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The woman who answered the door seemed respectable enough to calm any fears of werewolves, vampires, cannibals, or space pirates, though the look she gave them was not precisely welcoming. As far as could be seen with the light behind her, she was dark-haired, fortyish, and sturdily built. "We're very sorry to disturb you," Gia said. "But our car has broken down, and we wondered if we could telephone for help." "I suppose you'd better come in, then." She looked over the group. "Is it just the three of you?" "There's three more with the car," Samantha said. "Well, don't stand around outside. You come in and we'll see what's to be done." Gia did as she was bidden, tried to wipe her feet, and decided that this was a lost cause. "Boots off, everyone," she said. "Or we'll make a terrible mess." As the trio removed their muddy footwear, they looked around the hall. When built, it had probably been a fine example of Victorian excess. Now, the carpet was threadbare, the wallpaper peeling, the brass tarnished. Here and there more recent additions, apparently made of plywood painted white, clashed badly with the original elaborate design. The windows were not only shuttered, but covered by decades-old blackout blinds. Light was provided by softly- hissing gas mantles here and there on the walls. Stacks of building materials around the foot of the main staircase added to the chaotic impression. "The telephone's here," the woman said, leading them to what was clearly the reception desk. It certainly was, though the fact that it had a dial, was made of black Bakelite, and looked a museum piece even to Samantha didn't exactly reassure. "No need for the other two of you to stand around," the woman continued, as Gia picked up the telephone and began to experiment with the dial. "Plenty of seats, but it's best if you leave the dustsheets on. Those builders make such a mess." Zoë perched herself on the edge of a settle. "Thank you, Mrs..." "Walters. You might call me the housekeeper." "D'you have to look after all this by yourself?" Samantha asked. "There's help that comes in as and when. Of course, when we're open again, it'll be a different story. But these builders take forever..." Samantha and Zoë let the housekeeper's ramblings wash over them, taking surreptitious glances at their watches from time to time. - * - Isobel could have sworn she hadn't dropped off, but when the car door was flung open and Victoria bit back a scream, she jerked awake, feeling stiff and unrefreshed. "It's all right," the shadowy figure outside said in an unmistakeable Liverpool accent. "It's only us." "Samantha." Victoria sighed with relief. "Is there something wrong? You were gone for ever so long. I thought you were a highwayman or something." "Yeah, we're fine. Zoë's here, too. Say hello, Zoë." Zoë leaned into the car and waved. "Hello, everyone." "So how d'ye get on?" Jamie asked. "And where's Gia?" Samantha grinned. "We've hit the jackpot. There's a hotel just up the road from here. Closed, but they reckon they can put us up for the night. We might have to share rooms, but it's a lot better than sleeping in this heap of scrap iron." "What about the car?" Isobel said. "It's still blocking the road." "Don't worry about that. This road doesn't go anywhere. And no-one's gonna look at the car until tomorrow. We'll tell you all about it while we walk." Isobel climbed out of the car. "You've won me over," she said. "Come on, you two." In moments, all five were heading for the hotel. "What happened, then?" Victoria asked. "Presumably you were able to make your telephone call?" "Gia rang the hire company," Zoë explained. "They weren't the least use (Be careful here, these stones are slippery). No-one's allowed to look at the car except their own people, or we lose our deposit. And that won't happen before at least 10:30 tomorrow." "I bet Gia was in a strop after that," Isobel said. "She doesn't do strops. But she had a lot to say about the car. She called it a decrepit antique that belonged in a scrapyard." "It looked pretty new to me," Isobel said. "But she does seem to have an effect on cars. They *behave* like antiques when she drives them. It must be something to do with being from the future." "Ah, that'll be one of those timey-wimey things," Jamie said knowledgeably. "Then she tried calling the Round," Samantha said. "In the end she got through to Luna. Apparently things there, quote, weren't good, unquote." "Oh dear," Victoria said. "Yeah. Sounded like Donna's flown off the handle again. She's been through a lot, you know." "I do," Jamie said pointedly. "Sorry, of course you do. Anyway, there's no chance of anyone sending a TARDIS out to pick us up." "Hotel, here we come," Isobel said. "Is that light it?" "That's it," Samantha said. "It's the dome at the top of the stairs. They've got shutters on the other windows." Victoria shivered. "It looks spooky," she said. "Well, I can't change how it looks," Zoë said impatiently. Samantha brought the party to a halt. "This is where the bridge starts," she said. "Best if we spread out a bit." "You mean it might collapse?" Isobel asked. She took a few cautious steps onto the bridge, keeping one hand on the rail. "Good job I'm not wearing my heels, they'd go straight through." "Is there any other way round?" Jamie asked. "Nope," Samantha replied triumphantly. "It's an island, and this is the only bridge." "That's useful. You could hold an army off wi' a handful of good men." Jamie cautiously followed Isobel onto the bridge, with Victoria close behind. Zoë and Samantha brought up the rear. The rest of the journey to the hotel passed without incident. Mrs Walters, who was still there when they returned, had taken the arrival of two more unkempt flower children and a kilted Scotsman with reasonable equanimity. She'd been joined by a young man, who apparently rejoiced in the name of Henry. "This is them, right?" he asked. "This is us," Samantha said truculently. "Want to make something of it, wack?" "Party of six." He sucked his teeth. "Could be tricky. Well, let's see. There's the Plumstead Suite-- no, the roof's not what I'd call watertight. Come to think of it, that's most of the top floor out as well." "There must be other rooms, though?" Victoria asked. "The water's off in the central range..." "The Harrington annexe?" Mrs Walters suggested. "No lights." "That just leaves the towers." "Well, the West Tower. No floor in the East one right now." "So it'll be all right for us to stay in the West Tower?" Isobel asked, giving him a winning smile. Henry looked reluctant. "Yeah, probably. There's no heating, but I suppose at this time of year you can do without. And whatever you do, don't try to open the windows, 'cos I won't be responsible for the consequences if you do." "Don't worry, we won't. We shan't be any trouble at all, will we, Sam?" "'Course not," Samantha said, shaking her head. "Don't know what you'll do about breakfast," Henry added gloomily. "It's not like the kitchen's in any state to use." "Now, you're just making difficulties," Mrs Walters said. "There's the café on the seafront. We can open that up in the morning." "It's very good of you to go to all this trouble," Victoria said. "You're welcome," Henry muttered, looking as if he'd rather see them all at the bottom of the sea. "I'll show you to your rooms." To add the finishing touch to the group's exhausting day, the rooms turned out to be at the top of the tower, three floors up, and reachable only by a steep and dimly-lit back staircase. Once there, they found the accommodation consisted of two large suites, on either side of a corridor. The rooms themselves were in a partially-dismantled state, but there were, at least, enough beds to go round. After no more than token bickering, they divided into two groups of three, shared out such bedding as they could find, and settled down for the night. Chapter 3: It'll All Come Out In The Wash
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