Doctor Who_ The Paradise of Death - Barry Letts [7]
The trouble was he’d left it a bit late. The deep sleep he’d fallen into once his exhaustion caught up with him about five o’clock had lasted well into the morning. By the time he arrived, it was getting on for a quarter past eleven.
As he hurried through the spacious avenues to the comparative peace of the administrative block he could see that Space World was coming to life. No longer the deserted building site of yesterday, it swarmed with smartly uniformed ‘Space Stewards’, as the staff were designated. A bunch of metallic ‘Robot Guides’ (out of work actors glad to earn an anonymous pittance) were being rehearsed in their duties by an authoritative gentleman with a handlebar moustache and a Space Pilot’s uniform. The sound of a technician’s voice booming through the public address system and snatches of space age music competed with strange roars and shrieks apparently emanating from hidden monsters.
The interview with Freeth did not start well. Sweating with nerves as much as from his rush from the car park –
why did these toffee-nosed gits always make him feel he was back at school? – he struggled in vain to dent the facade of well-upholstered confidence which the Chairman presented to the world.
‘In any case,’ said Freeth, imperturbably, ‘you’re too late. Two gentlemen from...’ He glanced at a note on his vast mahogany desk. ‘... UNIT – some sort of Special Branch, I suppose – are e’en now plodding their way towards us.’ He took a small handful of pink cachous and popped a few between his moist lips.
Billy Grebber could feel his guts tying themselves in knots.
‘We’ve got to tell them the truth!’ he said.
‘The truth!’
‘Well, not the truth as such, I suppose. We’ll have to say it was an accident or something.’
He was certainly getting a reaction now!
‘We shall do nothing of the kind!’ Freeth’s florid lips had tightened to a hard line.
Grebber was quick to seize his advantage. ‘Now you listen to me, Mr Freeth –’
‘You’d be better advised to listen to me!’ Freeth spoke with a vicious sharpness.
In less than a moment, however, he had regained his customary urbanity. He gave Grebber a charming smile. ‘I shall be ever in your debt for the excellent job your people have done on the site,’ he said. ‘That dinky little pavilion for the Love Worms! Sheer delight! And I promise that you’ll see a more than worthwhile return on your investment. But you’re playing with the big boys now.’
‘That’s all very fine, but – ’
Freeth went relentlessly on. ‘You saw last night how my esteemed colleague, Mr Tragan, ah, “gets his kicks”.’
Grebber shuddered. Tragan’s enjoyment was somehow the worst part of it.
‘If I should drop the least little smidgeon of a hint – and I do assure you that it would hurt me more than it would hurt... well, no. Perhaps not. But there, business is business. I have my shareholders to think of.’ He chewed a few more of the scented sweets. The sickly smell caught the back of Grebber’s throat. He swallowed.
‘You wouldn’t dare,’ he said.
Freeth’s face lit up. ‘Oh, we’re playing “dare” now, are we?’ he said gleefully. ‘What fun! Go on, then, try me.’
A buzzer sounded on his desk. He leaned forward. ‘Yes, Tracey?’
‘The gentlemen from UNIT are here, Mr Freeth.’
‘Send them in, my dear.’ He looked up at Grebber and twinkled at him mischievously. ‘Now’s your chance!’ he said.
Determined not to lose contact with her source, Sarah had bummed a lift from the Doctor in his little old fashioned car, which he called ‘Bessie’. He seemed more friendly now there was something real to think about. It was clear, however, that the Brigadier would not be pleased if she tried to muscle in on the investigation itself.
All the same, she could feel the rising excitement, the restless energy which told her that she was onto a good story. As she waited in the phone box opposite the door into which they had vanished, she found herself grinning cheerfully at a man standing waiting to make a call.
Another journalist, presumably. He pointed at the phone and tapped his watch. She shrugged and