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.‘It represents so much power in our world these days, especially with this so-called Cold War.I thought the juxtaposition of an image of power with the looseness of the conceit of cubist freedoms and abstractions made a nice contrast.’Mel really, really hated her now.She was thinking about punching her.But not quite as much as she had to stop herself punching the Doctor for what he said next.‘You know Helen – may I call you Helen rather than Lady Lamprey? Oh, thank you.Anyway, I was saying to Mel earlier, it’s fascinating how the shape of the pentagon turns up in so many seats of power.The symbol itself is important to the Freemasons and with its five concentric pentagons, each traversed by ten corridor spokes, it means that nowhere in the Pentagon is more than seven minutes’ walk away.Seven, of course, being a significant number to a great many cabals, sects and beliefs.’Helen smiled at the Doctor.‘Thank you, I knew none of that.’ She turned to Mel, that same smile etched onto her lips.Mel returned it, but hoped her eyes were saying ‘Die Bitch Die!’‘You are so lucky, Miss Bush.To have a teacher such as the Doctor to travel with.I’m sure you must be learning so much from him.’Mel said nothing for a second until the Doctor prompted,‘Oh you are, aren’t you Mel?’Mel nodded slowly and began imagining how much pain she was going to inflict on the Doctor once they were back at the Library on Carsus.That made her smile properly.And so she made her excuses and headed off to the drawing room to see if she could find a glass or three of lemonade.The first thing she saw as she entered the dining room were the young women.Strictly speaking, that wasn’t true.Mel noticed what they were wearing.Tiaras, far, far too many tiaras.And fox furs.And mink furs.And diamonds that were probably very real, very expensive and were certainly very big, screaming out ‘notice me, my Daddy is richer than yours’.Mel had to remind herself this was the post-war 1950s, where rationing still existed (she wondered how many of Sir Bertrand’s ration books went on this bash) and a social conscience in young girls was still ten years away.‘Roll on Woodstock,’ she muttered and whipped a glass of something that looked like fruit juice from a passing waiter, with a smile and a genuine ‘thank you’.Probably the first one he’d heard all night.God, she hated this.It reminded her very much of her mother’s ‘parties’ for the local women of Pease Pottage, where she spent most of her teenage years.When the family first moved there, her mother had spent an inordinate amount of time trying to fit in with the local ladies via various groups, institutes and club socials.And Mel had often come home from school to find her mother maniacally tidying up in preparation for another onslaught of towns women’s guilds, friendships, leagues, etc., etc., etc.Therefore it had been upstairs, homework, nip down for a quick tea, hi to Dad if he was mad enough to have ventured home from work instead of hiding at the pub, and back up to the TV or her books when the fearsome Mrs Carruthers led whichever army of Tupperware-loving, burberry-clad, petition-waving monsters were due that particular night.Right now, she realised, her parents were in their late twenties, Mum having already left Durham University and got married.She would have finished her English degree and made no use of it at all.Coming from an age where girls were still rare at the big universities, her change from rebellious post-war socialite wanting equality, to stay-at-home housewife was scary –and Mel desperately hoped it wasn’t a path she’d ever follow.Dad, meanwhile, would be doing his postgrad in accountancy, selling his Elvis and early rock ‘n’ roll 78s to get by.Neither of them would foresee that within five years they’d have a daughter.How funny to think of them now.And to ponder for the first time in ages that they left having her till very late in life.Which was unusual in the carefree ‘swinging sixties’.Mel was suddenly aware that a man was standing beside her whom she felt she should know.There was something familiar.‘You should’ve asked them about your sister,’ he said.Mel ignored him.He was probably drunk, and as a non-drinker, Mel was rarely comfortable around drunks.Happy drunks.Morose drunks.Silly drunks.They all annoyed her, but it wasn’t socially acceptable to tell them to bugger off, so she usually opted to ignore them.‘You’d learn so much if you just asked questions,’ he said again.‘Yes, thank you,’ Mel retorted and then realised she was talking to a door jamb.‘You all right, Melanie?’ It was the Doctor, leaning on the door now, presumably having extricated himself from Helen Lamprey and her father.He was looking back at them though, rather than Mel.‘Just a strange drunk man, saying something about my sister.’The Doctor was raising a glass, toasting someone by the front door as if he’d known them for years.‘What was he saying about her?’Mel didn’t reply.That was another odd thing in a day of odd things.‘I don’t have a sister, Doctor.You know that.’At which point the Doctor sighed.‘I’m sure Anabel would be very pleased to hear you say that.’‘Who the hell’s Anabel?’ Mel was really quite confused now.‘Your sister,’ said the Doctor with a sigh.Then he turned to look at her, ready no doubt to explain his bizarre behaviour.And as their eyes met, he looked as if he’d been slapped across the face by a very large and wet haddock.‘I’m sorry,’ he said slowly, ‘I thought you were Melanie.’then he stopped.‘Only you are, aren’t you?’‘Well, I’m beginning to wonder now,’ Mel replied, hoping some humour would diffuse the situation, but the Doctor’s face was graver than ever.‘Oh Melanie’ He stood upright, all sense of humour or relaxation gone.Instead he just stared at her, as if trying to make something square in his mind.Finally he said: ‘Where was I last time we spoke?’‘At the bottom of the stairs, opposite the painting.Down there.’ Mel pointed to the right.‘Am I still there?’ asked the Doctor, not looking at where she pointed.‘Well, obviously not, Doctor, or you –’ Mel stopped.She could now see, chatting amiably to Helen Lamprey, the Doctor.He hadn’t budged an inch and was laughing uproariously at something – most likely one of his own jokes.The Doctor staring at her was now unnerving her.‘It’s happened before,’ she said.‘In the TARDIS.’The new Doctor nodded.‘I came up behind you, tapped you on the shoulder and after a second or two, you vanished,’ he said.‘Which is lucky as too many Doctors spoil the broth.’‘But how has this happened?’The faux Doctor shrugged, then brightened.‘Have you, perchance, encountered a Professor Rummas on Carsus?’Mel nodded.‘You too?’‘Oh yes,’ began the Doctor.‘Yes, and that makes sense.You see he told us that time -’And Mel was staring at empty space, the Doctor had simply vanished, just as he had in the TARDIS a while back.Rummas hadn’t prepared them for this, so Mel wandered back to ‘her’ Doctor and finally caught his eye.‘Excuse me,’ he said to the assembled throng, and Mel all but dragged him away.‘I was doing well, there,’ he said grumpily.‘Telling them all about our adventures with the Zarbi and the Proctor of Darruth!’‘Yes, and they believed you.’‘Of course they did.’Mel sighed.‘Sometimes you can be infuriating.’‘Only sometimes? I’m slipping.’‘You’re not the only thing.’The Doctor frowned at this.‘Whatever do you mean.’‘I just spoke to you.’‘I know.Quite abruptly, and yanked me away from my adoring audience.’‘No not you you, another you [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]