Doctor Who_ Warchild - Andrew Cartmel [70]
But before she could do so, he beckoned her in. She entered reluctantly and stood well away from his desk, her nose twitching disgustedly. She looked like she was ready to sprint back out into the fresh air at any second.
Pangbourne was accustomed to this behaviour from his secretary. It was her not-so subtle way of registering disapproval of the lingering smell of cigarette smoke in his office. She probably imagined that she was getting nasal cancer just breathing in here. Whenever he called her in, Pangbourne felt guilty and amused in about equal measure.
‘Miss Marcroft, I wonder if you could do something for me.
‘I’m going to have my lunch now.’
‘Yes, well I know that. You have your lunch at the same time every day.’ And the same lunch for that matter, thought Pangbourne who had seen the plastic containers of homemade fruit salad that Miss Marcroft religiously stashed in the staffroom refrigerator. He often thought that these dainty daily concoctions wouldn’t provide enough calories to nourish a fieldmouse. On the basis of the fruit salad diet Miss Marcroft should be sylph-like. Yet her massive bulk remained the same. Day after day she kept bringing in these tiny lunches, but the fat just didn’t budge. Maybe she secretly gorged every evening, thought Pangbourne. Or maybe it was some inescapable glandular condition. The poor thing.
‘You can do me this favour on your way back from lunch, Miss Marcroft. Just visit the library for me.’
‘The library?’
‘Yes, I want any books we’ve got on certain subjects.’
‘Which subjects?’ said Miss Marcroft. Her voice was blunt, nearly rude, but her face assumed the dreamy expression that meant she was about to commit something to memory. And her memory hadn’t failed Mr Pangbourne yet.
‘Charisma, leadership and religious hysteria,’ he said.
Miss Marcroft nodded, as if to say that any idiot could remember that. She also managed to give a little disapproving frown at the quirkiness of his request.
‘Anything else?’ she said sarcastically.
‘Yes, pick me up a pack of cigarettes on the way back,’
said Pangbourne.
‘Just kidding,’ he added, but not before he had the satisfaction of seeing a flash of disgust and horror in Miss Marcroft’s eyes.
After she left, shutting the door rather harder than was necessary, Pangbourne remembered something. He was thinking about his conversation with Ricky.
He realized that the kid had called him sir. The thought gave him a quite disproportionate feeling of pride.
He felt so good he even postponed his next cigarette for ten minutes.
Chapter 24
By the time they reached the council estate the moon was up. Creed watched it complete its slow journey, rising above the low roofs and dark trees like a big white balloon.
The estate was quiet and very normal looking. The only odd thing was the lack of light in the windows of the houses.
The place seemed ninety per cent deserted.
The only sign of the recent night’s trouble was the collapsed garden wall which Creed could see on the far side of the podium.
The hatch clanged loudly behind him. He looked up as Roz and Norman Peverell climbed out of the armoured car.
He and Roz were still arguing.
‘I still think it’s insulting that you won’t just believe me,’
said Roz.
Norman Peverell rubbed his small moustache. ‘In my job I’ve heard lots of weird stories. We have no shortage of weird stories. What we’re short of is verification. That is what I’m after tonight.’ He stood and stared across the concrete podium at the clusters of small houses with their walled gardens. ‘The great low-rise housing experiment,’ he said.
‘Where are the people?’ said Creed. The question had been bothering him ever since they’d arrived.
‘People?’
‘The inhabitants.’
‘Evacuated, mostly,’ said Norman Peverell. He seemed a little surprised by the question, as though people weren’t normally a factor in his thinking.
‘Mostly?’
‘Well, a few stubborn