Pods and people arrived all that day. People whose social skills far exceeded my own tactfully kept Time Police and St Mary’s apart.
The only thing that kept us on even moderately polite terms with them was that everyone was recovering fast. No one dared to die of their injuries, which was a tribute to the fear in which Dr Foster was held.
The other piece of good news was that Mr Markham could see – a fact which had led to an astonishing explosion of wrath from Hunter that easily dwarfed all her previous efforts, impressive though these had been. For some time it looked as if his Time Police-related injuries were the least of his worries as she sought him up and down the corridors of St Mary’s, terrifying in her rage.
It transpired he’d actually recovered his sight fairly early on, but caught up in the earthly delights of bed baths and other personal treatments the like of which he had hitherto only dreamed, he had somehow neglected to mention this to Nurse Hunter. This situation lasted for nearly a whole day, until Helen turned up to give him a routine check and blew his cover. With the entirely inappropriate relish of one with many scores to settle, she had conveyed this news to Nurse Hunter, with the result that Markham was now being hunted the length and breadth of St Mary’s. So far, she had been unsuccessful in locating him. Popular opinion said he was on a tramp steamer to Tristan da Cunha and never coming back.
Before the signing, however, we had a small ceremony of our own.
We assembled in the echoing Hall. Everyone who was medically fit was there, together with quite a few who weren’t.
Dr Bairstow and Chief Farrell faced each other on the half landing and complete silence fell.
‘Director, you are relieved.’
‘Director, I stand relieved.’
They shook hands to enthusiastic applause.
We arranged ourselves down opposite sides of the tables with the careful politeness of two groups of people who really don’t like each other very much. Madam President sat at the head. In a tactful and conciliatory move, she wore civilian clothing.
Dr Bairstow sat opposite a young woman with a prematurely aged face. I wondered if she had sustained some sort of temporal accident. It can happen, apparently.
My opposite number was a very young officer, recently promoted by the looks of him. His brutal crewcut had grown out. I grinned discreetly at Lt Ellis. He grinned discreetly back again.
Apart from Ellis, I knew no one on the other side of the table. Arranged down my side were Dr Bairstow, Chief Farrell, and Pinkie, who was an old friend from the future. I would try for a word with her before she left. There was also an elderly man, fiercely bright-eyed, whom I guessed was Dr Bairstow’s director – the man who would send him here all those years ago. All the others were strangers to me, but all of us were, or had been, directors of St Mary’s.
History was being made today and just for once, instead of merely observing and documenting, we were part of it. A nice change for us.
Madam President stood and addressed the assembly.
‘Some time ago – in the future – the organisation known as the Time Police was formed to counter a very real threat. Their response to this threat was everything that could have been wished and I would like to place on record, here today, our grateful thanks for this response. Their task was not easy and involved considerable sacrifice on their part. Members of the Time Police – St Mary’s thanks you for your service.’
A polite ripple of applause ran through the room.
A movement caught my eye. Mrs Partridge was edging her way politely along the second row. Just as she sat down, she caught my eye and all the doubts and uncertainties that had, for days, been whirling around what passes for my brain suddenly coalesced and became clear. I stared at the table and wished I was somewhere else.
Madame President continued. ‘However, as we are all aware, circumstances change. The threat has been removed and the time has come to disband the organisation formed to deal with it. Delegates from the Time Police, together with everyone who has ever served as Director of St Mary’s have gathered today to do just that.’
I leaned back in my chair and looked along the table to my left.
Pinkie was staring at me.
Madam President gestured to the pile of documents before her and smiled ruefully.
‘This could take some time.’
She was right. It did. It took longer than anyone expected because it never happened.
Because I refused to sign.
*
I put it that way for dramatic effect, but actually, I wasn’t the only one.
I watched one set of documents travelling down the other side of the table, each delegate signing the copy in front of him or her, and then passing it along for the next signature.
I watched the same thing happen on the St Mary’s side with growing unease. I really wasn’t sure about this. And I wasn’t the only one.