"When you left Kitchener's room, did you see anyone else in the Abbey?"

"No."

"Did you hear anything strange?"

"No."

"What about lights; shining under someone's door, or downstairs, outside even?"

"No. Oh, there was a bit of light in Uri's room. Bluish. I think the flatscreen might have been on. We were watching it in there earlier."

"You were taking syntho that night. Had it worn off by then?"

"Not quite, I was just starting to come down. I don't—"

She took a breath, then looked resolutely at the floor. "I don't like being in there after the boost has gone."

"In Kitchener's bedroom?"

"Yes."

"Why not?"

"I get cold. Not physically cold, but it's hard to face them afterwards. We get so high together, you see; when it comes to sex, Edward and Rosette have lifetimes more experience than me, they made me feel completely free with them. The way a child trusts an adult. His bedroom contained our own private universe, we were safe inside, nothing mattered apart from ourselves and what we wanted. But then when it was over the illusion vanished so quickly. And this shabby old world with all its inbuilt guilt comes flooding back in." She tugged at a strand of hair, twisting it nervously round and round her index finger. "You must think I'm horrible."

"I'm not a judge, Isabel. Your sex life is entirely your own. But I'd like to know why you started going, please?"

"Rosette started—well it was just hints at first. Joking. Then… I don't know. Somehow it wasn't a joke any more. And then I went home for Christmas. There was nothing wrong with that, my family. Except it was sort of pale, lacking substance; I was going through the motions. The Abbey, Edward, we were learning so much there, learning how to think, how to question. It was so much more real. Colour, that's what Launde had. I was glad to get back. I wanted more of it, more of the adventure. They offered me that."

"Cecil said you were unhappy."

"Not really. It's peculiar, what I was doing, so far outside my norm. Edward called it walking the boundaries of the mind. I had trouble adapting to the affair at first; when I was with Edward and Rosette it didn't matter at all, it was just outside, afterwards, when it seemed wrong, or stupid, or both. I was going to them more frequently, and staying longer too. But that wasn't the answer, not shutting myself away with them. Talking about it to someone who understood helped me. Cecil was the only one I could really go to. Cecil is worldly wise, or so he claims. He sympathized in a funny sort of way, and he didn't criticize. That meant a lot to me."

"Did you know Rosette was pregnant?"

Isabel's head came up, her blue eyes full of melancholy. There was no resentment in her mind, which was what he actually wanted to know. No grudge. He didn't think a gentle soul like Isabel could hold a grudge.

"Yes," Isabel said. "She never said. But I knew. I'm glad in a way, certainly now. It means there will be something of Edward left. I almost wish it was me."

"How about Kitchener, what sort of mood was he in that night?"

"Edward? Happy. Rosette and me… I… It was good that night."

"No, apart from that. His general mood that night, over the last few days. Was he preoccupied at all? Worried about something? Agitated?"

"No." She gave him a brave little smile. "You don't know Edward or you wouldn't even have asked. He pretended to be this awful old monster. But it was all a sham. Oh, he'd shout at us if we were blatantly stupid. And politicians infuriated him. Apart from that, he didn't have any worries. That was part of the attraction, I've never met anyone so carefree. He'd done so much in his lifetime, won so many battles. I don't think anything could upset him any more."

"I have to ask this, Isabel: how do you feel about Nicholas Beswick?"

"Oh, God!" She buried her face in her hands. "Why did he have to come out and see us? He's so sweet. I didn't want to hurt him. Really. Why did any of this happen? What did we do?"

Slater patted her gently, but she shrugged him off. He shot a silent appeal at Greg.

Greg waited until she finished screwing tears from her eyes with damp knuckles.

"Were you the last to reach Kitchener's bedroom after Rosette discovered the body?" he asked, feeling a prize turd for pressing the anguished girl.

"Yes. I think so. They were all ahead of me. I don't remember much. I'm sorry."

"No matter. Before then, after Nicholas had found you and Rosette together in the corridor, did you tell Kitchener he had seen you?"

"No. God, I couldn't. I didn't know what to do about that. Even Rosette was upset. Edward had a real soft spot for Nick, he had such high hopes for him. Nick has a very high IQ and he wants to learn, I mean really wants. The whole universe is a glorious puzzle to Nick. That's the only time he ever comes out of his shell; when we're talking about the everyday things like the channels or politics he sits quietly in the corner; but say anything about Grand Unification or quantum mechanics and you can't shut him up. He's lovely like that, so animated. I'm rambling, sorry."

"Did you and Rosette discuss what to do about Nicholas seeing you?"

"Not much. It was a sort of mutual silence. I made up my mind to go and see Nick in the morning. Really I was. I would have tried to explain. He was about the one person I would have given Edward up for. I looked after I left Edward, but Nick's light was out. And anyway, it wouldn't have been right, not going in straight afterwards. That would have seemed like Edward had total priority on me. But then…"

"Nicholas Beswick's light was off at two-thirty? You're sure of that?"

"Yes."

"When did you wash that night?"

"I had a shower before I started getting our supper ready, then I had another after I left Edward."

"Were you using the Bendix at all on Thursday?"

"Yes, most of the afternoon."

"Did you access any external 'ware systems?"

"No."

The last question slid from his cybofax's little screen. He couldn't think of any more. Isabel already looked like he'd physically wrung the answers from her.

It was raining outside again, big warm drops beating incessantly on the high window.

"OK," he told Vernon. "Let's have Nicholas Beswick in."

CHAPTER EIGHT

It was raining over Peterborough again. Sheet lightning sizzled through the covering of low cloud, highlighting the new tower blocks which stood on the high ground to the west; austere monoliths looking down on the organic clutter of the smaller buildings in the city's original districts.

Julia hated flying in thunderstorms. Her Dornier tilt-fan might have every safety system in existence built in, but it seemed so insignificant compared to the power outside.

Another flash burst over the city. Glossy roof-top solar panels bounced some of the light back up at her, leaving tiny purple dazzle spots on her retinas. She had seen the Event Horizon headquarters building dead ahead, a seventeen storey cube of glass, steel, and composite panels. There was nothing elegant about it, thrown up in twenty-six frantic months so that it could accommodate the droves of head office data shufflers necessary to manage a company of Event Horizon's size, as well as Morgan's security staff. A monument to haste and functionalism. Its replacement out at Prior's Pen would be far more aesthetic; the architects had come up with a white and gold cylinder which, with its panoply of pillars and arches, resembled the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Only straight this time, of course. Event Horizon didn't build crooked.

She poured herself a chilled mineral water from the bar, and switched the bulkhead flatscreen on, flicking through the channels until she came to the Northwest Europe Broadcast Company. Jakki Coleman was on, a middle-aged woman with iron-cast gold-blonde hair, wearing a stylish mint-green satin jacket. She was sitting behind a Florentine desk in the luxurious study of some mansion.