In the Gleaming Light

by H. R. Moore

  ‘But surely you managed to find out who it was? People think they can remain anonymous, but we always find out who they are.’ It was crucial to know who the source was, to make sure they weren’t being made fools of, even if finding out wasn’t strictly the most ethical behaviour.

  Iva clenched her fists in frustration. ‘Unfortunately, this one is proving difficult to identify. They know how to cover their tracks and they haven’t left a shred of anything for us to follow online. The tip-off just appeared on my computer screen one day, and none of the tech guys could work out how it got there.’

  Mila looked concerned. ‘Doesn’t that mean we’ve got a major security breach? We’re supposed to have one of the most secure systems in the world, and someone managed to get in, make changes, and get out again, entirely undetected, and nobody knows how they did it?’

  ‘Possibly,’ said Iva, noncommittally. ‘I’ve reported it up the chain and they’ve put in place emergency protocols, which means they shouldn’t be able to get in again.’

  ‘That’s why we all had to reconfirm our biometric logins?’

  Iva nodded.

  ‘So it’s possible that the mole is trying to communicate with you but can’t find a way back in?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ said Iva, in a bored tone, ‘but I replied to the message on my desktop, giving them access to the secure tips portal. Not that I’ve received anything on that.’

  ‘If he or she is clever enough to work out a way into our systems without detection, then they’re clever enough to know not to trust the tips portal is truly anonymous. I mean, would you trust it?’

  ‘They should be clever enough to find another secure way to get in touch with me then. In fact, they’re probably even more likely to try now, given it represents a new and exciting hacking challenge.’

  CHAPTER 6

  Mila got home to find Thomas in her apartment, sitting at her kitchen island, working at his computer. He rolled up the laptop screen, pulled off his smart glasses, and got up to greet her. ‘Hey!’ she said, kissing him squarely on the lips.

  ‘Hey,’ he said excitedly, pulling her to him to kiss her again.

  ‘Good day at work?’ she asked, before turning to her butlerbot. ‘Glass of white wine, please, Matt,’ she said, taking off her coat and handing it to the butler before sauntering over to the sofa in the middle of the large, open-plan entertaining space, folding her legs under her as she lowered herself down.

  ‘Yes, actually, it was very good,’ he said, taking her wine from Matt, the butler, and delivering it to the table next to Mila. He sat next to her, then leaned over and kissed her, pushing her back onto the sofa, following her as she went.

  ‘Someone’s in a good mood,’ said Mila, between kisses, running her hands up his muscular back.

  ‘Someone’s been invited to play tennis with Richard,’ he said, moving his lips to her neck.

  ‘That’s amazing,’ she exclaimed, tipping her head back as he ran his hand under her shirt. ‘How did you manage that?’

  ‘Marvin was being his usual, pathetic self, so it was impossible not to look like a god in comparison!’ he said, kissing his way along her collarbone.

  ‘Good to see that ego’s in check,’ she teased, pushing him away so she could get her wine.

  ‘What about your day?’ he asked, pulling her astride him, glass in hand.

  ‘Well,’ she said, leaning down to kiss him, tasting of crisp, fresh wine, ‘Iva’s in a terrible mood.’

  ‘Why now?’ he smirked, taking a swig of her drink.

  ‘She can’t find anything on Guy. Apart from the factory in Exeter, which isn’t enough to do any serious damage,’ she said, Thomas kissing the v of flesh visible at the top of her shirt. ‘She needs a mole, but Guy treats everyone so well, she can’t find anyone to turn on him.’

  ‘I thought she had an informant?’ he asked, Mila running her free hand through his hair.

  ‘She did. But they only gave her that one tip and now they’ve gone quiet. Iva needs more,’ she said, as Thomas undid the buttons of her shirt, exposing her lace bra beneath.

  ‘Enough work talk,’ he said, putting her wine back on the table, before pulling down her bra, exposing her breasts. ‘We’ve got more interesting things to do.’

  * * * * *

  Lulu arrived at Guy’s house in a taxi. The autonomous vehicle pulling up at Guy’s imposing solid wood gate and her window rolling down of its own accord. She was next to an entry panel with both a hand and face scanner. She placed her hand on the pad, and waited while the scanners did their work. The panel went green and a voice welcomed her by name before the gates opened and the car whisked her through.

  The drive was long and sweeping, with grass lining both sides, a handful of short, old, gnarled trees dotted about the lawn. On one side, the grass ended at a hedge boundary, behind beautiful borders packed with colourful flowers in the full bloom of summer, the other boundary a cliff, overlooking the sea below. The house was built of ancient stone, and not as grand as Lulu would have expected, although it was certainly large, and had several add-ons well blended with the original structure.

  The car took her to the front of the house, to an artful turning circle, with a beautiful bronze sculpture of an eagle flapping its wings in the middle. It pulled up at the attractive front door, complete with manicured bay trees in pots either side, and stopped, the car door opening to let her out, in almost perfect unison with the front door, which had seamlessly opened to let her in.

  Guy came out to greet her. ‘Hi!’ he said, casually negotiating the two shallow steps down to the drive. He took her hand as she exited the car, and held onto it as he led her back up the steps and into the house. The door closed by itself as Lulu took in the sizeable entrance hall, with its marble floor and curving staircase. Guy took her jacket and handed it to the butlerbot that was discreetly waiting in a corner.

  ‘Let me show you around,’ he said, taking her hand again and leading her into a stunning, open-plan kitchen, dining, and seating area. It was breath-taking, with glass walls on two sides looking out over the sea. The walls slid open in several places, leading out onto decking with an array of comfortable-looking lounging and dining furniture. The decking’s wide steps led down to a lush green lawn, which rolled gently all the way to a white fence at the edge of the cliff. A small gate marked the path down to the beach below.

  ‘It’s incredible,’ said Lulu, barely able to tear her eyes away from the view.

  ‘I know,’ Guy replied. ‘I’m lucky.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ said Lulu.

  ‘It was my parents’ house,’ he said. ‘I grew up here, and I bought it when my father died. My mother moved to Australia, where her sister lives. She said she’d had enough of the British weather. I don’t see her very often now.’ Lulu smiled at his uncharacteristic volunteering of information and Guy looked a little bashful. ‘Come on,’ he said, nudging her, ‘this way.’ He led her through one of the glass doors and onto the decking. There was an enormous hot tub sunk into it, and what looked like an old barn, now glass on three sides, housing a swimming pool and gym that also overlooked the sea.

  ‘Wow,’ she said, eying up the pool.

  He smiled. ‘That’s not what I wanted to show you. Although you’re more than welcome to have a swim later if you want.’

  Lulu shrugged in a non-committal sort of way, following Guy as he led her down the steps to another outbuilding on the other side of the garden. It too had been constructed using a lot of glass, but was more secluded and less overlooked by the main house. They entered the building and Lulu found herself in a large but cosy room, filled, to her astonishment, with her artwork. ‘Oh my God,’ she said, turning around to take in the extent of it.

  Guy laughed. ‘I told you I’d bought a lot of your work.’

  Lulu didn’t say anything, looking, open-mouthed, at recent works alongside canvasses so old that she’d almost forgotten about them. ‘Too much?’ Guy asked nervo
usly.

  ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘You must really like my work!’

  ‘I’ve told you that on a number of occasions, if I’m not much mistaken.’

  ‘Or maybe you’re a stalker. Are you a stalker?’

  ‘No. At least, I don’t think so. Do stalkers usually consider themselves to be stalkers?’ he asked, genuinely considering the question.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she replied slowly. ‘This is crazy.’

  ‘I know,’ he said, apologetically. ‘I started buying them years ago, long before I had any idea who you were. I saw them on sale at a market, loved how raw and honest they were, and bought two straight off. They were considerably cheaper than they are now!’

  ‘Well I wasn’t famous then,’ she said, with a flourish.

  ‘I hung them in pride of place in the apartment I used to live in, so anyone who came over couldn’t help but see them. They were always an interesting talking point, but my political friends thought they were wonderful, like they summed up everything that was wrong in the world. A few of them bought a work or two of their own.’

  ‘You started the rich-people-buying-my-work trend?’

  ‘It’s hard to be sure,’ he replied, ‘but maybe.’

  ‘What is this room anyway?’ asked Lulu, walking around.

  ‘My office,’ he said, moving to the far end of the room, where a large, traditional desk sat grandly in front of the window, complete with a leather office chair.

  ‘I’m not sure I’d ever get any work done with that view,’ said Lulu, staring out of the window.

  ‘It’s great for thinking,’ he replied.

  ‘I can see that,’ she said, turning back towards him. ‘Well, I’m glad that you genuinely like my work,’ she said, flirting. ‘And am I what you expected I’d be?’

  ‘Yes and no,’ he said, matching her tone as he took a step towards her and reached for her hand. ‘I didn’t really know much about you, so I hadn’t formed too fixed an opinion. What about me?’ he asked. ‘Am I what you expected?’

  She snickered. ‘Absolutely not,’ she said, reaching up to kiss him gently on the lips. ‘You’re a complete surprise.’

  ‘Guy,’ said a voice entering the room. ‘Oh, sorry,’ said Benji, as he saw Guy and Lulu. ‘Shall I come back later?’

  ‘No,’ said Guy, smiling almost guiltily at her. ‘Lulu, will you excuse me for a moment?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, moving back to the window and slumping down into one of the comfortable bucket seats. ‘Take your time; I’m quite happy here.’

  Guy walked towards Benji and they stepped outside, making sure the door was fully closed before starting their conversation.

  ‘Come on, Guy,’ said Benji, ‘you need to focus. We still haven’t submitted the evidence for the Exeter factory.’

  Guy frowned, prickling at Benji’s comment, and had to tell himself to let it go. Instead, in his most cold and business-like manner, he replied, ‘I thought you’d fabricated some manual clock-in records.’

  ‘I have. We have people trying to find fault with them at the moment. If they can’t find anything suspect, we’ll submit.’

  ‘Fine. What’s the problem then?’

  ‘You just seem distracted. The evidence isn’t the only thing we’ve got on our plates. We’ve also got a large and complex relocation to deal with.’

  ‘Which you’re handling,’ said Guy, defensively.

  ‘Which I’m handling,’ repeated Benji, ‘but I’d feel more confident if I knew you had my back, like you usually do.’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ said Guy, knowing he had been a little absent recently. ‘Send me the plans and I’ll review them. Later,’ he added, pointedly, as he turned to go back inside.

  * * * * *

  Thomas walked into the Rix Club alongside Richard, taking great care to look calm and confident, like he was born to be here. He’d spent years studying Guy’s easy style, paying careful attention to the set of his shoulders, his effortless gait, his facial expressions, noting what he cared about and what was inconsequential to him. He’d learned from Guy what to wear, what to say, when to smile, and, importantly, when to do nothing at all. And because people trusted Guy, and Thomas emulated him so expertly, people trusted him too. In fact, he’d learned the act so well that people mostly assumed he’d been born into this life, Thomas revelling in the deception.

  The Rix Club was the club to belong to. It was virtually impossible to get in, and ludicrously expensive. You had to be sponsored by two existing members, which, of course, meant that it was entirely dominated by families who had managed to maintain their wealth through generations. Gender discrimination had been outlawed several decades before, but it still had the feel of an ‘old boys’ club, the only difference that now everyone walked around like they owned the place, not just the men.

  The building was old and the wood panelling in the drawing rooms original, but the facilities were state of the art. The club had all kinds of sports facilities: squash courts, tennis courts, real tennis courts, polo pitches and stables, swimming pools, a gym, studios for personal training sessions and classes, a running track, sauna and spa facilities. There was a café, a restaurant, and a bar, as well as a number of different rooms for lounging, or meeting. There were spaces to hire for private dining, or parties, or corporate away days, and old-school entertainments dotted around the place, like chess, card games, and hardback books. The club even had a music room, recording studio, and auditorium, where a number of famous artists had staged impromptu performances for other members. It also had a healthy schedule of planned concerts, which always booked up months in advance.

  How the other half live, thought Thomas, marvelling at the overt opulence; there were few places where you could get away with displays like this these days. It was frowned upon to make obvious the huge discrepancies between the wealth of those at the bottom and those at the top, although, of course, people still obsessed over celebrities and their lifestyles online.

  ‘We have a tennis court booked,’ said Richard, matter of factly, to the human attendant behind the desk.

  ‘Of course, Mr Murphy,’ said the smart and efficient-looking young man. ‘Right this way please,’ he said, leading them to the changing rooms. He left them at the door, saying, ‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Richard, as though he’d almost forgotten. ‘When my daughter gets here, please show her to the veranda. I have a table booked for dinner but we’ll probably be a bit late,’ he said, looking at his vintage Rolex watch.

  ‘Of course, Mr Murphy,’ he said, and left them.

  The thing that always struck Thomas about places like this was the smell. Everywhere you went, it smelt of lavender, or leather, or roses, or freshly cut grass. Each door you walked through meant a waft of wonderfully-scented greeting. The locker rooms smelt of grapefruit: crisp and fresh and clean.

  They put down their bags and changed into their tennis clothes, Richard keeping up a continuous monologue about this and that, and Thomas listened with rigid attention, even though he made sure to keep his exterior casual and relaxed. Chitchat was important. Richard was talking about Iva and how she had a good-looking deputy, although he couldn’t remember her name, as they walked out onto the tennis courts. ‘Ha!’ laughed Thomas, as they started warming up, hitting friendly balls back and forth across the perfectly white net. ‘Her name’s Mila,’ he called, after producing a perfect, cross-court forehand.

  ‘You know her?’ he asked, returning into the net.

  ‘You could say that,’ said Thomas, starting another rally. ‘She and Guy grew up together, and she was engaged to his brother when he died.’

  ‘Christ,’ said Richard, whistling through his teeth, ‘that means I do know who she is...my daughter, Sabrina, went to school with her. Sabrina was invited to the wedding. Maybe I’ll steer clear then.’

  ‘I thought you had a wife?’ asked Thomas, knowing full well that he did.

 
; ‘Yes, but there’s no harm in having a little fun from time to time,’ replied Richard, with a wink. ‘Now, are we going to sit around chatting like old women, or are we going to play some tennis?’

  * * * * *

  Thomas beat Richard two sets to one, and Richard only won the second set because Thomas let him. Thomas was younger, fitter, stronger, and had a will to win that not many could match. ‘Good game,’ said Richard, through gritted teeth, as they shook hands at the net. ‘Next time I’ll have you,’ he said, although they both knew the chance would be a fine thing.

  Thomas smiled. ‘I’ll look forward to seeing you try,’ he joked.

  Richard laughed, shaking his hand harder. ‘There’s that killer instinct,’ said Richard, clapping Thomas on the back. ‘That’s why I hired you,’ he laughed, pompously. They both knew this was a lie; the only reason Richard had hired Thomas was because Guy had called in a favour. But regardless, it had worked out to their mutual benefit, so far anyway.

  ‘You’ll stay for dinner, of course,’ said Richard, clapping Thomas on the back again. ‘You go and change while I say hello to my daughter. We’re late, so I’ll go and pretend to be sorry so we don’t get too much of an earful. Then you can charm her while I get changed.’ Thomas nodded, unable to find words to respond. It was one thing to talk as Richard did about everyone else, but to think so little of his own daughter? That crossed a line, even for Thomas.

  ‘I’ll be quick then,’ he said, recovering his composure and heading to the showers.

  * * * * *

  Thomas luxuriated for as long as he thought he could get away with in the heavy torrent of water from the enormous showerhead in his cubicle. He used plenty of the expensive products before dressing in chinos and an open-necked shirt (would this eternal dress code ever change?), slicking back his wet hair, and heading for the restaurant’s veranda.

  ‘Ah,’ said Richard, loudly, getting up from his chair. ‘Sabrina, this is Thomas,’ he said, clapping Thomas on the back again. ‘As I said, darling, Thomas works for me, in the finance department.’ Richard’s petite daughter, who Thomas knew to be about the same age as himself, had green eyes, blonde hair and a 1920s-style headband. She was wearing a long green dress and was sitting back in her chair, as though being here were a great chore.