Doctor Who: Players: 50th Anniversary Edition

by Dicks, Terrance

  ‘There’s someone in the garden. I caught sight of him lurking in the bushes.’

  The Doctor seemed quite unperturbed. ‘Ah yes, the butler said he was here. This way, Peri.’ He led the way downstairs and into a small sitting-room that looked out onto the garden.

  Opening the French windows, the Doctor called, ‘We’re in here!’

  ‘Look out, Doctor,’ warned Peri. ‘He’s probably got a bazooka or something.’

  The Doctor laughed. ‘I doubt it, Peri. Don’t worry, he’s on our side.’

  A very large man appeared from the shadows of the overgrown garden. He wore a trenchcoat and a soft hat and he had what Peri thought of as a nicely ugly face.

  He touched the brim of his hat. ‘Doctor Smith? Miss Brown?’ The deep gravelly voice was unmistakably American.

  ‘That’s right,’ said the Doctor. ‘You’ll be the man from the Pinkerton Detective Agency, I take it?’

  ‘That’s right, sir. The name’s Dekker. Tom Dekker.’

  ‘What’s a fellow Yank doing over here?’ asked Peri.

  ‘I used to run a one-man agency back in Chicago,’ said Dekker. ‘Back in the old Capone days.’

  Peri grinned. ‘Wow! That must have been exciting!’

  ‘It had its moments. But then my friend Ness got the Big Fellow sent to Alcatraz, and they repealed Prohibition and things kinda slowed down in Chicago. Got so whole weeks went by without a decent shootout.’

  ‘Frustrating for you,’ said Peri sympathetically.

  Dekker grinned. ‘Terrible. Anyway, what with the Depression and all, things got pretty tough. So when the Pinks offered me a job I was glad to take it. I worked for them for a while all over the USA, and then they put me in charge of their London office.’

  ‘And very glad we are to have you,’ said the Doctor briskly. ‘I hate to interrupt a meeting of compatriots, but can we talk business for a moment? What do you think of the set-up here, Mr Dekker?’

  ‘Could be worse. Nice compact secure front entrance, good visibility. Plenty of servants about, so the place is never empty. The back garden wall is a bit of a worry, gives onto some kinda alley, whaddya call it over here?’

  ‘A mews?’ suggested the Doctor.

  ‘That’s right, a mews. Anyway, the wall’s pretty high but we could do with some spikes or some barbed wire. And you need some alarms. I can see to all that for you.’

  ‘Please do. Anything else?’

  ‘I’ll have someone keeping an eye on the place, day and night. If you’re going anywhere special, let me know and I’ll send someone, or come myself. That’s about it, really.’

  The Doctor nodded, sagely. ‘It all sounds very reassuring.’

  ‘Can you give me any idea what kind of opposition we’re up against, Doctor Smith?’ Dekker asked.

  ‘Not really. It’s just that I seem to have annoyed some very powerful and ruthless people.’

  ‘Political? Criminal?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet. Possibly both.’

  ‘These guys heeled – armed?’

  ‘It wouldn’t surprise me. Are you?’

  Suddenly there was an enormous automatic in Dekker’s hand.

  ‘I told you he had a bazooka,’ said Peri. She turned to Dekker. ‘You may need that. Somebody put a bomb in our hotel room!’

  The big automatic disappeared. ‘Pineapple?’ said Dekker. ‘That’s pretty rare over here. We better take these guys seriously. OK, Doctor Smith, I’ll get right on to things.’ He paused. ‘I used to know a guy called Smith back in Chicago. Everyone called him Doc. Ran a speakeasy – a saloon – during Prohibition.’

  ‘Wasn’t me,’ said the Doctor. ‘You may have noticed that Smith is a somewhat common name.’

  ‘Hell no, he was nothing like you. Doc was a funny little guy. Very tough though, very shrewd. Had a girl with him…’ He broke off. ‘Hell, here I go again, talking about the old days. Must be getting old myself. Nice to meet you, Doctor Smith, Miss Brown. I’ll be in touch.’

  He touched the brim of his hat and went out of the room. They heard him talking to the butler for a moment, and then the slam of the front door.

  Peri touched the Doctor’s arm. ‘You must be really worried, Doctor, hiring a bodyguard.’

  ‘Not a bodyguard,’ said the Doctor. ‘A security consultant! I can’t be around all the time, and it will be nice to think someone’s keeping an eye out for suspicious strangers and ticking parcels.’

  ‘So he’s really my minder?’

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ said Peri. ‘I think he’s cute. Doctor…’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘That Doc he knew in Chicago?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Do you think it could be you? Another you, sometime in your future.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Peri,’ said the Doctor disdainfully. ‘I don’t know what my future holds, any more than you do. But I very much doubt that it includes being a funny little “guy” running a speakeasy in Chicago during Prohibition!’

  There was a knock on the front door and the sound of low voices. Rye the butler came in carrying a large white envelope with an embossed gold crest.

  ‘This has just arrived by special messenger, sir.’

  The Doctor took the envelope, ripped it open and extracted a big white card with embossed gold lettering.

  He beamed at Peri. ‘Looks like you’ll be buying a hat after all. We’re invited to a garden party. At Buckingham Palace!’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ENCOUNTERS

  ‘AN INVITATION TO a Buckingham Palace garden party is an honour in itself,’ remarked the Doctor, steepling his fingers. ‘Attending one can even be quite enjoyable, if you’re fond of weak tea, thin cucumber sandwiches and packed crowds. Getting there, however –’

  ‘– is hell,’ Peri concluded for him. ‘What an honour. You spend ages travelling slowly along a jam-packed Pall Mall, then ages more waiting to get through this stupid visitors’ gate.’

  She sighed, and grumbled some more.

  ‘You don’t even get any extra prestige for being in a party frock and a Rolls Royce. Everybody’s in a party frock and a Rolls Royce – or a Bentley, or a Daimler – or a Merc,’ she added, noticing a car a little ahead of them in the slow moving queue.

  It was quite a sight, an outsize Mercedes-Benz, with a swastika flag on the bonnet.

  ‘Looks as if von Ribbentrop’s turned up,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘That’s Ribbentrop all right,’ confirmed Dekker from the driver’s seat. ‘That car’s famous. That’s the grossen seven-litre supercharged model. Your Londoners don’t reckon much to old Ribby, but they sure love his Mercedes. It draws bigger crowds than he does!’

  Peri nodded. ‘I can believe it!’

  ‘Not too practical, though,’ Dekker added, pulling on the handbrake as they came to a standstill once again. ‘It does about three miles to the gallon. Every time they try to go further than around the block they run out of gas!’

  The chauffeur’s uniform jacket was tight across Dekker’s broad shoulders, and the cap was jammed precariously on the back of his head. He’d insisted on driving them when the Doctor told him where they were going. ‘Big crowds, public places, maximum danger,’ he’d said. ‘We lose a lot of politicians that way in the States.’

  Peri wasn’t buying that statement. ‘You don’t really think anything’s going to happen, Dekker, do you? You’re just another nosy American tourist, like me, keen to check out the King of England.’

  ‘Sure,’ agreed Dekker cheerfully. ‘It’s this Simpson dame I want to get a look at though, the one that’s got her hooks into him so hard. She must be some piece of work.’ He grinned at Peri. ‘Mind you, I always say you can’t beat American women for looks!’

  They crawled through the visitors’ gate at last, had their names and invitations checked and, guided by a fussy Palace official, made their way to the assigned parking place.

  ‘Sorry to ha
ve to leave you, Dekker,’ said Peri. ‘Looks like we’re going to have all the fun!’

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ said Dekker. ‘I’m working, remember. I’ll be around. You may not see me, but I’ll be around.’

  The Doctor and Peri followed the crowd to the part of the Palace gardens where the party was taking place. There were marquees, white-coated waiters scurrying to and fro, and, on the main lawn, a swirling fashionably-dressed crowd circulated around a slight, fair-haired figure – the new King.

  The Doctor and Peri stood on the edge of the crowd and accepted tea and sandwiches from a hovering waiter. The crockery was bone china with the royal crest. Peri considered slipping her cup into her handbag, but decided it would be unworthy of her republican principles.

  ‘I suppose we ought to go and pay our respects to the King,’ said the Doctor. ‘Come on, Peri, I said I’d present you at Court! This is almost as good, isn’t it?’

  Suddenly, Peri’s attention was caught by a solitary figure standing alone on the fringe of the crowd. Solid, slightly rotund, with a massive head thrust forward and a smouldering cigar in the mouth, the figure was strangely familiar.

  Peri tugged at the Doctor’s arm. ‘Look, Doctor, isn’t that –’

  ‘It is indeed,’ said the Doctor. ‘The man himself!’

  Immediately, Peri hurried across to him. ‘Mr Churchill! It’s so nice to see you again!’

  Churchill stared at her blankly. ‘It is always pleasant to be warmly greeted by a pretty girl,’ he rumbled. ‘But I’m afraid you have the advantage of me, young lady.’

  All at once, Peri realised a number of things. Firstly, that although it seemed no time at all to her since they’d met in South Africa, for Winston Churchill it was, what, thirty-seven years? Secondly, the years had left their mark on Churchill. The wispy moustache had gone, and so had most of the reddish hair on Churchill’s head. And thirdly, since only a few days had passed in their subjective time, she and the Doctor hadn’t altered at all.

  It was going to be a hard one to explain away.

  She heard the Doctor saying, ‘Please forgive my ward, Mr Churchill. It’s just that we’ve heard so much about you, we feel we actually know you! My father sends his regards.’

  Churchill frowned. ‘Your father, sir?’

  ‘Doctor Smith. Doctor John Smith. You were captured together by the Boers in South Africa, on an armoured train.’

  Churchill stared at him, looking through him into the distant past. ‘Doctor Smith!’ he breathed. ‘Yes, he helped me to clear the track and free the engine. We were captured together, and escaped together!’ He looked hard at the Doctor. ‘Your father, eh? You’re very like him, you know.’

  The Doctor smiled. ‘So they tell me, sir.’

  ‘How is he? Did he succeed in making his escape?’ Churchill was smiling broadly back at him. ‘I made inquiries, but I never did learn anything of his fate. There was a rumour that he’d been killed in an explosion, murdered by the Boers.’

  ‘Not a bit of it, sir. He blew up the ammunition store for a diversion, stole a car, and made his escape in comfort!’

  Churchill roared with laughter. ‘I always knew he was a resourceful fellow. Indeed, he told me that he had made alternative arrangements.’ He looked at Peri. ‘And this young lady? She looks…’

  ‘A descendant of the original Miss Brown, my father’s ward,’ said the Doctor smoothly. ‘Again, I believe there is a strong family resemblance.’

  ‘Extraordinary!’ said Churchill. ‘And what became of your father? Is he still alive?’

  ‘Yes indeed, sir, he’s quite unstoppable.’

  Peri sighed inwardly. The Doctor was really enjoying himself, now.

  ‘After he left South Africa, he settled in South America, and did very well. I myself am here as Honorary Consul for the Republic of Santa Esmerelda, where my father settled and made his fortune.’

  ‘A fantastic and colourful story,’ said Winston Churchill. ‘I only wish my own life had been crowned with such success. Mine is a more melancholy tale. You see me now an extinct volcano, a spent force.’

  ‘I don’t believe it, sir,’ said the Doctor. ‘And neither should you. I believe that fate still has great things in store for you.’

  ‘Like your father, sir, you lift my spirits and fill me with hope,’ said Churchill. ‘May I ask your full name?’

  ‘It is the same as his,’ said the Doctor. ‘Smith. Doctor John Smith.’

  ‘Doctor Smith and Miss Brown,’ said Churchill, surveying them benignly. ‘Extraordinary. I could almost believe that the years had rolled back and your ancestors stood once again before me, untouched by the passage of time. Tell me, have either of you met His Majesty?’

  ‘Briefly,’ said the Doctor. ‘When I presented my credentials.’

  ‘No,’ said Peri. ‘I’d love to meet him, but I think everyone has the same idea.’

  ‘Come with me,’ said Churchill, striding off. ‘Has-been I may be, but a few shreds of my former glory still cling about me. Moreover, I have known young David since his youth. He’s a reckless boy and very much spoiled, but he has a good heart.’

  The crowd parted before Churchill and his small company as he marched up to the King and bowed.

  ‘Your Majesty, may I present – I am tempted to say two old friends, but they are in fact the descendants of two old friends – Doctor Smith and Miss Brown.’

  ‘Winston!’ said the King warmly. ‘Why do I never see you any more?’

  ‘Your Majesty has new responsibilities, and new friends.’

  ‘Does that mean I must forget my old ones?’ The King turned to the Doctor. ‘We have already met, I believe?’

  The Doctor bowed. ‘When I presented my credentials. May I present my ward, Miss Brown?’

  Peri managed a very creditable curtsey. ‘A great honour, Your Majesty.’

  ‘You’re an American,’ said the King, looking around. ‘Wallis, where are you? Here’s a fellow countrywoman of yours.’

  A small, extraordinarily thin woman, with a helmet of shining black hair, stepped forward from the group close to the King.

  ‘Another one?’ she said in a southern drawl. ‘Well, I declare. I sometimes think poor old America must be empty, there are so many of us over here!’

  Peri studied her with interest, and a sudden instinctive rivalry. Wallis Simpson was no beauty but the force of her personality, her will, burned inside that slim body like a flame. Her dark eyes seemed to blaze with life.

  ‘I like American women,’ said the King. ‘They have spirit! Do you know what Wallis said to me when first we met, Miss Brown?’

  ‘No, Your Majesty. Do tell me.’

  ‘I asked her some banal question about her missing central heating. She said, “That’s what everyone says to American visitors. I expected something more original from the Prince of Wales!”’

  Wallis Simpson laughed, a little shrilly.

  ‘How many times have I asked you to stop telling that story, David – Your Majesty?’ She smiled at Peri. ‘The fact is I was so nervous I blurted out the first thing that came into my head.’

  They chatted for a moment or two longer, but it soon became apparent that Wallis Simpson felt that they had taken up quite enough of the King’s time. It was equally apparent that as far as the King was concerned, Wallis’s will was law.

  The Doctor, Peri and Churchill fell back, allowing other eager figures to surround the King.

  Still, the Doctor and Peri had been touched by the royal favour. As the garden party wore on, other guests showed a flattering eagerness to speak to them. Several impressively bejewelled ladies made themselves known, promising future invitations.

  Churchill looked on with sardonic approval. ‘I have launched you upon the seas of society,’ he growled. ‘It is all I can do for you. Whether you sink or swim is now up to you.’

  Finally von Ribbentrop himself made an appearance, greeting the Doctor and Peri warmly, and nodding coldly to Churchill.
/>
  ‘You must come to see us at the Embassy,’ he insisted. ‘I will take no refusal.’ He looked pointedly at Churchill. ‘With so many enemies around, my poor Germany needs all the friends she can get!’

  ‘Buffoon,’ growled Churchill, as von Ribbentrop moved away. ‘The man is a diplomatic disaster, the laughing-stock of London society.’

  They drifted to the edge of the lawn, under the shade of some towering trees. Von Ribbentrop made his way over to Wallis Simpson, and engaged her in what looked like an intimate conversation.

  ‘An extraordinary woman!’ said Churchill.

  ‘With an extraordinary amount of influence upon the King?’ suggested the Doctor.

  Churchill nodded gloomily. ‘I fear that is so, Doctor. And, as you can see, she is also close to von Ribbentrop. Some say very close indeed. She is said to dine frequently at the German Embassy, and Ribbentrop sends her red roses…’ He sighed. ‘His Majesty already inclines far too much towards Germany. He speaks German like a native, has many German relatives… Now, with the influence of von Ribbentrop, exercised through Mrs Simpson…’ He shook his head in dismay. ‘I fear we may soon have a monarch upon the throne of whose loyalty we cannot be entirely assured.’

  Peri was shocked. ‘You mean you can’t trust the King?’

  Even the Doctor was taken aback. ‘Surely it can’t be as bad as all that, sir?’

  ‘Indeed it can,’ said Churchill solemnly. He lowered his voice. ‘Recently, vital diplomatic information was leaked to Germany. The leaks were traced to Fort Belvedere, His Majesty’s private residence.’ He spread out his hands in a gesture of despair. ‘Who knows what the King tells Wallis Simpson, and what she passes on to von Ribbentrop? Things have come to such a pass that certain vital state papers have had to be withheld from the King!’ Churchill checked himself. ‘I am indiscreet. Yet it is a relief to speak of these matters. And somehow I feel I can trust you, Doctor, as I trusted your father.’

  ‘Nothing you say to us will go any further,’ said the Doctor quietly. ‘Isn’t that so, Peri?’

  Peri nodded, and Churchill signalled a passing waiter, who offered a tray filled with cups of tea.