Doctor Who_ The Taint - Michael Collier [2]
Fitz sighed, and lit up a cigarette. That was meant to be end of Act One, he thought, pushing a hand through his unkempt, dark hair. Not the big finale.
A girl walked past, attractive, brunette, with a perfectly sculpted bob.A snub nose, wide eyes and bright-red lips. A tight sweater and a blue skirt. She glanced at him. Fitz straightened up and smiled a smile that intimated he knew a secret or two, that he was, perhaps, not all he appeared to be, leaning casually against a picnic table in the grounds of a stately home in West Wycombe. That he was so much more than...
The girl walked past without a second look and on to the hanging-basket section.
Bugger, thought Fitz. Another bloody advert for what I'm missing out on.
How about giving me the chance to go get some for myself?
He glanced at his watch. Ten to ten. The day stretched ahead before him without relief. Good of Roley Jr to fix him up with work here to keep an eye on the old lady, but... Why couldn't Daddy have been an art dealer? Or run a top model agency? Or have been the owner of an internationally renowned casino?
Yeah, that would do: Fitz Kreiner, croupier and card sharp, shaping the dramas in the tortuous lives of the world's most exclusive clientele. He'd see it all... Bankruptcy. Lucky streaks. Lifestyles on the line in the throw of a dice. And him, in white tuxedo and black tie, indomitable and aloof. Even so, looking over at the slinky girls draped on the arms of these would-be winners, a man not entirely averse to getting his hands dirty once in a while... A blonde caught his eye. That mink stole she wore spoke of a habit her loser boyfriend couldn't afford to support after the way Fitz had dealt
'em out tonight. She smiled back at him, a knowing look in her eye.
'Go and put more compost on the pot plants, Fitz,' called the dispassionate voice of Mrs Simms, his supervisor. 'And put that cigaretteout . How many times do you need telling?'
But no, thought Fitz, he set up a collection of plant nurseries. Thank you, Quentin Roley, and your mad professor son.
Fitz sneaked a final drag on his cigarette and then smiled an apology at Mrs Simms, who merely grimaced in response. Compost, he thought to himself, and sighed. Those dramas keep on coming. Where was I? Oh yeah, getting my hands dirty. Right. Soap ad, then... He slouched off, away from Mrs Simms's disapproving gaze. 'Roll on Act Two, God,' he muttered.
'Please ...'
He decided to approach the pot plants via the hanging-basket department, keeping an eye out for the blue skirt and the sweater.
***
In a nearby glade bright with sunshine, birds clattered from the trees as a mechanical grating and wheezing cut through the tranquillity. Finally, with a reverberating thud, a police box appeared.
The weathered blue doors were flung open and a man emerged, whistling noisily. 'Come on, Sam!' he shouted, peering back into the box as if he'd lost something.
'Is it sunny?' a clear, female voice came back as if from some way away.
Had anyone been watching they may well have wondered how such a small box could contain such odd acoustics.
'It's a beautiful day, quite beautiful.' The man sniffed the air appreciatively.
He had light-brown hair that hung in lazy curls, a long pale face with thin lips that made him appear quite supercilious at first glance. His eyes were a pale blue, sad-looking, but, as he smiled, his whole face lit up like a child's at Christmas.
'What are you grinning at, then?' The young woman who had shouted earlier, Sam, had peeked out behind him. She was wearing a pale-green dress, sleeveless with a high neckline. It came down to just above her knees, while her black suede boots came to just below them.
The man said nothing.
'Doctor?'