Misspent Youth

10. IN HOUSE PARTY

THE AVTXT WAS CLEVER, with green devil icons performing a mildly obscene cheerleader act, spelling out the words to the invitation. Annabelle had laughed when she received it, sending back a swarm of saucy angels to chant an RSVP. It wasn’t quite what she would have chosen to go to, a cocktail party to welcome Jeff Baker home. But Tim had been sure to invite several of their friends, so she wouldn’t feel left out. As usual, she thought. Tim was always very careful in his approach, always making sure that everything they went to was a just-good-friends outing. So careful, in fact, she wouldn’t even say they qualified as a couple yet. A small part of her was quite irked by that. How obvious did she have to be?

She had to admit, though, the party wasn’t as awful as she had expected. It was ninety percent adults, and most of them over fifty. But the manor’s large reception rooms were wonderfully elegant, and Sue Baker had hired a very upmarket catering team for the event. Waiters and waitresses circled with glasses of champagne on silver trays, and mounds of delectable canapés. The men were mostly in suits, while the women wore expensive dresses. Shame so many of them lacked any sort of elementary fashion sense, Annabelle thought.

She’d given a lot of consideration to what she ought to be wearing herself. In an ideal world she’d be wearing something from Stephanie Romane’s designer line, but she didn’t have that kind of money. Instead she’d spent an age trawling through sites that offered reproductions of varying quality, finally settling for a simple orange summer dress with quite a short skirt that was indistinguishable from the real thing. It earned her a lot of looks from the men, of all ages.

Annabelle had arrived quite early on in the evening, calmly tolerating Tim’s puppyish enthusiasm. His eyes kept switching between her legs and her chest, with a rest between so he could blush, hoping she didn’t notice. At least that aspect of their relationship was predictable. Boys always acted as if they’d had a lobotomy around her. He’d introduced her to his aunt Alison, who clearly didn’t give a damn about appearance judging by the dress she wore, and was actually a lot of fun. Annabelle chatted with her for a while before the other girls arrived. After that Tim got dragged away by his mother, so she stayed with Rachel, Lorraine, and Danielle; the three of them clustered in a corner, warding off wishful glances from the older men.

“Colin’s asked me to the ball,” Danielle gushed. She couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “God, I’m just so much relieved somebody has. Finally! I was worried I’d have to go with Philip.”

“I thought Colin was going with Vanessa,” Rachel said.

“No. Me!”

“Does Vanessa know?” Lorraine murmured.

Annabelle took a sip of her Bacardi and lime to cover the fact she couldn’t summon up any zeal for Danielle’s success. Tim still hadn’t asked her. There was such a thing as playing it too cool, as he was about to find out if he didn’t ask pretty damn soon. She listened to Danielle bubbling on about what she was going to wear.

“I’ve heard Martin and Sophie are going together,” Lorraine said.

“Heavens, you have got to be joking,” Rachel said.

The girls all giggled. Annabelle managed a weak smile; Sophie was a good friend; she didn’t feel quite right joining in with the innuendo.

“By the way, hope you don’t mind,” Rachel said slyly. “But Simon’s asked me to go.”

“Why should I mind?” Annabelle asked. “We finished weeks ago.” That vibrant party had been so different from this one. At the end of the night she and Simon had wound up in an upstairs bedroom with Derek and Louise. They turned the lights down low, and Derek handed around an intube. He’d been passing the stuff around liberally all evening, which is why they’d all had such a wild raucous ride through the party. When it was her turn Annabelle took a dose just as hefty as the others. Then Derek suggested a game of strip Chinese sticks.

It was a deliciously wicked way to end the evening. Every time she tried to remove another stick, it would send the rest clattering down. When that happened, both brothers watched with silent lecherous grins as she removed another piece of clothing. She was the one they admired and desired, the center of attention. It made her indecently hot. And the sticks kept on tumbling down.

Simon never complained. The game swept him on as fiercely as it did her. It was afterward when it all fell apart between them. Now she tried to think of something to say that would imply strength of character in finishing with him. “If you want him, have him.” A line she was sure she’d heard on a pre10 movie.

“Oh, I will.”

“Always keep them dangling,” Danielle warned.

“I’ll do more than that to him.”

“What are you going to wear?” Lorraine asked.

“Oh, I got my dress weeks ago,” Rachel said. “Haven’t you seen it?”

“No!”

Must be the only one, Annabelle thought sharply. There were bluesoaps that had fewer viewers than that dress.

“It’s purple satin. Classic strapless from Demoné. With so much gorgeous lace edging. That’s antique, you know. Daddy had a fit when he found out how much it was, but I had to have it. It’s just me.”

“Wow,” Lorraine breathed.

“I’ve seen it,” Danielle said brightly. “It’s lovely.”

“Thank you,” Rachel said. “What about you, Annabelle? Have you bought a dress yet?”

Annabelle finished her Bacardi in a single long swallow. The evening gowns on Stephanie’s site cost an absolute fortune, and she hadn’t found any reproductions that were any good, not in her price range. She knew she’d wind up hiring one for the night. “I haven’t decided what I’m wearing,” she told them, even though they were being evil. Rachel knew damn well she hadn’t got anyone to go with. That one and Simon were going to be well suited, she decided. “I’m going to get another drink.” She walked away, her empty glass held casually low, as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

God damn Tim for not asking her yet!

IT MUST BE A SIGN of true age to think parties were a pain to be avoided at all costs. Long before this one started, Jeff had decided there was no way he was going to spend more than an hour pasting on a false smile and saying: “Really, how interesting,” to people he didn’t like, didn’t know, and considered utterly boring. And this was a party in his honor. Age, or grumpiness? he wondered.

However, once it got started he found himself mellowing. For one thing, he could actually enjoy the champagne. Drinking too much in the early evening before he had the regeneration treatment used to mean getting up to pee all bloody night long. No damn genoprotein cure for that! And back then he was sure his taste buds had decayed, while now he found the vintage Veuve Clicquot to be perfectly crisp and light. He’d also gotten the most awful headaches, which neurofen could never cushion. Well…he’d just take his chances on the hangover front tomorrow morning.

As ever at these things that Sue organized, he didn’t know half the people enjoying his own home. Or maybe that was: didn’t remember. The two sessions in Brussels he’d undergone to check out his memory retention hadn’t been as reassuring as he had expected. About half his life seemed to have vanished. Old pictures, even videos of himself with other people that they’d shown him to try to stimulate association had done nothing. They really did belong to someone else’s life.

One thing he hadn’t lost was Tracy, his first wife. Those painful details still burned hot and bright in his memory. Trust that bloody harpy to cling to him no matter what.

But he’d remembered the one thing that was truly important to him, though: his wonderful son. Tim had sat opposite him during the whole Eurostar train trip back to Peterborough. The two of them were nervous and awkward to begin with, as if they were on a first date; but his urgency to find out what his son had been doing for the last eighteen months pushed him past that initial hesitancy. Mutual delight at being in each other’s company soon had Tim emerging from his shell. Listening to his son babble on about school grades, and friends, and events, Jeff could scarcely believe that this young adult was the same gawky lad he’d said good-bye to a year and a half earlier. It was as if he’d expected the world to go into stasis and wait for him. Sue, of course, hadn’t changed in any respect, which helped spin out that particular illusion.

The other person he’d been delighted to see was his little sister. Alison had arrived at the manor for his party, and the two of them had looked at each other for a long emotional moment. Then she parted her lips in a soft indulgent smile as they finally embraced.

“It really is you,” she whispered, sniffing hard and blinking moisture away from her eyes. “Oh God, Jeff.”

“There, there.” He patted her gently as she cried. “I’m okay, everything worked.”

“You’re just how I remember. I was at school when you were like this before. You helped me with my homework.”

“I remember.”

She leaned back to study his youthful face. “We had to write it down in exercise books and sheets of A-four. There were no computers in those days, no dot matrix printers and laser jets. Just pens and calculators.”

“I must have got my Sinclair Spectrum around then. The hours I spent using it! But I don’t suppose it was much use for your homework.”

“We always used to do it on the kitchen table.”

“And Mum would be fussing round with the ironing, getting supper ready.”

“Waiting for Dad to get home.”

“While Ruffles got in the way.”

“Damn stupid dog.” She wiped a hand across her eyes, looking annoyed when she saw the streak of tears on her skin. “I haven’t thought about Ruffles in years.”

“Decades.”

“Yes, decades. And you’ve got those decades again, haven’t you.”

He held her chin in his hand, making her look at him. “Are you jealous?”

“God, yes! But I’m glad it was you they chose. I mean that, Jeff.”

“Thanks.” He kissed her brow.

“For God’s sake,” Alison grunted in mock anger. “You look so damn good, you’re making me self-conscious. I’m going to have to start using those ridiculous cosmetic treatments. I swore I never would.”

“You look great as you are.”

“Oh please! Do you think genoproteins can get me to match up to Sue?”

“No problem.”

“Ha! I’d need two of your treatments before I stood a chance to get equal to her. How is your dear wife taking all this, by the way?”

Jeff grinned at the lack of enthusiasm. Alison had never approved of Sue, though she adored Tim. He waved a hand at the line of waiters hovering with their laden trays. “In her element.”

Alison grunted, and handed her coat to one of the eager young men. She took a flute of Veuve Clicquot and sniffed at it suspiciously. “Huh. Gnat’s piss lite. Give me a decent gin and tonic every time.”

After that Alan and James arrived, and the three of them greeted one another with childish whoops in the hallway. Alan was seventy-two, a retired aerospace engineer who lived over in Stamford. Taller than Jeff, he didn’t spend much of his pension on cosmetic genoproteins, preferring to buy treatments that kept his joints and muscles in shape. By doing so, he was still able to play golf three times a week and keep a ten handicap. It was his only real remaining interest now that his old company had quietly dropped him from even token consultancy work. In contrast, James was only sixty-eight, and still working at the finance and asset management company he’d set up nearly forty years before in the first dotcom boom. Unlike most of the companies from that era, his had survived. Not that he put in many hours a week now that he was a nonexecutive director. But his salary allowed him to buy the full range of male cosmetic genoproteins. He’d kept his apparent age in his late forties, with a thick shock of ebony hair and skin that was suspiciously tanned. Unfortunately, not even his treatments could do much about his weight; forty years of expense-account meals had bloated him into a man who waddled rather than walked.

The two of them were among Jeff’s closest friends. Out of those who were still alive, Jeff thought sourly. But it was good to see them.

“Definitely some features I recognize on this appalling teenage youth,” James boomed as his meaty hand enveloped Jeff’s. “Jesus Christ, is it really you?”

“So they tell me,” Jeff said with a shrug.

“How the hell can you know?” Alan asked. He was giving Jeff a strangely contemplative look. “I mean, damn, man, where’s the evidence?”

“I remember being me.”

“Yeah, but, like, prove it.”

“Give the guy a break,” James protested.

“You can run a DNA fingerprint if you’re that worried,” Jeff said.

“I have to concede, it gives the lawyers something to argue about,” James said. “It’s like Tim’s found a long-lost older brother. And dear old Jeff would never wear anything like this.” Thick fingers stroked the lapel of Jeff’s gray-green jacket. “New, aren’t they?”

“My clothes?” Jeff queried. “Yes, well, even geniuses can’t think of everything.” It was only after he got home that they realized none of his old clothes would fit. Until then he’d been wearing loose shirts and trousers supplied by the medical facility. Sue had spent an urgent fifty minutes accessing the Gucci and Versace sites; then they’d all waited anxiously for the Community Supply Service van to make its afternoon delivery with the start of his new wardrobe.

“Your wife chose them, then?”

“Yes.”

“Not bad,” Alan said. “Kind of retro eighties. If you pushed the sleeves up you could be like Tubbs from Miami Vice.”

“Crocket,” James corrected immediately. “Tubbs was the black guy. And you’d need a thinner tie.”

“He’s right,” Jeff said, glancing down quizzically at his maroon tie. “Don Johnson was Crocket.”

James lifted a flute from a passing waiter. “Ah, Don Johnson. Never better than in Hot Spot, his finest hour.”

“Of course it was,” Jeff said. “Dennis Hopper directed it. And it was The Hot Spot.”

“He was much better in Tin Cup, playing that golf pro,” Alan said. “The one up against Kevin Costner in the U.S. Masters.”

“Trust you to think a film about golf was better than one of Dennis Hopper’s thrillers. You’ve obviously forgotten Hot Spot had Jennifer Connelly in it. That makes it tops, with or without Dennis Hopper.”

“Virginia Madsen was in The Hot Spot, too,” Jeff offered. He was starting to relax. Now this was a genuine welcome home. They’d barely been in the manor two minutes, and already they’d fallen back into their usual routine. Sue never had understood the way they talked utter trivia for hours on end. At their age, it was a wonderful substitute for male machismo—who knew the most useless fact of all. “A major babe in her day, our Virginia, and an Oscar winner.”

“Ah.” James brightened suddenly. “Let’s give your memory another little test, shall we?” He started to beckon urgently across the living room.

Jeff watched with mild interest as an attractive young woman in a little black cocktail dress smiled at James and came over to them. She had the kind of slow walk that drew attention her way. When she reached them, Jeff noticed the dress wasn’t actually that small after all, it was just the cut that made it appear that way to his mind.

“This is Nicole,” James said. “Nicole, I’m sure you remember Dr. Baker.”

“Hi,” she said with a playful smile. “Nice to see you again, especially with you looking like this. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. I have to admit my memory hasn’t come through this in a perfect state. Did we know each other before?”

James patted Nicole’s bare shoulder. “My granddaughter. She used to come and swim in your pool in the holidays.”

“Oh right!” Jeff suddenly had the image of a ten-year-old kid in a Day-Glo pink swimsuit running around on the lawn, shrieking and giggling as she chased after a huge inflatable beach ball. That must have been twenty years ago, which put her in her early thirties. Looking at her closely, he suspected some genoprotein treatments. Her hair was a honey blonde and stylishly cut, while her skin was smooth and healthy, lightly tanned as opposed to her grandfather’s oven-roasted shade. “So what are you doing these days?”

“Helping the family business stay afloat.”

“Taking it over,” James muttered.

“Grandpa!” she chided with a mock anger. “Only the southern Europe sector. It’s still your company.”

“Not really.” He sighed. “I’m going in less and less. Dempsey doesn’t like the way I do things, says I’m too old fashioned. I depress office morale, and they’re frightened of getting sued. Bugger it, when I see something that needs doing, then I bloody well say so. It’s called management. But oh no, I’ve got to be more sensitive to their needs and working environment. Load of bollocks, that’s the attitude that got us into the shit-awful mess we’re in today. I say what I think, not what others want me to say.”

“That’s not why you’re going in less.” Nicole looked straight at Jeff. “Honestly, we just run a smaller office these days. Everyone works from home on a distributed network. Another five years and we won’t even have an office.”

“You’ve got to have an office,” James complained. “No matter how networked we get, the human contact is essential at the top level. Money is about trust; our clients have a right to meet us so they can see for themselves what kind of people we are.”

“Yes, Grandpa.”

“Oh, bloody hell. This dinosaur needs another drink.”

Jeff shook his head as James wandered off. “Can’t you just give him his golden watch and a pension?”

“James won’t retire,” she said. “The boredom would drive him crazy, then kill him. Besides, you’re a fine one to talk about pensions. If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly did your pension fund management company say about paying you? Are they suspending the payments until you look seventy again?”

“I’m not sure. They haven’t been in touch.”

“If they ever do make this rejuvenation lark cheap enough for the masses, pension stocks are going to take a mighty dive. We can’t afford to pay out for a hundred years. Funds are designed to last for twenty at the most.”

“Bankers in pain,” Alan said. “Now there’s a happy thought.”

“Uncle Alan, don’t be so cruel. We make the world go round.”

“That is one argument against rejuvenation,” Jeff said thoughtfully.

“What?” Nicole asked. “We can’t afford it?”

“No. If you double your life span, you double the number of years you have to work. Is it really worth it?”

“Let us know when you find out.” She took a sip from her flute. “Did you really forget me?”

“Be fair, I haven’t seen you for ages.”

“We could remedy that. I don’t normally tout for business among family friends; but maybe you should get a professional review of your finances now that your circumstances have changed so much.”

“Tell me more,” he said.

SUE AND HER FRIENDS Jane, Pamela, and Lynda had taken to calling themselves the Rutland nonworking mothers club. It started off as a laugh one evening round at Lynda’s house, when they were all drinking vodka and both of Lynda’s young kids had started crying upstairs.

“Oh, leave them to it,” Lynda had grumped. “They’ll cry themselves out eventually.” The nanny was out for the evening, and she was too sloshed to move from her huge reclining chair.

The name had stuck. And they introduced entry requirements.

Have you left your sick child in bed so you can go and have sex with your lover? If so, how high was the child’s temperature?

How much of your Eurosocial child allowance do you spend on sleazy silk underwear that you wear only for your lovers, not your husband?

Have you refused to let the nanny/au pair go out for the night, then left them alone in the house while you seduced their boyfriend?

Have you notched up a speeding fine in your husband’s car when you were on your way to see your lover in a hotel?

Sue had an impressively high score on most of them. She enjoyed the company of her fellow club members while she was staying at the manor. They all shared the same circumstances: young, attractive, married, wealthy, living out in the countryside, bored out of their skulls. Of course, most of her London friends, the set she mixed with while she was staying at the Knightsbridge flat, would have an even higher percentage. But that was metropolitan life for you.

After the welcome home party had begun, the four of them wound up lurking in the kitchen together. To their exotic tastes, the party was pretty dull, and the kitchen was where they could talk freely. It was also where they could eye up the waiters, all lads in their early twenties from the university in Peterborough. They didn’t care what they said in front of the hired staff; shocking them was part of the game.

“I could be named in the divorce papers,” Pamela told the others breathlessly as soon as they’d gathered.

“My God,” Lynda drawled. “Does Ken know?”

“No. It’s only a threat, so far. The bitch’s lawyer is just trying it on. Besides, if I don’t admit to it, and Johan doesn’t, there’s bugger all they can do about it.”

Annabelle followed one of the waiters in, hunting her fresh drink. Her eyes flicked over the four expensively dressed women, and she hesitated.

“Annabelle,” Sue called. “Don’t be frightened, darling, we don’t bite. Girls, this is Annabelle, my son’s girlfriend.”

A couple of halfhearted smiles were thrown Annabelle’s way.

“But Ken will know, even if they can’t stand up in court and say you’re the irreconcilable difference,” Jane said.

“So?” Pamela said. “It’s not like he behaves himself. Besides, we’ve got a prenup.”

“Ah, God’s little gift to decent women everywhere,” Lynda said; she raised her voice. “Annabelle, if you ever get hitched, darling, make sure you’ve got a prenup. Take the advice of those who know a thing or two about it.”

Annabelle gave them a forced smile. One of the waitresses took mercy on her and asked what she wanted.

“I saw you’d brought Patrick along this evening,” Jane said to Sue. She kept one eye on Annabelle. “Have you introduced him to Jeff yet?”

“No.” Sue knew she should stop her friend from being this much of a bitch in front of the girl, but she’d had vodka shots in her Veuve Clicquot. “I didn’t think it would be appropriate. Why rock the boat now?”

“Are you going to have sex with him?” Lynda asked.

“That’s what he’s here for.”

“I meant Jeff.”

“Hadn’t really thought about it,” Sue said, which wasn’t entirely true. In fact it had been bothering her ever since he emerged from that suspension womb machine. Who would have thought he’d turn out to be so damn good looking when he was in his twenties? But when she looked at him she just kept seeing an image of the old Jeff. As a contraceptive, it was one hundred percent effective.

“Lying tart,” Pamela squawked. “He’s fucking gorgeous. I’d shag him.”

“Hands off,” Sue said, a little too curtly.

Pamela chortled. “So you have been thinking about it. I suppose there’s got to be a first time for everything.”

“You could have a honeymoon,” Jane said. “See if it works out.”

Sue really wanted to tell the woman to shut the hell up now, there were some things that genuinely shouldn’t be mentioned in front of her son’s girlfriend. She should never have told the nonworking mothers club about the marriage “arrangement” between her and Jeff, which was so unbelievably eighteenth century—although it had been her salvation at the time. A legal contract for her to have his child (no sex, thank God, just a trip to a very special clinic) in return for which he’d support her financially. The whole cohabiting “wife” part was to provide Tim with a normal, comforting family environment. As if this has turned out to be normal! “It’s worked for eighteen years the way it is,” she said with an icy smile. “If it ain’t broke, don’t try to fix it.”

“He’s been fixed, and fixed very well indeed. The best body money can buy. I wonder if they can give men a bigger cock in the suspension womb? They always say there’s no real genoprotein treatment for that.”

“Oh, come on, Sue,” Lynda implored. “You’ve got to try it. This is like the first foot on the moon, or climbing Everest. The first person to have sex with the first rejuvenated man. This is history.”

Sue grinned, shaking her head. “It’s not going to happen.”

The waitress finished filling Annabelle’s glass. Annabelle left quickly. The nonworking mothers club regarded the kitchen door as it swung shut behind her.

“How old is she?” Jane asked after a moment.

“Seventeen, I think.”

“Shit. Seventeen years old. Melons growing out of her chest, and no ass whatsoever; I mean, forget visible panty lines, she simply doesn’t have a bum.”

Lynda licked her lips. “But no style, either. Did you see that cheapo reproduction dress? God, do girls that age really think Stephanie Romane has class?”

The others smiled.

“Ladies,” Pamela raised her glass. “A toast.”

“A toast,” they agreed.

“Expensive shopping, older champagne, and younger men.”

The club drank to that.

JEFF HAD DUTIFULLY MET the two local MEPs, the Westminster MP, and his regional parliament representatives, as well as a pack of local county councillors and some of the more wealthy members of Sue’s social circle, even a few supposed celebrities who lived in the county. It wasn’t quite guilt that made him keep going. He simply felt obligated to make sure he got around and said hello to everyone. Certainly, everyone there was very eager to see him. The worst thing wasn’t even having to feign amusement at the same jokes everyone made about time warps and seventies fashion. He’d played the elder statesman at enough corporate and academic functions now to fly on autopilot through the small talk. No, what annoyed him was genuinely not knowing a good half of the people. Sue should have been at his side to introduce him, or whisper names just before he said hello. But she’d vanished along with her demon friends, leaving him to fend for himself. It was her bloody job to help out. It wasn’t as if she had anything else to do.

The party had been going a while when he met Patrick. It was purely by chance; Patrick was leaving the living room when Jeff came through the doorway from the other side. Jeff automatically stuck his hand out and bashfully admitted he couldn’t recall the other’s name.

“How did we know each other?” he asked.

“I’m afraid we didn’t,” Patrick admitted.

“Oh?” Jeff didn’t quite understand; the man must have been in his late twenties, handsome if you liked chiseled chins, with thick long hair swept back and highlighted. For some reason he seemed a little perturbed by the meeting, almost as if he wasn’t expecting Jeff to be at the party.

“I run the Magpie Gallery over in Uppingham. Your wife and several of her friends are valuable patrons.”

“Ah, social obligation, then?” Jeff said, sympathizing.

“In a way, yes. But it’s still a pleasure to meet you. My congratulations. You look splendid.”

“Thanks.”

Patrick nodded politely and moved off.

Jeff gave him a slightly bewildered frown, then saw Alison and gave her a frantic wave.

“How are you doing?” She’d found herself a gin and tonic. A long Cuban cigarette was smoldering away in her fingers, earning her disapproving stares from most of the partygoers.

“Badly,” he grunted. “Is that bloke one of your friends, too? He’s an arty type.”

Alison took a drag and squinted where Jeff was pointing. She gave him a curious look. “No. That’s Sue’s friend.”

“Yeah. He said.”

“Sue’s special friend,” Alison said emphatically.

“Oh.” Jeff just managed to stop himself from doing a double take. He’d never actually met one before. The arrangement was that they didn’t come to the manor. He couldn’t understand what Sue was playing at. They were going to have to have a serious talk about obligations tonight.

“Are you okay?” Alison asked.

“What? Oh yeah. Just a bit tired, that’s all.”

“Hmm. You shouldn’t be doing stuff like this so soon.”

“Still looking out for me, little sister?”

She grinned up at him. “Always have done.” Her expression became devious. “Ah, it looks like Tim’s wound up his courage. Now remember, show no disapproval at all; no matter what you think of her.”

“What?”

“I believe your son has someone he wants to introduce you to.” With a last evil wink, she slipped free and disappeared back amid the guests.

Jeff didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. Then he caught sight of Tim determinedly making his way across the living room. There was a girl with him, their hands welded together. That was when he registered Tim’s anxious yet proud expression, and understanding dawned. Little Timmy had a girlfriend. Jeff felt horribly out of his depth. This simply wasn’t fair; fathers normally had months of early warning to prepare for this moment. A year and a half earlier, Tim had been a raging knot of hormones and suppressed anger. Your standard teenage nightmare, repellent to anyone but his own kind. Now, by the look of things, he was growing up. For an instant Jeff felt angry at missing out on another part of his son’s life.

“Dad, um, I’d like you to meet Annabelle, she’s an, um, friend of mine.”

The desperation in his son’s voice was almost painful to hear. In a kind of semipanic Jeff did what he always did, and fell back on the excessive formality he’d learned at his public school. “I’d be delighted.” He made a small bow. It was only when he straightened up again and looked at Annabelle properly that he realized she was utterly gorgeous. His gaze moved slowly up long legs, shown off by a short skirt, and took in a very generous cleavage. When he finally dragged his guilty eyes away from her bust he found she had rich brown-gold hair brushing her bare shoulders, and a delicate face—on which there was a quizzical expression as she stared at him.

Jeff recovered his poise, knowing he was close to blushing. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “An absolute pleasure. Tim’s kept very quiet about you. I’ll have to have a talk with him about that.”

“Thank you, Mr. Baker.” Annabelle managed to recover her hand.

“Oh please: Jeff.”

“Jeff,” she agreed.

“So do you live locally?”

“Yes, in Uppingham. I live there with my father.”

“I see.”

“Mum works in Brussels a lot right now. But not in the university; she didn’t have anything to do with your rejuvenation project. She’s one of the environment agency management directors.” Annabelle made an effort to stop talking. The way he’d looked at her was identical to how Tim had stared when she arrived at the party. It made her realize just how remarkably similar they were; like brothers, with Jeff only a few years older. It was a disconcerting thought, given what happened with Derek.

But then meeting Jeff Baker was strange anyway. Like everyone at school, she’d been impressed by the whole Jeff Baker legend. The kind of selflessness he’d shown when he gave away the memory crystal was phenomenal. It was a yardstick that none of today’s politicians or business leaders could ever hope to be measured against; even Sir Mitch wasn’t building his space-plane out of altruism. Jeff’s age had made him remote and iconic, someone you admired from afar like a historical figure, because you never got to actually meet them.

Now, though, not only was Jeff Baker that original legend, he was also rejuvenated. Doubly famous, and utterly fascinating. And she was dating his son. It made her nervous, which was why she was babbling like an old-fashioned rock star’s groupie.

“Sounds like a good job,” Jeff said.

“It is.”

“What subjects are you taking at school?”

“Dad!” Tim said hotly.

“What? I’m just being polite.”

“Yeah, but school! That droops.”

Jeff turned to Annabelle, spreading his arms wide in appeal. “All right. So how long have you two been together?”

She smiled before giving Tim a teasing sideways glance. “Couple of weeks.”

“Dad!”

“Sorry, Timmy, I guess I can’t be trusted out in public. But look on the good side, I didn’t launch into telling Annabelle about how cute you were when you were younger.”

“Was he?” Annabelle asked. It was hard for her not to laugh, Tim was squirming so. In a way Jeff Baker was almost worse than his wife and her friends. A lot more interesting, though.

“Absolutely. When he’s not around, I’ll dig out some of the old family videos. You can see him running around in his shorts when he was seven.”

“I’ll look forward to that.”

Tim groaned in dismay.

“It’s a conspiracy, Timmy,” Jeff said with a wide grin. “The whole world exists simply to make life hell for you.”

“Nice meeting you,” Annabelle said. She squeezed Tim’s hand, and they walked away together.

“That was a big mistake,” Tim moaned. He snatched another champagne flute from a waiter.

“I expect he needs time to find his feet. This must be very strange for him.” She glanced over her shoulder to see Jeff standing alone, holding his flute up as if unsure he should be drinking. For a moment she wanted to go back and show some support.

“Yeah, maybe,” Tim said. “I guess this wasn’t the right time to introduce you.”

“Thank you anyway.” She moved a fraction closer, her expression serious. “It was nice of you to invite me in the first place.”

Tim’s face turned a deeper shade of red. “Um, about invitations. I don’t know if anyone’s asked you or anything, or if you’ve already got someone to go with, but if you haven’t, and you’d like to, I wondered if you’d like to go to the ball together. That’s…with me. If you were going. I booked some tickets, that’s all. And quite a lot of our friends are going. So it might be nice, I thought.”

“’Course I’ll go with you.”

“Yeah?” Tim’s whole face radiated happiness.

“Yeah.” She poked him in the chest. “Took you long enough to ask.”

“Sorry. I didn’t know if you wanted to.”

“Oh yeah.” Their faces were centimeters apart. “I wanted to.”

They kissed. Just a teasing toying sort of way, to see how far the other would push it. There was a whoop from across the room. Annabelle pulled away, grinning, to see Martin and Colin at their most oafish, making big-time gestures at them. She sneered back at them, and started kissing a delighted Tim again.

IT WASN’T HALF PAST NINE when Jeff wearily climbed the stairs. Downstairs the party was over, with the catering crew and Mrs. Mayberry cleaning up while the Europol team ate up the leftover canapés and finished the open bottles of champagne. Tim and his friends had all gone to catch the bus into Stamford. When Jeff asked what they were doing, Tim said: “Couple of clubs, that’s all.” There was a pause. “All right?” He sounded as if he wasn’t sure he should be asking permission or not.

They had so many boundaries to work out.

“Sure,” Jeff had said. “Have fun.” He didn’t believe the teenagers could possibly possess so much energy. It was all he could do to get to the top of the stairs without pausing for breath.

“I’m going now, Mr. Baker.”

That was Lucy Duke. Jeff half turned on the top stair. She was standing in the hallway, buttoning her coat. “Okay then.” Jeff hadn’t made up his mind about Ms. Duke. He imagined it wouldn’t be too difficult to dislike someone who tried so hard to be reasonable at all times.

“Have a good weekend, sir. I’ll see you on Monday morning. There are several interviews scheduled, mostly foreign press.”

“Good night.”

“It was an excellent party, by the way.”

The door to Sue’s bedroom was open. Jeff saw her inside, and rapped lightly on the door frame. She was sitting at the dresser, touching up her makeup. Her welcome smile turned to genuine concern. “You look tired.”

“I am.”

“Make sure you get a good sleep tonight. There’s nothing on tomorrow. You can rest properly.”

“Right. I met Patrick tonight.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would matter with so many people about.”

“It doesn’t, I suppose.”

“He’s waiting for me downstairs now. I’ll tell him. He won’t come again.”

Jeff suddenly felt lonely. “Where are you off to?”

“We booked a table at the Black Swan. The food there’s lovely; they got a new chef there just before Christmas. You’ll have to try it.”

“Sure. When do you get back?”

“I don’t know, Jeff.” She cocked her head to one side, regarding him carefully. “Our arrangement hasn’t changed, has it?”

“No. Absolutely not. Have a good night.” He turned to leave.

“Hey.” Sue’s voice lightened. “You should worry, now you’ve got that Nicole after you.”

“Nicole? Oh, James’s granddaughter. What do you mean?”

“I saw the two of you together.”

“Yes, she was trying to convince me their company should review my finances.”

Sue arched an eyebrow. “Is that what they call it these days?”

“What…?” A sudden flurry of very disconcerting emotions rustled through Jeff’s head. Fright was prominent amid them.

“Come on, Jeff,” Sue said. “She was all over you.”

“Don’t be stupid. She’s young enough…” He trailed off. Did that phrase actually apply to him now?

“I think you need a long night’s sleep. You’re going to have to start coming to terms with what you are sooner or later.”

“Jesus Christ!” He hadn’t noticed, he really hadn’t. Now, all her mannerisms, the playfulness came flooding back into his mind. She’d been flirting with him.

“Pleasant dreams,” Sue murmured as she left.

Jeff’s own bedroom was at the end of the house, with a big veranda looking out over the rear lawn. The wide glass doors were shut, and the curtains closed against the night. His pajamas were laid out on the big double bed, ready for him. He barely got his shoes off before he flopped back on the mattress. Sue was walking down the stairs, talking to her bodyguard.

It truly had never bothered him before. She’d always played by the arrangement rules, being discreet for the sake of Tim. Maybe she hadn’t been the absolute best mother in the world, but then again, he’d hardly been the best father, and at least she’d always been there for the boy, which was the whole point of the arrangement in the first place. Back when he’d made the offer to her, that was all that mattered to him. He’d left having a child so late it had almost become a lost hope. When he thought of his first disastrous marriage, then all the affairs there’d been after he became famous, the way he’d been so full of himself as the years rolled on unacknowledged, it could so easily have not happened. He hadn’t even realized he’d wanted children and the comfort of continuity they brought until he was in his late fifties and saw all his contemporaries with their grandchildren. That was when the awareness struck hardest. Money had come to his aid, and he did have a decent amount of it despite the philanthropy for which he was so well known. So Tim was born. A somewhat cold method of bringing a life into the world, as he’d be the first to admit. However, the boy had given Jeff a sense of pride and satisfaction that was worth any mere financial price.

With that achieved, he could actually look forward to a hopefully prolonged and reasonably graceful old age that permitted him to watch the boy grow up. He’d always expected to see Tim’s twenty-fifth birthday. The idea that he could well see the boy’s one hundredth birthday was something his mind could now barely fathom. After all, why stop at one rejuvenation….

Jeff pulled the tie from his neck and said: “Click.”

The three-meter screen on the wall opposite the bed lit up with the picture of HAL9000’s lens in the middle—he’d thought that quite droll when he set it up originally.

“Domestic computer online,” the HAL voice said.

“What’s on telly tonight?” he asked.

“Do you mean current entertainment feeds, Jeff?”

“Er, yeah, I suppose so.”

“Would you like English, European, American, or other international?”

“English.” The lens vanished, replaced with a ten-by-fifteen grid of different video images. “Oh bloody hell,” Jeff muttered. He’d never kept up with cable shows before the treatment. Now the grid was full of crime soaps, comedy soaps, drama soaps, sci-fi soaps, cowboy soaps, historical soaps, game shows, quiz shows, RealTime life professions with cameras in police cars and fire engines as they raced to their call-outs, a dozen different news streams, and a whole load of sponsored sports. Basically, he mused, Saturday night telly never changed, it had always been crap, and by the looks of things always would be. At least when he was younger he could count on a semidecent film being scheduled. It saved having to think. If he wanted one now, any one at all, he just had to describe it to the domestic computer’s search engine. “Okay, let’s go for…” He squinted at the grid’s title. “Sunset Marina.” The images looked less hectic than the others, and one of the actresses was quite young and pretty.

Sunset Marina expanded to fill the big screen. The image was all pastel colors because it was set in a gently lit bedroom. The young actress slipped her dress off, and said how sensual she felt in her new range of silk Pantherlux underwear. Her beau took his trousers down and asked if she liked his Patherlux briefs. She said yes, but preferred him out of them. The background music began to drum loudly as they moved together.

“Click! Cancel that.” The grid reemerged, absorbing the soap. Jeff stared at the multitude of total crap on offer. “Dearie dearie me, is this really all my fault? Okay, click, just give me…something classic, and easy. I know: Four Weddings and a Funeral.”

“What edition?”

“Standard.” It came out almost as a plea.

Jeff sank down into the pillows with a wan smile as Hugh Grant fumbled around for his alarm clock. Even this was crap, but it was reassuringly comfortable to watch.

So Nicole had been interested in him, had she?