow. 'Know what?'
She leant over him, kissing his cheek, a little awkwardly.
***
'Doctor!'
The Brigadier came jogging across the park. Behind him was a flash of yel ow. Yes! - it was Bessie, the sprightly yel ow roadster which the Doctor had used as transport while on Earth, a long time ago now. The Brigadier had taken good care of the car over the years.
A tall man the Doctor didn't recognise was sitting in the passenger seat. The Doctor and Bernice hurried towards the Brigadier,