Doctor Owen Harper was a rational man, or so he believed. He had climbed his way out of poverty by sheer brains and willpower, always focused on his goals, planning each step. He hadn't had much time for idle imaginings. When he had discovered his healing Talent he had directed his steps towards a medical career. It was his good luck that he fallen in love with it along the way, but he wouldn't have cared anyway. Success was important to him; the field was secondary.

          Included in the Healer's curriculum was learning to treat folk who believed they were haunted. He had learned all the signs of the real thing and he couldn’t spot anything. But even as his rational self ran through the list of atmospheric conditions and environmental symptoms he had memorized in medical school – unusual drops in temperature, unexplainable noises, moving or levitating objects, lights turning on and off, being touched when nobody is nearby -- another part of him was shivering.

          There was something wrong with the hangar.

          It was a long, low building with a curved roof. The walls were thick and there were few windows. The effect was to create a tunnel that made the smallest noise resonate. He could hear Gwen's muttered complaints about dirt and bacteria as she searched the small office all the way at the other end. Jack was nosing about the perimeter, but as usual, he made no noise at all.

          Owen himself was in a section that seemed to have been a sort of waiting room or lounge. There were some oak Windsor chairs arranged around a small table. A leather sofa with side tables was set against a partition wall which was mostly kindling now. Against another wall, this one in pretty decent condition, a long, narrow sideboard held a HMV record player, a stack of records, and some bottles and glasses. He wondered how it had looked when it had been a luxury for the moneyed class of the nineteen-fifties.

          Suddenly he heard something.... music? He tilted his head towards the sound. Doris Day. His mother had played her albums over and over again. He remembered this one....Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered, that was it. He remembered especially because he had heard the long version of the lyrics from an Ella Fitzgerald recording much later. His eyes drifted closed as he moved towards the sideboard. His hands unerringly found the stack of records. He pulled one out from the middle of the pile and put it on the ruined turntable.

          “Owen!” Jack's voice rattled him awake. “What are you...”

          But it was too late. The room around them blurred and refashioned itself into the lounge Owen had been trying to visualize. The people he had seen in the monitors just that morning were seated around the room. John Ellis perched stiffly on the edge of one of the chairs, holding a drink in his left hand and glowering at everyone impartially. Emma-Louise Cowell sat at one end of the sofa, tapping her foot lightly to the music. She wore a narrow-skirted suit that even to his inexpert eye looked incredibly expensive, with a little nothing hat and matching shoes and purse. Diane Holmes sprawled at the other end, utterly relaxed and confident in her flight suit, her dark hair and red lips explosive when compared to the pastel prettiness of Emma-Louise.

          Hello,” she said. “You must be the other passengers.”

          Jack nodded. “We must be.” He said, taking Gwen's arm as she nearly tripped. “Are we late?”

          “Not really,” Diane said, cutting off whatever John Ellis had been about to say. “We have one more person coming and then we'll be off. Next stop, Paris.”

          “I can't see why we cannot take off immediately,” John Ellis said. “Our tickets specify a time of departure. It is sheer disregard for the needs of your customers to make us wait for someone who can't be bothered to arrive promptly.”

          “Please, John.” Emma-Louise's voice was soft. “Just a few more minutes. If he's not here by three o'clock we'll go.”

          “All right, my dear. As you wish.”

          Jack motioned Owen and Gwen towards the sideboard. He poured a splash of Scotch in three glasses and handed them around. “They don't know they're dead, do they?” he whispered to Gwen.

          “No. But there's something else here, Jack.” She made a small circular gesture with her forefinger. “This is a construct. Whoever or whatever is doing this is recreating the place and time. The three of them are going through the motions because they think it’s that time and place. It’s as if… someone is trying to get something to happen.”

          “Could it be one of them?”

          “Oh, yes.” Gwen shivered and tossed back her Scotch. “Though it would take a very strong mind to maintain this much reality in place.”

          “All right.” Jack set down his glass. “We need to talk to this people, get some information. I’ll take Ellis. The uniform does wonders sometimes with that sort. Gwen, you get Emma-Louise. Owen, don’t look so pleased with yourself.”

          Owen tried to wipe the smirk from his face, but barely succeeded. He set down his glass and walked over to Diane.

          “You’re the pilot?”

          “If you’re here to demand a male pilot, I’ll just tell you that Mr. Ellis already tried. There are no other pilots at the moment. I am fully trained and qualified and spent the last ten years ferrying government types all over the British Isles.”

          He held out his hands in a “surrender” gesture. “Not me. If you’re qualified, you’re qualified. My best friend is a technologist. She would kick me into next week if I tried to claim she was unqualified by reason of being female.”

          Her answering smile dazzled him. “Now that’s refreshing. I’m Diane Holmes, by the way.”

          “Doctor Owen Harper.”

          “What takes you to Paris, doctor Harper?”

          “Owen, please. Vacation,” he improvised. “Haven’t had one since I started my residency. Not a real one, anyway.”

          She smiled. “Do you dance, doctor Harper?”

          “Yes, I do, Miss Holmes.”

          She held out her hand. He took it and pulled her up. They swayed gracefully to Doris Day, moving slowly in a tight circle. Owen sent a quick mental thanks to the lovely dance instructor that had taken the time to sort his left foot from his right, over his loud objections. Smiling, he signaled a turn and found Diane followed him perfectly. He got a little more inventive, spinning her out and then back, and again she followed perfectly.

          “You’ve had lessons,” she whispered in his ear. “I like that. Most men just fumble through it.”

          He felt the blush rise above his collar. So did Diane, and she laughed in full-throated amusement. “You have a dirty mind, doctor Harper. I like that too.”

          Seated on the couch next to Emma-Louise, Gwen watched Owen and Diane dance. She hadn’t realized Owen could dance like that, almost like a professional, he was that good. She wondered if she should drop a little hint in Toshiko’s ear; she had seen the way Tosh looked at Owen sometimes. She sighed. No, maybe not. People should find their way to each other by themselves. But that did not mean she couldn’t have old-fashioned dance music at her next party…

           “Doesn’t it bother you?”

          She looked at Emma-Louise. “What?”

          Emma-Louise tilted her head in the direction of the dancing couple. “He’s your boyfriend, isn’t he?”

          “Lady, no! He’s a friend.”

          “But you’re travelling with him?”

          “No, actually, I’m travelling with him.” She pointed at Jack. “My boss. Captain Jack Harkness.”

          Emma-Louise’s eyes got very big. “That’s Jack Harkness?”

          “You’ve heard of him?”

          Everyone in Cardiff has! Big war hero, everyone expected him to stay in Whitehall, but he chose to come home to Cardiff and take over Torchwood.” She mock-pouted. “Turns down all social invitations. The lionesses are going mad.”

          “The lionesses?”

          “The ladies who matter. The ones who control the social spin in Cardiff.” She giggled. “Captain Harkness is their favorite target but he has proven elusive. And what do you do for him?”

          Was there a little malice in the question, or just cattiness? Gwen decided to push the envelope a little. “I’m his medium.”

          Emma-Louise’s face didn’t change. “My dear. Such an onerous job. Oh, God, listen to me, I’m sounding like my aunt, all proper and lady like, when what I really want to know is all the gory details…. I’m sorry, that sounded terrible, didn’t it?”

          Gwen laughed. “A bit, yes, but it’s a normal human reaction, so no worries. Actually, I hate talking about my job. But you… why are you heading to Paris?”

          “John insists I need to be present at the final negotiations for this business deal he’s working on. John Ellis, him,” she gestured towards the table, “my father’s former business partner and my trustee until I turn twenty-five. Three more years.”

          “And then you cut the apron strings?”

          “Oh, I don’t know. He’s a good man, Uncle John. But he’s old-fashioned, and then there’s my fiancé, Alan, he may want a bit of a say, don’t you think?”

          Jack had been watching John Ellis watch Owen and Diane dance. As the song was ending, Owen dipped Diane over one arm; they were looking into each other's eyes and laughing. Ellis pushed back his chair and made to stand up. Jack put a hand on his arm.

          “Don't.”

          Ellis sat back down. “Do you know what she did?”

          "I know what they say. But it wasn't her fault. She was entitled to choose.”

          “Peter McCreigh was a good man. He would have taken care of her, provided for her. What else did she need?”

          “I don't know. And neither do you. And from what you tell me, neither did Peter McCreigh.”

          “You're right. These days, these women... everything seems turned around.” John sighed. “Well, at least I'm off the hook in three more years. Emma-Louise gets her inheritance. I've been teaching her the business and she's bright enough to manage.”

          “What are you going to do?”

          “Retire to Barbados and sip drinks with little umbrellas in them all day. My wife says she'll wear a sarong and lay on the beach.” He grinned. “My son is coming along well. He'll manage the dosh and I'll spend it.”

          “Sounds like a good plan.”

          The song stopped. Owen and Diane stayed with their arms around each other for a moment, but the spell was broken by the door opening with a bang. “I'm sorry I'm late, everyone.”