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'Thank you, Cynthia, that will be all,' said Roley.

As the girl left the room, the Doctor looked a little anxious. 'I'm afraid we're rather imposing on your hospitality, aren't we?'

Roley wanted to nod furiously but his neck seemed to have frozen. 'Well -'

he squeaked.

'Can you recommend a good B and B in the area?'

Roley tried again. 'Well, there is -'

'- always here! Of course there is, my dear chap, big old place like this.

That's splendid news! Of course we'll stay over.' The Doctor shook Roley's hand warmly and practically skipped back to his seat. 'You're really too kind, Dr Roley.'

'But -'

'First thing tomorrow we'll be out of your hair.'

'You'll leave?' Roley struggled not to sound too delighted.

'I promise .'Though the Doctor smiled benignly at Roley, those eyes still seemed to stare through him.

***

Sam had just slid back into her seat as Fitz came to the end of his composition. He stood up and bowed theatrically. The applause was loud, but Molly's voice still rang out: 'Don't neglect your lady friend, Fitz.

Someone as pretty as her shouldn't be left hanging around!'

'You're right, Moll, it's not safe in here. Pour her gins any larger and she could drown in them!" There was good-humoured laughter at their banter.

A man leered at Sam through his chortling, and she gave him what she hoped was a withering look; she couldn't be sure her facial muscles were still responding.

'You heard Mr Fortune,' said Molly. 'My gins are the largest properties off Shaftesbury Avenue.'

'Is that why we need to take out a second mortgage to afford one?' laughed Chortling Man. The doorman glowered at him.

'Mr Fortune ?' asked Sam as Fitz sat down to join her.

'The one, the only, Fitz Fortune - a smile, a wink and a thorough knowledge of the pentatonic scale.'

'So what's wrong with your own surname?'

He smiled thinly. 'I don't advertise being the son of a German if I can help it.'

Sam considered this. The war, she guessed. 'What do you care what people think? If they've got a problem with that, well, it's their problem, isn't it?'

'It's my problem if they're kicking my head against a wall,' said Fitz, looking at her. 'When were you born? Forty-two? Forty-three?' Sam was relieved he didn't give her a chance to answer. 'War baby at any rate, aren't you? I was almost four when war broke out. Just old enough to appreciate a good kicking for being a Kraut bastard.' He lit up a cigarette and drank from Sam's glass. She didn't object. 'Five years of that teaches you to keep stuff to yourself.'

'But the war stopped ages ago,' said Sam.

'Sure it did. I remember it well.VE day was lovingly commuted into VF day.

Victimise Fitz .The kids on my street celebrated by kicking me down the road.' His face softened as he looked at her, apparently realising she was feeling uncomfortable. 'I'm sorry. That was meant to be a joke.'

'Was it?'

Fitz put on a Churchill accent. 'In war, you gets your jollies where you can.'

Chortling Man had swaggered over in time to hear this last comment and gave them both a peace sign. 'Kept quiet about this one, didn't you, Fitz?'

he said with a nudge. Fitz made a vague attempt at conspiratorial laughter but Chortling Man failed to notice any lack of sincerity. He leered at Sam again. 'You should be on that stage, not him. Hey, I know you, don't I?

You're that club singer, what's her name, Venus someone or other...'

'Sure she is, Chubby. Come on, Sam,' said Fitz, downing her gin for her in one. 'We have to go.'

Chubby put a fleshy hand on Sam's thigh. Without hesitation she slapped him hard round the face. He tottered back in surprise.

Fitz shot her a look. People nearby were staring at them and whispering.

'Poor old Chubby,' he said. 'Seeing stars in every sense tonight, aren't you?' He grabbed Sam by the hand. 'Come on .'

***

Watson stood at the window on the landing, staring out into the darkness.

'Not much