Misspent Youth

by Peter F. Hamilton

  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 exist
s 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. Basi
cally, 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?

  MONDAY MORNING NINE-FIFTEEN was the CNN interview. Lucy Duke spent most of a late breakfast briefing Jeff on technique, how not to smile too much so you don’t come over smug, not to use excessive scientific terms, the right clothes to wear (she’d brought a shirt, tie, and jacket—which sparked a big argument with Sue), the right humor and jokes to deflect the wrong questions, verboten topics. She also offered guidance on how to focus on the topics she thought would be best for him to mention. Such as how only Europe had the political ability to pursue such a project. How the prime minister had personally supported rejuvenation and pushed for Jeff Baker to receive it against a list of other European worthies. How the booming European economy could easily support such massive projects without placing an undue strain on the taxpayer.