Until We Burn | Dr Who

Chapter Eighty-Six: The Unicorn and the Wasp

Things have been quiet for a while now. Eager to move on, we embark on yet another adventure, this time in the hope of something a little easier.

Arm in arm, the Doctor and I step out of the Tardis with Donna close behind. We have landed in an archway of trees, just before the vast lawn of a country house. "Oh, smell that air! Grass and lemonade and a little bit of mint — a hint of mint — must be the 1920s."

She scoffs, "You can tell what year it is just by smelling?"

"Trust me, his deductions are often far more abstract. Guessed we were in the sixties once by smelling car fumes and tobacco!" I point out, giving him a little nudge.

"And was I wrong?"

"I think you cheated."

Taking fake offence, he gasps and clasps a hand to one of his hearts. "Oh, Inara, you wound me! Have you ever thought that maybe I'm just that good?"

Donna scrunches up her nose in disgust at our flirting. "Or maybe that big vintage car coming up the drive gave it away."

We sneak closer, watching from a hiding spot behind the greystone house as the car pulls up. A  butler greets the tweed-clad driver. "Good afternoon, Professor Peach."

"Hello, Greeves, old man." The ringing of a bell announces a new arrival, a man in a dog collar riding in on his bicycle. "Ah, Reverend!"

"Professor Peach! Beautiful day. The Lord's in his heaven, all's right with the world."

"Reverend Golightly." The butler offers him a stiff half-bow and motions for a servant to collect the luggage in his bicycle basket. "Lady Eddison requests that you make yourselves comfortable in your rooms. Cocktails will be served on the lawn from half past four."

The Professor nods politely. "You go on up. I need to check something in the library. Alone."

Catching onto his meaning, the Reverend chuckles. "It's supposed to be a party! All this work, it'll be the death of you."

Donna directs a harsher-than-intended elbow into my side. "Never mind Planet Zog. A party in the 1920s, that's more like it!"

"Trouble is, we haven't been invited. Oh, I forgot—" the Doctor waves his psychic paper for us to see "—yes, we have!"

—

Stepping out of the Tardis, I see the Doctor pacing outside. He still carries himself with a certain heaviness ever since Jenny.

I clear my throat. He turns and lets his mouth fall open. Giving him a twirl, I pose with my hands on my hips and revel in the way his eyes rake over my outfit — from black kitten heels to a black dress patterned with fake diamonds and fringed around my knees, and to the black feather headband detailed with more sparkles.

It takes him a moment to overcome his speechlessness. "'And that's the beginning and the end of everything'."

"Pardon?"

"You look lovely," he tries again, taking my hand and kissing it. His lips linger for a moment longer than they should over the golden ring. "Very lovely."

We stand around but the door doesn't open again. I laugh nervously. "I swear, she was just finishing her hair when I left."

He knocks impatiently. "We'll be late for cocktails!"

The door promptly opens and out Donna steps, wearing a black and gold dress, elaborately patterned with swirls and zigzags. "What d'you think? Flapper or slapper?"

"Flapper. You look lovely."

And so the three of us walk onto the lawn, the Doctor's arms linked with mine and Donna's, all looking the part. Soft jazz plays from a gramophone sheltered beneath a gazebo. Platters of fruit cover the table under it, although a few smaller ones are dotted around the lawn for guests to sit and chat amongst themselves.