Doctor Who_ Toy Soldiers Part 12

Nadienne looked at the floor, pursed her lips, but thankfully said nothing.

None the less Dale seemed to sense the lie. He looked around the kitchen for a moment, stared at Nadienne.

Did they speak to anyone else?'

Nadienne answered.'My husband, yes. But he is out at the moment.' She explained about Henri, the new car, the supper party. Dale listened without interest. It was as if, Amalie thought, he was only interested in his investigation; as if everything else, all the colours and comforts and subtleties of life, were utterly unimportant to him.

But he must have been listening after a fashion, because after Nadienne had finished he asked: 'May I stay until your husband's party return? They might have some useful information.'

Amalie wanted to say, no, no, get out of my house, you cold unpleasant man. But how could she? He was the British Army after all. And Nadienne was already offering their guest coffee, fussing around the big oak dresser in search of the pot.

Amalie watched as Dale moved to stand against the wall next to the window, his eyes expressionless and his face wooden, as if he were a toy soldier, a clockwork thing, an automaton. She felt a renewal of her earlier fear: a soldier a soldier means death means death.

She looked into the cold grey eyes, knew that Dale could kill. Would kill, if he had to. For the first time she noticed the leather gun holster at his waist.

How can I stop this? she thought. How can I prevent it?

'Would you like milk with your coffee?' asked Nadienne.

Chris Cwej and Roz Forrester watched as the last dull red gleam of sunlight disappeared from the tops of the pine trees that stood on the crest of the hill.

'It's set, hasn't it?' asked Roz suddenly.

Chris peered across the narrow strip of dry gra.s.s that separated the ring of pines from forest that sloped away towards the valley. The sky above the tree tops was a clear, gla.s.sy blue. He nodded. 'I think so.'

'Then he's late, isn't he?'

Glumly, Chris nodded again. He didn't want to admit it, but it looked like Roz was right. The Doctor had said he would meet them before sunset. The sun had now set, and the TARDIS wasn't here.

'He could have been delayed,' Chris pointed out. Roz turned and stared at him. 'He's got a time machine, for G.o.ddess's sake. How can you be late in a time machine?'

She began pacing up and down between the pine trees, the teddy bear that Amalie had given them tucked under one arm, the other arm crooked so that she could stare at her genuine twentieth-century wrist.w.a.tch. She had taken her red pullover off, and her armour gleamed dully in the fading light from the sky.

'I think it's significant that he told us Benny was investigating a factory in England,' Chris said after a while.

'Maybe he's there, helping her out. I don't expect he can be in two places at once.'

Roz looked at him, grimaced. 'You sure of that? Besides, if he knew he was going to be late he'd have left a message.

Even if it was just a yellow sticky. A new time, a new place, new instructions. Anything. G.o.ddess, even "I'm okay, you're okay" would've been better than this.' She resumed her pacing, her fists clenched. 'We should've arranged a fallback.

I knew we should've. He just wouldn't listen.'

Chris nodded agreement. Not for the first time, he wished that the TARDIS's equipment list included some kind of communicator. But perhaps it wasn't possible, with all those extra dimensions to cope with.

'You know what I I think is significant?' asked Roz suddenly. She had stopped pacing and was standing in front of Chris, her free arm pointing at him, almost prodding him in the chest. 'I think it's significant that we've been checking out this place for the last week or so think is significant?' asked Roz suddenly. She had stopped pacing and was standing in front of Chris, her free arm pointing at him, almost prodding him in the chest. 'I think it's significant that we've been checking out this place for the last week or so - how long is it local time? Six months? - and the first time we find any sort of evidence - ' she hoisted the teddy bear up and waved it under Chris's nose - the Doctor doesn't pick us up. Someone's one step ahead of us here.' She frowned, glanced around sharply. 'I'm thinking we ought to be out of this place.'

Chris in turn looked around them at the forest. The light was fading rapidly, and a thin mist was forming, turning the mottled green of the canopy to an even grey. The undergrowth was black with shadow, and the dry mud track that led back to Larochepot and the valley was already almost lost in the darkness. Anyone could be hiding there.

Chris listened for suspicious sounds, heard a groaning noise which he thought for a moment might be the first sound of the TARDIS materializing; but then the sound was repeated and he realized that it was only a cow bellowing in the valley.

'I reckon we should wait a bit longer,' he said at last. 'The Doctor's never let us down before. We shouldn't just give up on him because he's a bit late.'

'What do you suggest we do then? Wait around for trouble to arrive and then hit it over the head with the teddy bear?'

Chris blushed, but persisted. 'What do you suggest?'

Roz shrugged. 'We should hole up in the woods somewhere.

Out of sight. Check the place again in the morning.'

'We could go back to Amalie's,' said Chris.

'If they are one step ahead of us, they might be waiting for us there.'

Chris nodded. 'It means a warm bed for the night. And some supper.'

'And a hole in the head, if we get - '

Roz broke off as a crunching sound began in the undergrowth, startlingly loud. Chris whirled around, his hand moving to his belt where his blaster should have been. It wasn't there: the Doctor had insisted that they leave their weapons behind. He glanced at Roz, who had made exactly the same sequence of movements. She cursed under her breath, crouched down.

The crunching sounds continued for a few seconds, then were interrupted by a m.u.f.fled grunting. Chris listened for a moment, felt a wave of relief.

'Pig,' he muttered to Roz.

'Speak for yourself, kid,' she said with a grin. 'I'm quite a tidy eater, when I'm sober.' She stood up, dusted pine needles off her trousers. Looked at the path that led back to the village and scowled.

Did you say we might be in time for supper?'

Chris nodded, grinned. 'Jean-Pierre went out to fetch Henri and his family. Remember? And they won't be back yet.'

Roz gave him a glance. Just a glance. 'OK, kid,' she said. 'But you just remember that this is only the least dangerous of two dangerous options. We take it slowly, and keep an eye out for anything suspicious. Clear?'

Chris nodded, blushing with pleasure as they started down the path to the village and Amalie's house. It wasn't often that Roz came round to his point of view, he thought, but it was nice when it happened.

Jean-Pierre seemed to have expanded since his marriage: what had been stringy and clumsy about his figure had become bulky and articulate. His gestures were definite, his manner resolute, his voice loud. Now, in his Paris suit, blowing on a cigar and drinking an armagnac, he seemed almost to fill the small sitting-room of his house.

Amalie wasn't sure that she liked him any more.

'I always did suspect these Americans,' he said to Sergeant Dale. 'The negro in particular. Whoever heard of a woman detective? Or a negro detective, for that matter. I know that they're supposed to be very liberal about the dark-skinned races in America, but I know for a certain fact that there are New York restaurants where "n.i.g.g.e.rs" -' he used the American word - aren't admitted. I can't see how one would be allowed a licence as a "private eye", can you, Henri?'

Henri shrugged. 'I'm very much the provincial on these matters. However, I must say that I couldn't see any harm in them. They took no money from us.'

'They have kept Amalie here! - Not that we mind, Auntie,'

he added quickly, smiling at Amalie, 'you are wonderful company - but they have kept her here, kept her miserable, when it is obvious - I'm sorry, Auntie, but it is obvious - that the girl is gone, and will never be back.' He gestured with his cigar, taking in the whole room with the gesture, as if to tell them all how obvious it was: Henri and his wife Mich.e.l.le in the leather easy chairs by the fireplace, Sergeant Dale standing by the door to the hallway, the manservant Georges standing next to him, Amalie and Nadienne side by side on the chaise-longue chaise-longue, Nadienne's younger sister Marie sitting on the piano stool.

Amalie shook her head, wondered what she could say.

She'd known that Jean-Pierre was getting exasperated with her continued presence in his house; she'd known that he didn't have much faith in Cwej and Forrester and was inclined to believe the police in Lyons, who had more or less closed the case. But she hadn't thought he'd be so outspoken about it. Not yet, anyway. She hadn't thought that things would get really difficult until after the child was born - and she would have gone then, as soon as Nadienne was recovered from the birth. She would have rented a property in Septangy, or maybe even gone back to the flat in Paris for a while, started to try and live a life of her own.

Now it was all spoiled, it had all become indecent and argumentative. She looked at Sergeant Dale, at his notebook, at his cold grey eyes, and hated him.

Perhaps Dale noticed this, for he suddenly shut his notebook with a snap and said, 'Well, I won't trouble you any further. Thank you for your time and the information you've given me.' He leaned over and muttered something to Jean-Pierre, then turned on his heel and walked into the hallway: Jean-Pierre followed, cigar in hand, booming something about seeing him out. As he pa.s.sed the door, he beckoned to Georges, who followed him.

After a moment, Amalie glanced at Nadienne, who blushed. 'Sorry, Auntie,' she murmured.

Amalie shrugged. 'He's ent.i.tled to his point of view.' She could hear men's voices continuing in the hall: she noticed that Henri too had got up and gone from his place by the fire.

'... dangerous ...' she heard, and '... shotgun ...'; Jean-Pierre saying, 'Of course, of course.'

She felt a rush of panic, sprang to her feet.

'Auntie - !' called Nadienne; but Amalie was already half-way across the room.

At the hall door, she hesitated. The three men were standing by the main door, which was open. They looked up when she came into view. Henri frowned and hurried across to her.

'There's nothing to worry about, my dear,' he said quickly. 'Sergeant Dale will look after us tonight.'

'Look after us?' But Amalie knew: over Henri's shoulder, she could see Dale still talking to Jean-Pierre. His hand was near the leather gun holster at his waist.

'You weren't to know,' said Henri kindly, putting an arm around her shoulders and virtually pushing her down the hallway and into the empty kitchen. 'I wouldn't have guessed it either. But your friends have a shotgun, maybe two. They're really very dangerous - '

'Dangerous? But they haven't done anybody any harm!'

Not here, no. But Sergeant Dale has told me - you wouldn't believe it, Amalie, really you wouldn't.' He lowered his voice. 'They're not Americans at all, they're Russians -

Bolsheviks. Or at least, Cwej is, and the negro is working for them. A mercenary of some sort.'

'I don't don't believe it,' said Amalie. 'Are you sure that Sergeant Dale is genuine, Henri?' believe it,' said Amalie. 'Are you sure that Sergeant Dale is genuine, Henri?'

Her brother stared at her, his eyes shadowed in the lamplight streaming in from the hall. 'Don't be ridiculous, Amalie! Of course he's genuine! He is from the British Army!

Look, I know how much your mind has been unsettled by losing Gabrielle, and I know how much you must blame yourself, but - '

He broke off as Jean-Pierre stepped in from the hallway.

'Henri - Dale and I are going to round up some of the villagers and have a go at finding these people. We'll take Georges. Dale is pretty sure they're still in Larochepot. But I think you ought to stay here and guard the house, just in case.'

He sounds so important, thought Amalie. So pleased with himself. It's as if he's fighting the war again. Wearing his uniform.

She remembered Forrester's 'bullet-proof vest', always worn, like a uniform, under her English clothes, and almost started to cry. 'These are my friends friends,' she said. 'Why are they suddenly being hunted down like animals?'

'It has to be done, Auntie,' said Jean-Pierre.

'But why?' wailed Amalie. 'Somebody tell me why. They did nothing here. They did nothing to us. If they are Bolsheviks, why can't we let the police deal with them?'

Neither of the men answered, but Amalie saw the embarra.s.sed glance exchanged between them.

'He told you that they've hurt Gabrielle, didn't he?' Again, there was no reply. Amalie grasped her brother's shoulders, shook him. 'Tell me!'

He nodded, slowly.

'It's not true!' bawled Amalie. 'I know it's not true!' Her vision was beginning to blur with tears.

'Oh, for G.o.d's sake get her in the sitting-room, Henri,'

said Jean-Pierre irritably.

'Come on,' said Henri, putting an arm around her shoulders again. 'I'll get you a brandy.'

As they walked through the hallway, she saw Dale standing in the main doorway, smoking a cigarette. He was looking down at something in the palm of his free hand: Amalie saw two flickering green points of light, like a tiny pair of eyes. As she watched, he swung his hand from left to right and back again, then nodded slowly. Amalie knew, then.

Knew for certain.

'He did it!' she bawled, pointing at the soldier. 'Look what he has in his hand! He took Gabrielle! He killed her!'

Dale turned and frowned at her.

' Auntie! Auntie! ' shouted Jean-Pierre. ' shouted Jean-Pierre.

'Really, Amalie - ' said Henri.

And she heard Nadienne's voice: 'I'll get her to bed.'

Sobbing, Amalie crumpled to the floor, felt the cold tiles of the hall against her cheek. Without really knowing why, she let herself be helped to her feet and guided upstairs by Nadienne and her sister-in-law Mich.e.l.le, into the small room with the rugs and the bra.s.s bedstead that Jean-Pierre and Nadienne let her use. They sat her on the bed, and Nadienne sat beside her. Mich.e.l.le went to the window, stood looking out.

'They said something about a shotgun,' she said. 'Do you think we should close the shutters?'