Doctor Who_ The Hollow Men - Keith Topping [20]
„I‟ve got a message from Steven,‟ said Ace. „He wanted me to pass it to Matson‟s wife.‟
„Well, you‟d better be careful. Poor Joanna is long-suffering personified, but I doubt if their marriage could take another major confrontation.‟
„It‟s under pressure, then?‟ said Ace.
„An understatement. Bob Matson plays away from home more often than the local football team. I‟m amazed she‟s stayed with that slob for as long as she has.‟ Rebecca nodded to her right. „Don‟t look now, but she‟s over there, picking up empties.‟
Ace glanced up, and saw a comfortably attractive woman in a dishwater-grey-coloured sweater and tight blue jeans wiping down one of the tables. „I‟ll give it to her when she comes over here.‟
„Just be careful, that‟s all.‟ Rebecca got to her feet, swapping the empty pint glass round with the slim tumbler of Coke. „I‟ve got to go now. The reunion.‟
Ace nodded. „The Doctor‟s already there.‟
Rebecca smiled. „I remember him from way back. A very tall gentleman, as I recall.‟
Ace cleared her throat. „Well, it‟s funny how your memory can play tricks on you sometimes, isn‟t it?‟
„I‟ll see you tomorrow?‟
Ace nodded.
„Any time in the morning,‟ continued Rebecca. „The vicarage. You can‟t miss it.‟
„See you,‟ said Ace, watching the schoolteacher head off for the distant outline of the school. When she turned back to the pub, she saw Bob Matson framed in the Tudor window, impassive and solid, and she wondered how long he‟d been watching them.
Before reaching the great hall, the Doctor found the visitors‟
book and briefly scanned the pages, before signing it himself.
All of the names he had followed through the years were present: Hatch, Burridge, Winstone, Luston, Shanks, Bingham and Price. Only Baber was missing and, as a teacher, she would surely make an appearance before the evening was done.
The Doctor entered the great hall. It was an imposing room, full of the extravagant trappings of history and wealth. The walls were adorned with numerous paintings, but he was especially pleased to see the epic Turner cricketing landscape
Hambledon versus All England (1796) still hanging above the door. The Doctor had presented it to the school upon his acceptance to the board of governors, and it had been there ever since. Dear Joseph, he‟d had a dreadful cold when he painted it. „As the run-stealers flicker to and fro,‟ said the Doctor brightly, remembering an afternoon at Lord‟s with Francis Thompson long, long ago.
He absent-mindedly took a glass of chilled white wine from a passing waiter, his eyes still fixed on the groups of people who circled the room. He recognised many of them. Some he had observed for years, following their lives with the intensity of a stalker; others were window-dressing to the main event.
„We‟re all Thatcher‟s children now,‟ said a man at the Doctor‟s side.
„Pardon?‟
The man pointed to a series of prime-ministerial portraits that dominated one wall. „I‟m Timothy Carlton. I teach history.‟
„Pleased to meet you,‟ said the Doctor.
„You see, I think we‟re reaping what the 1980s sowed,‟
continued the man. „All the current staff feel it. Self, self, self.
No time for others, individuality is God.‟
The Doctor nodded, but found himself only half listening.
His attention was elsewhere, diverted by the recent arrival of someone he recognised. An immaculately dressed man in his late thirties had just entered and was walking towards a small knot of men in the middle of the room. As he strode through the crowd, it seemed to part for him. There was something almost mythical about the entrance, and the Doctor watched the man with catlike curiosity. The newcomer nodded his recognition to several in the room but didn‟t stop until he had reached the three similarly dressed men, whereupon he shook hands with each, and manfully slapped the back of one. They shared a brief joke, and then took their glasses to a quieter corner of the room.
Carlton followed the Doctor‟s gaze and sniffed, haughtily.
„Matthew Hatch,‟ he said.