1
‘You’re being very mysterious,
Doctor.’
The Doctor raised an
eyebrow.
‘Let me rephrase that,’ said Jo,
stabbing his shoulder with her forefinger. ‘More mysterious than
usual.’
The Doctor grappled with the
gear-lever of Bessie, the bright-yellow vintage roadster he was
so fond of driving. He frowned. The gearbox answered with the
sound of cogs trying to eat each other, but soon lost the fight
as the Doctor moved up into third. He smiled, looking ahead
along the bustling street of Piccadilly. It was a warm day and
the hood of the car was down. A few people stared and pointed at
them as they trundled past.
Jo sank a bit further back into
her seat as the Doctor waved at a couple of passers-by.
‘You know what I love about
London?’ he said, turning to her briefly.
She sighed. ‘I’m sure I can’t
guess.’
‘It’s the only city in the
universe where you can drive around in a car that’s seventy
years old and get away with it.’
‘Who says you’re getting away with
it?’ muttered Jo.
The Doctor waved again, and Jo
shut her eyes. ‘We couldn’t have taken the Tube, I
suppose?’
‘Now come on, my dear. Where’s
your sense of style?’
Jo stared, open-mouthed, at the
Doctor.
The Doctor was dressed in a green
velour smoking jacket over a purple frilly shirt, the collar of
which was large enough to sail a small yacht. It was
eye-watering fashion, even for 1973, but, in all honesty, it was
quite restrained. For the Doctor.
Jo shut her mouth. At least he
wasn’t wearing the Inverness cape for once. But she hated it
when he didn’t tell her what was going on. ‘Doctor!’ she wailed.
‘Will you please tell me what we’re doing?’
The Doctor turned up Dover Street,
scuffled briefly once more with Bessie’s gearbox and then
brought the car to a halt at the top of Hay Hill.
‘We’re going to a museum.’
‘You told me that much. A private
collection. To look at something?’
‘No,’ said the Doctor, grinning.
‘To steal something.’
2
‘I never had you down as an art
thief,’ said Jo.
They stood looking at the noble
frontage of the museum: just one of many magnificent Georgian
three- and four-storeyed houses in Mayfair.
‘Not art,’ said the Doctor.
‘Antiquities.’
‘There’s something in here that
interests you?’
‘Right,’ said the Doctor. His eyes
scoured the building as if he were trying to see through
it.
‘Something dangerous?’
‘Right again.’
‘And UNIT sent you here,’ said Jo
triumphantly.
The Doctor rounded on her. ‘My
dear girl,’ he said. ‘UNIT do not
send
me anywhere.’
Jo decided to tease the Doctor a
little. ‘But you do work for them, don’t you,’ she said, her
eyes twinkling. ‘Just like I do.’
The Doctor glared at her. ‘I have
offered my services to them during my … time here as a
scientific adviser, and in a purely unaffiliated manner. I am
not employed by them, and if at any time I choose to leave I
will do so. Now come on. Let’s get inside and have a look at
this thing.’
‘What thing?’ called Jo, but the
Doctor was already striding ahead and up the steps.
Maybe now wasn’t the time. He did
seem to be very preoccupied, and, really, she knew better than
to tease him about working for UNIT, the United Nations
Intelligence Taskforce. She also knew better than to remind him
that he had only agreed to work for them since he had been
exiled to Earth by the High Council of the Time Lords, having
been found guilty of violations of time. And, although the High
Council had now allowed the Doctor freedom to travel in time and
space once again, she certainly knew better than to mention his
exile.
Jo hurried up the steps, out of
the bright day and into the cool dark of the museum.
The Doctor had disappeared inside.
Fumbling for some money, she bought a ticket from a small desk
in the foyer
‘You’re being very mysterious,
Doctor.’
The Doctor raised an
eyebrow.
‘Let me rephrase that,’ said Jo,
stabbing his shoulder with her forefinger. ‘More mysterious than
usual.’
The Doctor grappled with the
gear-lever of Bessie, the bright-yellow vintage roadster he was
so fond of driving. He frowned. The gearbox answered with the
sound of cogs trying to eat each other, but soon lost the fight
as the Doctor moved up into third. He smiled, looking ahead
along the bustling street of Piccadilly. It was a warm day and
the hood of the car was down. A few people stared and pointed at
them as they trundled past.
Jo sank a bit further back into
her seat as the Doctor waved at a couple of passers-by.
‘You know what I love about
London?’ he said, turning to her briefly.
She sighed. ‘I’m sure I can’t
guess.’
‘It’s the only city in the
universe where you can drive around in a car that’s seventy
years old and get away with it.’
‘Who says you’re getting away with
it?’ muttered Jo.
The Doctor waved again, and Jo
shut her eyes. ‘We couldn’t have taken the Tube, I
suppose?’
‘Now come on, my dear. Where’s
your sense of style?’
Jo stared, open-mouthed, at the
Doctor.
The Doctor was dressed in a green
velour smoking jacket over a purple frilly shirt, the collar of
which was large enough to sail a small yacht. It was
eye-watering fashion, even for 1973, but, in all honesty, it was
quite restrained. For the Doctor.
Jo shut her mouth. At least he
wasn’t wearing the Inverness cape for once. But she hated it
when he didn’t tell her what was going on. ‘Doctor!’ she wailed.
‘Will you please tell me what we’re doing?’
The Doctor turned up Dover Street,
scuffled briefly once more with Bessie’s gearbox and then
brought the car to a halt at the top of Hay Hill.
‘We’re going to a museum.’
‘You told me that much. A private
collection. To look at something?’
‘No,’ said the Doctor, grinning.
‘To steal something.’
2
‘I never had you down as an art
thief,’ said Jo.
They stood looking at the noble
frontage of the museum: just one of many magnificent Georgian
three- and four-storeyed houses in Mayfair.
‘Not art,’ said the Doctor.
‘Antiquities.’
‘There’s something in here that
interests you?’
‘Right,’ said the Doctor. His eyes
scoured the building as if he were trying to see through
it.
‘Something dangerous?’
‘Right again.’
‘And UNIT sent you here,’ said Jo
triumphantly.
The Doctor rounded on her. ‘My
dear girl,’ he said. ‘UNIT do not
send
me anywhere.’
Jo decided to tease the Doctor a
little. ‘But you do work for them, don’t you,’ she said, her
eyes twinkling. ‘Just like I do.’
The Doctor glared at her. ‘I have
offered my services to them during my … time here as a
scientific adviser, and in a purely unaffiliated manner. I am
not employed by them, and if at any time I choose to leave I
will do so. Now come on. Let’s get inside and have a look at
this thing.’
‘What thing?’ called Jo, but the
Doctor was already striding ahead and up the steps.
Maybe now wasn’t the time. He did
seem to be very preoccupied, and, really, she knew better than
to tease him about working for UNIT, the United Nations
Intelligence Taskforce. She also knew better than to remind him
that he had only agreed to work for them since he had been
exiled to Earth by the High Council of the Time Lords, having
been found guilty of violations of time. And, although the High
Council had now allowed the Doctor freedom to travel in time and
space once again, she certainly knew better than to mention his
exile.
Jo hurried up the steps, out of
the bright day and into the cool dark of the museum.
The Doctor had disappeared inside.
Fumbling for some money, she bought a ticket from a small desk
in the foyer
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