Unfinished Business, Doctor Who, Dr. Who, Chris Eccleston, Christopher Eccleston, Doctor who Fiction

The outstanding success of the Petrichor range of perfumes and cosmetics meant that Amy got invited to places a girl from Ledworth didn’t usually get to go to - places which even The Doctor didn’t take her. Well, he DID bring her to Rome once, but it was in the reign of Julius Caesar. She preferred the modern city without gladiators slicing each other up in the name of entertainment.

She had enjoyed a certain celebrity status for the past week at the official launch of the new range of Petrichor facial products. Inbetween glamorous parties and official functions, she and Rory had thoroughly enjoyed days seeing the sights of the city.

“There is only one problem with twenty-first century Rome,” Amy commented as they sat down on a stone ledge beside the Trevi Fountain, enjoying the cool sound of the water falling over the fantastic sculpture.

“There’s only one problem with Rome,” a young woman with an English accent said almost at the same time. She was sitting on the same stone ledge with a man who had his arm around her shoulders affectionately.

“Too many statues,” they both said at the same time. Amy turned and looked at the other woman. She turned to look at Amy.

“At least these ones aren’t Angels,” the woman added.

“Yes, thank goodness,” Amy responded.

“The trouble I’ve had with Angels,” both of them said at once.

“Wait a minute,” Rory said. “Are you... do you....?”

“Have you two met him, too?” The man asked. “The Doctor!”

“Yes!” Rory and Amy spoke at once. “You two... you know him?”

“We only met him the once,” the woman answered. “But he had a big impact on our lives. I’m Sally Nightingale. I used to be Sally Sparrow, but I married this one, here, Larry. And yes, I know, Sparrow, Nightingale.”

“I used to be Amy Pond before I married this one, so I know about daft surname jokes,” Amy responded. “But do you mean that you had trouble with the Weeping Angels, too?”

“Oh, boy, did we have trouble with the Angels!” Larry answered.

It was Rory’s idea to find a bar and talk about it all over a bit of lunch. They found a nice little cafe-bar around the corner in the narrow, cobbled, Largo Pietro di Brazzà where they sat under a canopy surrounded by greenery. The two couples drank wine and ate genuinely Italian pasta as they swapped stories about The Doctor and the trouble it was possible to get into from even a casual contact with him.

“You would not believe some of the trouble WE had,” Rory said after Sally and Larry had told the story of their incredible adventure with Weeping Angels and a mysterious man called The Doctor. “I’ve died more times than I care to remember. And then I was a robot for two thousand years. And….”

Larry was looking bemused. Rory’s adventures beat his hands down if even half of it was true.

“Well, never mind about that,” he added, deciding not to go into any more detail about his adventures as the last Roman Centurion. “It’s really amazing to meet somebody else who has known The Doctor. We have got to swap phone numbers or email addresses or something. We should start a club and have a reunion dinner every year or something.”

“Friends of The Doctor!” Sally laughed. “There MUST be other people whose lives he’s touched. We ought to put something on the internet or an ad in the Times.”

“I think that’s a brilliant idea,” Amy agreed. They all laughed, but at the same time the thought of meeting other people who shared that amazing, unique experience was exciting and they made firm plans to put the idea into practice somehow when they got back to England.

Meanwhile, they discovered that they all had a free afternoon to themselves and decided they might as well spend it together.

“Let’s head back to the Trevi Fountain,” Larry suggested. “Then take it from there.”

That was a good plan. They paid the bill and tipped the waiter before leaving the shade of the canopy.

“That’s odd,” Sally commented as they reached the corner where Largo Pietro Di Brazzà joined the Via Dei Lucchesi, Via della Dataria and the Via di San Vincenzo. She pointed to a plaque on the wall with elaborate mouldings of cherubs and drapery around it. All of the cherubs were pointing towards the Via di San Vincenzo. “I didn’t notice that before. Why are they all pointing, do you think?”

“They’re telling us where to go,” Larry answered. “So we don’t get lost in all these nearly identical narrow streets.”

They all laughed and went the direction the cherubs were pointing since that led back to the Trevi Fountain.

The Via di San Vincenzo was narrow, as Larry had noted, and they had walked in the shade of its walls, but when they came out into the Piazza di Trevi they were plunged into bright afternoon sunshine. They blinked as their reactive sunglasses slowly adjusted to the light.

Then they blinked in surprise as they looked at the fountain.

All of the figures on it, Oceanus on his shell chariot, his tritons taming the hippocamps and Abundance and Salubrity in their niches either side of him were all pointing in the same direction.

So were two angels who flanked a huge plaster flower on the corner of Via del Lavatore and Via del Stamperia. They looked like the kind of angels they had all encountered before, making them seem even more sinister than the figures on the fountain in their strange new poses.

“I think we’re the only people who’ve noticed,” Rory pointed out. “Look, all of the tourists around the Trevi Fountain are just carrying on as normal. There should be panic and questions being asked. They should be going mad uploading pictures of the statues to the internet. They’re just taking normal photographs.”

“I’m happy to panic on their behalf,” Larry said. “What’s going on?”

“WHY is it only us who can see it?” Sally asked.

“We’ve all been in the TARDIS,” Amy reminded them. “It has long term effects on anyone who has ever stepped aboard even for a short time. Perhaps seeing statues do strange things is one of them.”

“What should we do?” Larry asked.

“Follow the statues,” Amy replied immediately. “They’re trying to tell us something. They want us to go that way.”

“Into a trap?” Larry and Rory both said it at the same time.

“Maybe,” Sally answered. “Or maybe not. Maybe they’re trying to help in some way.”

“Help who?”

“I don’t know. Maybe us? But I think we should do what they want. If it IS a trap, there are four of us. We can fight our way out. But I think we should try to find out what it’s all about. I mean… yes, it’s a bit creepy, it’s a bit scary. But could any of us just ignore it, can we really walk away?”

Sally was right. They couldn’t.

“The Doctor wouldn’t even discuss it,” Rory said. “He’d already by striding away on those daft long legs of his and we’d be running to catch up.”

That settled it. They turned in the direction the statues were leading them, along Via della Stamperia past the Palazzo della Stamperia – the official Printing House where all Italian government documents and postage stamps were administered. The grilled windows of that important building flanked them on the left for much of the way.

“Now where?” Rory asked as the Via della Stamperia came to a t-junction with the much wider and busier Via del Tritone. “This can’t be it, can it? The statues weren’t all directing us to a Burger King, surely?”

“Look for more statues,” Amy suggested. “There must be some. We were seeing statues all over the place all morning.”

They crossed by a faded zebra crossing to the far side of the five lane road and looked around and up at the tall buildings.

“There, look.” Sally pointed to two heroic figures either side of a flagpole bearing the green, white and red Italic flag. Below was the entrance to the Banca Popolare di Milano, but that wasn’t important. What mattered was that the figures were directing them in a north-easterly direction along via del Tritone.

“Look, they’re selling my perfume range in that shop,” Amy told her friends with pride and excitement as they passed a small cosmetics and fashion shop with a display advertising ‘Petrichor’ in the window.

“Larry got me the bathroom set for my birthday,” Sally told her. “I love it. The bath salts are so relaxing. And when I use the moisturisers my skin feels renewed. As for the perfume itself, I close my eyes and dream of sunshine after a summer rain shower. You know how fresh the world feels when there’s been rain and then the sun comes out. That’s how I feel when I’m wearing Petrichor.”

Amy smiled happily. It was nice to hear the things people said about her products. It was even nicer to hear a friend tell her such things.

Via del Tritone widened into a crossroads with two other roads. They stopped and looked around for clues, but there were no statues around there at all.

“Maybe it was just a wild goose chase,” Larry reluctantly suggested as they stood outside the Banca Popolare di Novara and looked in vain for another pointing figure.

“It can’t be,” Rory argued. “We all saw something incredible happening with the statues. ALL of us. We didn’t just imagine it. And I can’t believe that it just all fizzles out here.”

“Me neither,” Amy agreed.

“Wait a minute,” Sally told them all. “Stay here. No point in us all going, in case I’m wrong.”

She looked both ways and then crossed the road to a large building on the opposite corner. The words ‘Il Messaggero’ curved around the balustrade at the top of the façade. It was the headquarters of one of Italy’s popular daily newspapers.

On the ground floor there were front pages and enlarged photographs of celebrities and political figures in all of the windows. Sally looked at them carefully and then waved to her friends and gave a thumbs up sign. She crossed over the road again and told them that the Pope, the President of Italy and a popular Roman rock group were all pointing them towards the Via dei Due Macelli.

“So it’s not just statues that are guiding us,” Amy concluded as they set off down the long street of assorted shops and cafes, wondering where this next leg of their strange trek was going to take them.

“Apparently not,” Rory commented. “Just as well. We seem to be short of them in some of these streets. Pretty tall buildings, very fine masonry, but no statues for quite some time.”

“Has anyone had any more thoughts about what all this is about?” Larry asked.

They all shook their heads and made negative sounds.

“Well… I had one thought,” Larry added. “Maybe it’s HIM.”

Most people in Catholic Italy who capitalised the word ‘HIM’ even when talking were almost certainly talking about God. Everyone in this small group of British visitors to Rome knew that wasn’t who Larry meant.

“Why would he do something like that?” Rory asked. “Why wouldn’t he just contact us? Usually he just turns up at our door with Pizza or ice cream, or just a silly grin on his face. He doesn’t bother with cryptic puzzles.”

“He did with us,” Sally noted. “First it was messages with my name written under old wallpaper, then a one sided conversation on DVD Easter Eggs. It was all cryptic with him. Really? Pizza and ice cream? I wish we’d got to know him that well. I mean, it was great to know that we’d helped him, but he was still just a mysterious stranger to us even at the end.”

“There’s plenty of mystery and strangeness about The Doctor even after pizza and ice cream,” Amy assured her. “But maybe you’ll get another chance to get to know him. Maybe we can ALL get together with him again.”

“That would be nice,” Sally agreed.

“I always thought she was mad to be so obsessed with The Doctor,” Larry added. “But if she is, so am I! He’s just… I don’t know, totally magnetic or something. He draws people in. That’s why I really do think this might be him. The way we were so COMPELLED to follow the statues, the way, even though my feet are killing me now, I couldn’t even think of giving up.”

“Yep, that’s The Doctor Effect, all right,” Rory agreed. “I think you’re right. He’s up to something.”

“It’d better involve taking us to a place where they serve colourful drinks with fruit and little paper umbrellas when we’re done,” Amy said.

“Straight on,” Sally told them all as they came to a crossroads in their journey again. She pointed to a fashion house with mannequins in the windows. All of them were pointing in the one direction.

They kept on going along Via dei Due Macelli. Larry opened his Italian phrasebook and told them that Due Macelli meant either two slaughterhouses, two abattoirs or two butchers. Or possibly two bakeries. They decided that translating the names of Roman streets wasn’t always illuminating.

Whatever its origin, the road opened out finally into a beautiful and sun-drenched Piazza where the lack of statues in the last legs of their trek was well and truly made up for in the Columna de la Inmaculada. The Virgin Mary on top of the elaborately decorated column was pointing, and so were the prophets who sat around the base with their stone beards and biblical robes masterfully carved.

“Well, that’s pretty conclusive,” they all agreed. “We’re on the right track, still.”

They followed the directions given by those illustrious statues along as paved and pedestrianised way to the Plaza di Spagna. There were no obvious statues there, but Amy looked longingly at the Barcaccia, a fountain with a stone carving of a sinking boat in the middle of it. She noted that many of the tourists were sitting around the edge with bare feet in the cool water and that was enough for her. She pulled off her shoes and found a piece of fountain to dip her aching feet into. Sally hesitated only for a moment before joining her.

“We’re not moving from here until we get ice creams,” Amy told the two men. “Even The Doctor wouldn’t begrudge us that much.”

Larry and Rory thought that was a fair point. Fortunately for their own tired feet the tourist crowds at the foot of the famous Spanish Steps or Scalinata della Trinità dei Monti as the Romans knew it drew ice cream vendors and hot dog carts in their plenty. The four of them ate large multi-flavoured cones and bathed their feet until they were ready to consider the next part of their journey.

“Are we meant to go up the Steps, do you think?” Rory suggested. “There’s a church up there. It’s bound to have statues.”

“No,” Amy answered him. She looked back towards the Columna. The Virgin was pointing very directly towards the other end of Plaza di Spagna where Via del Babuino continued in a more or less straight line running almost due north.

“That’s our path, I’m sure of it,” she said. “The Way of The Baboon.”

“Seriously, I don’t think we ought to translate any more street names,” Larry said.

Via del Babuino was a very narrow, cobbled street in which cars parked on either side leaving just about room for one single line of traffic and some very narrow pavements full of pedestrians.

It was a fashionable street, though, with a large shop selling Chanel products and numerous designer clothing outlets. These proved useful since the mannequins pointed the way in a stylish way.

“You know, Autons are known to pose as shop window dummies,” Rory pointed out. But nobody was worried. They were all by now pretty much certain this was connected to The Doctor, and they were equally certain he wouldn’t deliberately endanger them.

On the other hand he was very good at getting them into trouble accidentally.

“Is anyone making any sort of note of where we’ve been?” Sally asked. “We’re not going round in circles or anything, are we?”

Larry made a ‘Doh’ noise and thumped his forehead before pulling a pocket map of Rome from his pocket. He refolded it carefully and marked their route from the restaurant in Largo Pietro Di Brazzà. They had been moving more or less in the north-north-westerly direction all the time.

“If we keep on walking in that direction, where will we end up, apart from a shop selling corn plasters?” Amy asked.

“We’ll reach the river in a little while,” Larry answered. “After that… it looks like suburbs. Who knows?”

“Whatever we find, we carry on,” Sally insisted. “We don’t even THINK about giving up. Apart from anything else, it really WOULD be a waste of time and shoe leather if we didn’t find out what it’s all about. But the more I think about it, the more I really KNOW this is something to do with The Doctor. He’s doing what he did the last time, sending messages – because he needs help.”

“Are we all absolutely definitely agreed about that?” Rory asked. “That it’s The Doctor?”

“Yes,” Amy answered. “Yes, I think Sally is right. It’s him. Don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“So do I,” Larry confirmed. “Well, actually… maybe I’m not so totally sure. But you lot all are, and that’s good enough for me.”

“So let’s stop yapping and get on with it, then,” Rory said. “The Doctor needs us.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, we ARE getting on with it,” Larry responded. “There’s another of those plazas or piazzas or however you call them up ahead. It should have statues. They’re our best source of clues.”

Indeed, the Piazza del Popolo – which meant nothing more exotic than People’s Square, was full of statuary that all pointed them along their way. As they entered the square from the south, the saints on the pediment at the top of the church of Santa Maria dei Miracoli Piazza Del Popolo were all pointing north across the wide, oval shaped public space. The statues of ladies in flowing dresses at the entrances, representing the four seasons pointed. The sphinxes atop the walls separating the pedestrianised plaza from the traffic looked to the north. The lions spouting water into fountains around the central Egyptian obelisks from their mouths couldn’t risk turning their heads but they reached out a leg in the right direction. Neptune by Giovanni Ceccarini and his pair of tritons pointed, and the two dolphins that the tritons were holding turned their heads. Opposite them the female personification of Rome, Dea Roma, dressed to kill with helmet and lance, and flanked by the spirits of the Rivers Tiber and Aniene, as well as the smaller statue of a she wolf feeding Romulus and Remus all showed the way.

Even the temporary sculpture of the Statue of Liberty in what looked like shocking blue plastic and the Living Statue painted in gold-bronze pointed northwards.

“We go North,” the group of friends agreed. They passed through a triumphal arch – the Porto del Popolo onto the Viale del Muro Torto where the cars, buses and vans that had negotiated the single lane around the Piazza now had the freedom of a dual carriageway.

“Do we cross this, or what?” Larry asked, feeling a little bit agoraphobic standing by such a wide road after so many narrow streets with tall buildings either side. “Did it just mean we keep going north or….”

“Pope Pius IV, Pope Alexander VII and Saint Peter all think we turn right along the Avenue of the Bent Wall,” Rory replied. “Or possibly the Wrong Wall if you’re especially creative with your translation. Anyway, a saint and two infallible representatives of God on Earth can’t be wrong, can they?”

“I shouldn’t think so,” Amy agreed. “Besides, look at that place up ahead. It looks like a destination to me. What is it?”

“That is the entrance to La Villa Borghese,” Larry answered consulting his map.

“Borgias?” Rory queried. “Weren’t they trouble of some sort?”

“Borghese,” Sally corrected him. She had consulted a pocket guide book. “The villa was built by a Cardinal Scipione Borghese in the seventeenth century. He was a powerful figure in the Vatican and a patron of the arts. Bit of a sharp businessman as well, apparently, and possibly swung both ways in his love affairs. Anyway, the villa is an art gallery now and the gardens are open to the public, and I think we’re on the right track.”

“I think we’re close to the end,” Amy said. “I just feel it. Look how MANY of the statues were guiding us in the Piazza. The power is strongest here.”

There was no reason to believe it. Even Amy couldn’t have identified anything that made her certain of what she had said, but it felt absolutely right. The idea that they were near the end of their trek buoyed them all as they crossed the Avenue and left the dual carriageway for the wide pedestrianised entrance to the park between two huge colonnaded edifices that were impressive in their own right. Almost immediately it felt quieter than it had all afternoon. They were leaving the busy city for a place of peace, tranquillity, art and sculpture.

Lots of sculpture. There were classical figures along the pathway and lurking in the greenery and in colonnaded follies in the style of ancient Roman temples. If they hadn’t decided that they were being led by a friend not a foe, they might have started to worry about the baneful influence of the Lonely Assassins, aka the Weeping Angels. But every stone figure of a Roman god or a personification of some aspect of nature that pointed their way seemed to be doing so in a friendly way. So was a bronze statue of a famous one-legged cyclist and First World War hero called Enrico Toti. Further into the park, among the tree-lined paths the statue of Nikolai Gogol looked almost cheerful, despite the fact that it was holding a disembodied head for reasons neither Sally’s guidebook nor any of the information panels in the park could explain.

“You know, we could be wrong about that,” Rory pointed out a full five minutes after they had unanimously decided that the statues WERE on their side. “There is nothing that says they’re friendly except us. We’ve convinced ourselves that it’s ok. It COULD still be a trap.”

“It’s not, I’m sure,” Amy told him. Sally agreed. Larry took her side. Rory conceded that he was being overly cautious simply because he was outvoted.

“Don’t make me have to say ‘told you so’ in my dying breath,” he said. “Anyone have any idea where exactly we’re going?”

They got their bearings from a classically dramatic statue of Goethe on a high plinth while Larry compared his pocket map where he had been marking their journey with an information panel by the path they were following. He said that there was a big lake not far up ahead.

“Victor Hugo confirms it,” he added a little later as they passed another statue to a literary great. “We’re heading to the lake.”

“Oh, goody, we’re going to go for a swim,” Rory commented as they pressed on past a water feature called ‘Fountain of Life’ with verdigree-discoloured statues of a mother, father and baby all pointing the way.

“Il Giardino del Lago con Tempio di Esculapio - The Garden of the Lake With Temple of Aesculapius,” Sally said, consulting the information panel. “Inspired by the lake at Stourhead in Wiltshire. That makes a change. Everyone thinks Italy is the height of every sort of fashion, but they got an idea from us.”

“Maybe that’s the reason,” Amy suggested. “It’s a little bit of Britishness in the middle of Rome….”

“Actually, technically the outskirts of Rome,” Rory pointed out. “When we came through the Porto del Popolo we left the original city limits.”

Amy gave him a ‘don’t start’ glare before going on with what she was trying to say.

“Well, it makes sense that the four of us were led here, that’s what I mean. And if it IS The Doctor…. Well, I know he’s an alien. We all know that. He doesn’t come from any part of Earth. But I always thought of him as a sort of BRITISH alien. If he was in trouble in Italy wouldn’t it make sense for him to look for something BRITISH as a kind of… I don’t know… something familiar to hold on to.”

“They only copied the lake, they didn’t transport it to Italy with an authentic ‘made in Britain’ sticker on it,” Rory added, earning himself another glare from his wife. “But… ok… yeah, I think I get what you’re saying. Let’s have a look at this lake, shall we?”

They followed a path and emerged by the lakeside. It was wide, with overhanging trees shading the banks except where another of those neo-classical ‘temples’ glinted in the sunshine.

“The Temple of Aesculapius.” Sally looked for and found another information panel.

!“Oh….!” Rory exclaimed. “Oh! Now I KNOW this is the right place. I didn’t make the connection at first. Well, I went to an ordinary comprehensive school, after all. We didn’t do much classical stuff. But I’m a nurse, after all. Nearly all of my text books had it somewhere on the cover or the flyleaf. The Rod of Aesculapius!”

“Dirty old man,” Larry joked.

“No, I mean… Aesculapius… he was the Greek God of medicine and healing, that’s why. He’s… like their patron saint of physicians… of… of….”

“DOCTORS!” the others all cried out together. “Rory, you’re right. You’ve got it. This IS the place.”

Rory basked in the reflected glory of working out the last clue for a few moments then told them all to hush. They listened carefully, and beneath the breeze in the trees and the lapping water, the sound of birds in the woods, was a sound they all recognised, very faint, and somehow not quite right, as if it was distorted, struggling to get through.


“Quiet!” Amy ordered them all. “Wait. It’s out of phase. It can’t materialise.”

But it was getting louder and stronger every moment. Now it was drowning out the ordinary sounds of nature in the Borghese Gardens. The sound still seemed to be coming from a long way off, though, and they couldn’t see the familiar blue box at all.

“THERE it is!” Larry called out and pointed. The view of the Temple dedicated to the Greek god of medicine was distorted by a mere hint of something else, the shadows and highlights of a rectangular box with a light on top that was gaining a little more substance every moment. Soon it almost entirely obscured the view.

Finally it was solid, it was real. It was hovering a few inches above the water. The light flashed as the noise of materialisation finally stopped.

The door opened. The Doctor looked out, grinning manically.

“Hello, Ponds,” he called out. “Hello, Sparrow and Nightingale, lovely to see you, too.”

Amy and Rory waved back enthusiastically. Larry and Sally were puzzled.

“That’s not The Doctor,” they said. “He didn’t look like that.”

“Hang on,” The Doctor called out. He let the door open as he stepped back into the console room. The TARDIS moved slowly towards the lakeside before he came back to the door and reached out his hand to his friends. Amy jumped aboard right away. So did Rory. It took a moment or two more to persuade Larry and Sally.

“You met them before you regenerated,” Amy said to him. “Before I met you in my garden. You’d better explain it to them.”

“Over dinner somewhere posh back in the city,” Rory suggested. “On you. And while we’re at it you can explain what this was all about.”

The Doctor took his suggestion to heart. He brought his friends to a very nice restaurant with a balcony overlooking the Piazza Navone and the magnificent Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi or "Fountain of the Four Rivers". At the foot of yet another Egyptian obelisk the personifications of the Nile, Ganges, Danube and Plate, representing the four continents where the Vatican had power in the seventeenth century, stayed the way Bernini sculpted them and didn’t point at anything.

The Doctor quickly explained the process of bodily regeneration to Larry and Sally who accepted that he really WAS The Doctor. Then he went on to explain why he had needed them to go on such a peculiar quest.

“The TARDIS was in trouble,” he said. “It was out of phase with its spatial co-ordinates – imagine it as a lift stuck between floors – except it’s nothing like that, at all. Anyway, it was able to recognise you four as people who had been in the TARDIS in the past. You were only a few miles away. I knew if I could get you to the lake it would be able to fix on you and materialise fully.”

“You couldn’t materialise, but you could manipulate statues, mannequins, pictures in newspapers… all the things we found on the way?” Rory was a little sceptical. “I mean… that sounds a lot harder.”

“I didn’t really do that,” The Doctor answered. “Or the TARDIS didn’t. It was a sort of optical illusion centred on you four. That’s why nobody else saw what was going on. Well, I wouldn’t want to scare anyone else.”

“Scaring us is ok, though?” Amy challenged him. “I mean, you know, SOME of the statues were ANGELS. We thought…. Oh, never mind. It was fun, even if I have blisters on the blisters on my feet and we’re all absolutely worn out, and if I see another statue in my life it’ll be too soon…. It’s….”

“It’s great to see you, Doctor,” Sally told him on Amy’s behalf. “It really is.”

“It’s great to see you, all,” he answered, his grin getting so wide his head might have fallen off at any moment. “My friends the Ponds, and my old friends the Sparrow-Nightingales. Brilliant.”

There were a lot more questions they would all have liked to ask, but it was obvious he wasn’t going to answer them. They decided to roll with it and just enjoy the dinner The Doctor was paying for

Amy glanced around the verya nice restaurant noted that there were a couple of classical statues, or cheap plaster models of them, anyway, holding planters from which greenery overflowed, part of the ambience of the place.

“Just don’t you move a muscle, any of you,” she whispered. “At least not until we’ve left the restaurant.”