Doctor Who_ The Last Dodo - Jacqueline Rayner [19]
The Doctor interrupted. ‘Johann Illes? He disappeared, didn’t he?’
A lazy, catlike smile spread across her face. ‘Sadly true. And just after rumour had it he was planning a portrait of Arabella Horsley…’
The Doctor half rose from his seat, then sank back down again. ‘Ah,’ he said, then after a moment, ‘Do go on.’
She waved a hand. ‘I am sure the girl has by now grasped the idea. The quest for uniqueness, however, is never ending, and in the matter of couture it is almost impossible. A one‐off by a designer who can be bribed? Pah. The hat of takahe feathers, the komodo leather boots, all can be duplicated by those with money and… efficiency to equal mine.’
‘And with an equal disregard for the law and the sanctity of life,’ said the Doctor in a polite, friendly and interested way.
The woman – whose name they did not know and could not ask for without arousing suspicion – acknowledged this as simple fact. ‘True. But in the circles in which I move – well, that –’ she laughed in anticipation of her own joke – ‘that, it is not unique.’
Martha sat on her hands so she would not be tempted to slap the woman.
‘And then a rumour reached me, via my furrier – something was being offered, something unheard of. Something that no other person in the world could possibly possess. And, furthermore, the offer was being made only to me.’ She turned briefly to the Doctor. ‘Your organisation, they do at least understand the necessity of that. I was less pleased, of course, to hear that the offer would be taken elsewhere if I did not respond. Ah well, I suppose that also shows understanding, a brain of business there. For how could I let such an offer get away? The negotiations, they were long and, I cannot deny, tedious. I had to take a great deal on trust, and perhaps that is something that you could look into, although I admit, perhaps, that such must always be the case when one is in such a… delicate situation. And then, of course, there was the handover of goods.’
‘And the boss himself was dealing with you at this point?’ the Doctor asked, as if he already knew the answer.
‘But of course,’ she replied.
‘And you were happy with his personal attentions?’
She laughed, puzzled. ‘The deal was concluded. I had no reason to complain.’
‘He was polite, attentive, all that?’
She looked quizzical still. ‘But of course, I never met him. A rumour here, a message there… and then, finally, the… sordid conclusion: a transfer of money and goods in a locked room. This room. I do not know how my money disappeared and the skin arrived, but such they did and I am content. And now, about my next order…’
‘Not our department, I’m afraid.’ The Doctor’s face had sunk, and he jumped from his chair with considerably less enthusiasm than he had possessed earlier. ‘Well, we won’t bother you any further, time is money, money is giant sapphires and one‐off paintings and easy access to murderers and all that, come on, Martha –’ She leapt up too, as did the woman. ‘We’ll see ourselves out, the normal way this time, no need to summon a butler or anything –’
The Doctor had reached the door to the room by now, and was twisting the handle, squeezing it tight like he wanted to hurt it. ‘Oh, by the way,’ he tossed carelessly over his shoulder as they left, ‘did you know there are twenty‐three stuffed quaggas in museums around the world? After all, it’s not even been extinct a couple of centuries. Bit of robbery, anyone could have a coat like yours. Lady Horsley, for example. And there’s you paying millions for it. Shame. Perhaps that’s even where yours came from. Hardly unique at all. You know what they say, there’s no fool like a one‐off fool.’