Over dessert she found herself looking at Andy in what was near to envy. He could still have that life; chase girls, go out partying with his friends, attend university, earn his degree, write his programs, travel. Possibly. If the possessed didn’t win.

“Are you okay?” Andy asked. He’d been in the middle of telling her about his plans to set up his own software house when he’d raised enough money. This month’s dream.

“I’m sorry.” She put her hand on top of his, and squeezed softly. “You probably won’t believe the clichй, but this has been one of the nicest evenings of my whole life. I’m very grateful you asked me out.” The look of utter longing he gave her in reply nearly made her cry for what could never be. She caught their waiter’s attention. “Three glasses of Norfolk Tears, please.”

Genevieve stopped attacking her dessert bowl with a spoon in an attempt to scrape out the very last morsels of chocolate orange soufflй. She smiled in hopeful astonishment.

“Yes, you, too,” Louise laughed. To Andy she said: “My treat. If you’ve never had it, you should. It’s the only way to end an evening as perfect as this.”

The drinks arrived in slim crystal glasses on a silver tray. Louise sniffed gently at the bouquet. “Wessex County, probably the Clayton estate.”

“Yes miss,” the startled waiter said. “That’s right.”

The three of them raised their glasses. “To living life, not wasting it,” Louise said.

They drank to that.

Louise received the datavise when they were in the taxi heading back to the Ritz; a purple telephone handset icon blinking silently at the corner of her vision (NAS2600 had thousands of symbols and sounds to choose from—but this was the most familiar). The sense of cosiness which the evening had engendered immediately shrank away. It couldn’t be anything other than business.

Her neural nanonics acknowledged the call, and Ivanov Robson’s icon tag replaced the purple telephone.

“I’ve got some good news for you,” the detective datavised. “I’ve found Banneth.”

“Where?” Louise datavised back.

“She’s currently in Edmonton.”

“Thank you.” That was one of the arcologies which the news had said was isolated. “Do you have an eddress for her?”

“Certainly.” He datavised the file over. “Louise, you may have a problem selling this story of yours to her. If that happens, please call me. I might be able to help.”

“Of course, and thank you again.”

The doorman gave Andy a dubious stare when they got back to the hotel. Louise saw him hesitate, full of his old uncertainties, and felt an uncomfortably strong stab of sympathy. “Wait for me inside the lobby,” she told Genevieve.

Her sister smiled mischievously up at Andy, winked, then skipped inside.

Thankful no giggles had been audible, Louise took a deep breath. “I have to go now, Andy.”

“Can I see you again?”

The amount of hope in his voice was awful. I should never have agreed to come out tonight, she thought, he was always going to misinterpret it. Yet for all his faults, he has a good heart. “No, Andy, I’m sorry. I have this person I need to find, and I also have my fiancй. I shall be leaving Earth as soon as I can. It wouldn’t be right, not for either of us. I don’t want you to think this is something it isn’t.”

“I see.” His head drooped down.

“You can kiss me goodnight, though,” she said shyly.

More in fear than joy, he pressed himself against her, touching his lips to hers. When they parted, her mouth crinkled up in compassion. “I really did enjoy tonight, Andy. Thank you.”

“If it doesn’t work with your fiancй, and you come back . . .” he began optimistically.

“You’ll be top of my list. Promise.”

He watched her disappear through the doors, standing with his arms hanging limply at his side. The finality of it was appalling. For one mad moment he wanted to rush after her.

“You’ll get over it, son,” the doorman said. “Plenty more of them out there.”

“Not like her!” Andy shouted back.

The doorman shrugged, and smiled with infuriating smugness.

Andy turned fast, and walked away through the night-time crowds that were clogging the pavement. “I kissed her, though,” he whispered. “I really did.” He gave an incredulous little guffaw as the enormity of the contact finally registered. “I kissed Louise Kavanagh.” Laughing broadly he set off towards Islington; he was far too broke to pay for a metro trip.

Louise waited until Genevieve was tucked up in bed before she called Banneth.

“Hello. You don’t know me, but I’m Louise Kavanagh. I’m calling to warn you about someone called Quinn Dexter. Do you know him?”

“Fuck off.” The contact was cancelled.

Louise datavised Banneth’s eddress to the room’s net processor again. “Look, this is important. I met Quinn Dexter on Norfolk, and he’s going to . . .”

A red cross icon flashed persistently as the contact was cancelled again. The next time Louise datavised Banneth’s eddress she got a filter program which requested her icon tag. She loaded it in, only to be told she wasn’t on the receiver’s approved reception list. “Damnation!”

“What’s the matter?” Genevieve peered over at her from the bed, duvet clutched round her shoulders.

“Banneth won’t talk to me. I don’t believe this, after everything we’ve been through to warn her. How . . . How stupid. ”

“What are you going to do now?”

“Call Robson, I suppose.” She datavised the detective’s eddress into the processor, wondering if the man was psychic. Not a bad thing for a private eye.

“Don’t worry,” he told her. “I’ll come right over.”

The cocktail lounge was a mistake. Louise sat at a table by herself and ordered an orange juice while she waited for Ivanov Robson to arrive. The decor was as polished as the rest of the hotel, with honey-brown wooden panels and gold-framed mirrors covering the walls. Chandeliers kept it well lit, although it seemed shady, like a woodland glade. There were enough different bottles behind the rosewood bar to make the shelving look like an art exhibition.

Whether it was the wine and Norfolk Tears finally catching up with her, or just the superb cushioning of the deep leather chair, Louise suddenly started to feel warm and drowsy. It didn’t help that she had to deflect seemingly dozens of offers from young (and not-so-young) men to buy her a drink and keep her company. She was worried that she was being too sharp when she turned them down. Whatever would mother say?

One of the tailcoated waiters eventually came over, an ancient man with large white sideburns who put her in mind of Mr Butterworth. “Are you sure you want to stay here, miss?” he asked kindly. “There are quieter rooms available for residents.”

“I’ll take care of her,” Ivanov Robson said.

“Of course, sir.” The waiter bowed, and backed away.

The giant detective’s gaze slid along the line of men sitting up at the bar. All of them suddenly found something else of interest.

“No offence, Louise, but if you’re going to wear that kind of dress, you really shouldn’t be in a bar by yourself. Not even here. It sends out some seriously strong signals.” He sat down in the chair beside her, his bulk making the leather creak.

“Oh.” She looked down, only just realizing she was still in the blue dress she’d worn as a treat for Andy. “I think I may have had too much to drink. I went out for a meal with a friend earlier on.”

“Indeed? I didn’t think you were wearing it for my benefit. Though I would have been highly flattered. You look quite gorgeous.”

Louise blushed. “Um . . . thank you.”

“You do know your neural nanonics have a suppression program to deal with a wee bit too much mouth-alcohol interaction, don’t you?”

“No.”

“Well they do. Perhaps if you were to put it into primary mode, this would be a more productive meeting.”