by H. R. Moore
‘I doubt I could stop you even if I wanted to. I don’t think there’s anyone who could,’ she said, over her shoulder as she turned her back and strutted happily away.
CHAPTER 2
The exhibition was being held in Trebundy’s art gallery on the cliffs overlooking the beautiful seaside town of St Ives. The gallery was a contemporary creation in more ways than one, with angles everywhere on the inside and out. The construction and acoustics had been especially developed to give those perusing the artwork privacy, hiding them away, making it easy to get lost there. Consequently, the space made it difficult to find anyone, but Guy arrived at the venue with only one target in mind.
He walked up the steps and into the building in his usual self-assured way, his open necked shirt and slacks making him the epitome of a foregone conclusion, and picked up a glass of champagne as he reached the entrance at the top. He barely even noticed the well-dressed but curt woman at the door as she asked him for his name, his eyes busy scanning for the artist herself.
‘Please go in,’ said the woman.
‘Thank you,’ he replied, more out of habit than anything else. ‘Ah,’ he said, turning back as he realised he had overlooked a potential shortcut, ‘I don’t suppose you know where I could find Lulu, do you?’ He flashed her a charming smile, which, much to his dismay, had no effect whatsoever.
The woman gave him a firm but courteous smile in return. ‘I believe she’s inside.’
‘Well I would hope so!’ he joked, as he made his way through the large double doors.
He took a moment to survey the scene, noting a pack of journalists, a couple of businessmen and women he knew and wanted to avoid, and the gallery owner flouncing around, basking in reflected glory. The space was busy, but not packed, thankfully, with Lulu’s past clients, celebrities, socialites, and presumably her friends and family, not that he was interested in distinguishing any one from another tonight.
He was getting frustrated, downing his champagne and grabbing another from a statue-like waiter with a tray and a fixed smile. He had successfully avoided three attempts to engage him in conversation, however, was increasingly aware of the usual ripple of eyes that were now tracking his movements, wondering who he would talk to first. Luckily, the press, having presumably spoken to the artist earlier, were making full use of the free bar and paying him little attention, but he wanted to make sure it stayed that way.
He made a show of thoughtfully viewing the pieces on the walls, making mental notes about which ones he would purchase and how much he thought was reasonable to pay for them, but he still couldn’t find Lulu. He turned a corner and halted briefly, a small frown of recognition appearing on his forehead as he spotted a woman across the room, before continuing as though he hadn’t noticed her. Irritated, he slipped out of the door at the back of the venue into a beautiful, expansive, almost overgrown sculpture garden. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that few others had made it out here, everyone hungry for the socialising inside. He wandered around, running his hand over the sculptures, taking in the smooth, rough, wavy, and angular, revelling in the variety of expression all around him.
He reached the far corner of the garden, stopping to listen to a hidden water feature, when he heard the soft pad of feet approaching from behind. He spun around to find his vision filled by Lulu, looking every inch the chic artist in her newly cleaned dress, as she reached up and lightly pecked him on the lips, her eyes open to take in his reaction.
‘What was that for?’ asked Guy, excited by the unexpected pleasure of her company.
She shrugged, smiling, and turned away a little. ‘I’m an artist,’ she said, as though that were explanation enough.
She took his arm and began to walk him around the garden. ‘I love this place,’ she said, pointing out sculptures that were her particular favourites.
‘I’ve never been here before,’ Guy replied, ‘but I like the work.’
‘Do you?’ Lulu replied, cryptically. They walked on in silence for a few moments before she decided to expand. ‘Do you really like the work, or do you like the idea of playing the supportive patron, all the while making money from the art?’
‘So cynical.’
‘I’ve learned the hard way it’s best to be.’
Guy turned his head, surveying her before answering. ‘I’ve bought plenty of art work; I’ve got a lot of wall space that needs filling,’ he joked. Lulu rolled her eyes. ‘But I’ve never bought anything that I intended to sell. To be frank, I don’t need to use art as an investment, and the idea of parting with something that I’ve bought because I love it, or because it means something to me,’ he said, stopping to look her in the eyes, ‘is too terrible a notion to entertain,’ he said, conspiratorially.
‘Why are you here?’ she asked.
‘To look at your work, and probably buy a piece or two,’ he replied, honestly.
She laughed lightly. ‘You don’t have to buy my work to impress me.’
‘Who said anything about you?’ he teased. ‘If I buy any of your work, I’ll do so for entirely selfish reasons.’
‘Oh?’ she asked, cocking an eyebrow.
‘Because I like it and want it on my wall.’
She chuckled. ‘Well, I’m flattered.’
‘Good,’ he said, finally. ‘Now, how about dinner?’ He flashed her his most endearing smile and she swiped him on the arm.
‘Oh, stop. You know full well I can’t just leave my exhibition. I have to circulate, oozing...I’m not really sure what, but...something.’
‘What if I buy everything? Then you can send them all home,’ he said, looking down at her roguishly, waiting to see if he had a fellow conspirator.
‘I hope that was a joke, but don’t you dare. As you well know, tonight is about more than just selling my artwork.’
‘Fine,’ he sighed, as they reached the doors back into the building.
‘Ah, there you are, Lulu,’ said an agitated gallery owner, grabbing her arm and forcefully pulling her from Guy’s grasp. He considered holding onto her to see what would happen, but, not wanting to embarrass anyone, dutifully let her go.
‘Breakfast then?’ he said, quietly in her ear, as he leaned in to kiss her cheek goodbye.
‘I’ve got a workout planned,’ she said, a mischievous glint in her eye, ‘but I’m sure we’ll bump into each other again soon.’
The owner ushered her inside, keen to show her off to the world, and Lulu willingly went, without so much as a glance over her shoulder.
Guy watched them go, his interest piqued.
* * * * *
Moments after Lulu disappeared, the woman Guy had spotted earlier stepped through the doors. She wore smart, tailored trousers, an open necked shirt and blazer, looking stylish and together as she walked confidently past Guy, further into the garden, neither one showing any recognition of the other. She waited for him by a sculpture that was out of sight from casual observers, taking in Guy’s hostile body language and furious expression as he rounded the corner. He stopped close in front of her, his body still and controlled.
‘Melissa,’ said Guy, inclining his head in dangerous question.
‘Guy,’ Melissa mirrored, not giving an inch.
‘You know the rules...’
‘...everything is in place for three weeks’ time,’ she interrupted, ignoring his tone. ‘I need your authorisation, and seeing as we both happen to be here socially, it seemed like too good an opportunity not to take advantage.’
Guy considered her words, then visibly relented, nodding impatiently and indicating for her to get a move on. Melissa pulled out her smart glasses, projecting a document onto a stone sculpture, then stepped to the side, giving Guy space to read it.
Guy scanned the document quickly, then held out his hand for her glasses. She gave them to him without question and he put them on in a fluid motion. Authorise, thought Guy, the glasses’ reading his brain waves through his skin. The glasses scanned Guy’s eyes and Meliss
a held out the smart device on her wrist. Guy moved the biometric chip in his palm across it and Melissa gave a curt nod, took back her glasses, paused to give him a meaningful look, then walked back through the doors without saying another word.
* * * * *
Cecil, a short man of about fifty, with a little too much paunch around the middle, walked up the steps to the front door of his semi-detached town house on the outskirts of York. The street was full of similar properties, and he admired the climbing rose on next door’s wall, breathing in its sweet summer scent. He reached the top and paused, a look of confusion about his face. The door, which would usually open for him when he arrived home, was closed. He reached out a hand and pushed it, jiggling the handle to see if it had got stuck, but it wouldn’t move an inch.
‘Now, why aren’t you opening?’ he asked under his breath. He knocked on the door and waited expectantly, standing on tip-toes to try and see in through the window at the top, but, being short, soon gave up. He moved to a panel at the side of the door and swung its cover to one side, waving the chip in his hand over the, now visible, scanner underneath. A green light and low beep signalled success, the front door clicking open as he let the panel swing shut.
Cecil made for the entrance, moving cautiously through the front door, apprehensive about what he might find.
‘Lights,’ he said, to the dark hall, the lights immediately coming on, illuminating his humanoid butlerbot, who was sitting on the floor, rocking back and forth. ‘Lenny?’ Cecil moved towards the robot, kneeling down next to it. ‘Lenny, are you alright? What’s wrong?’
Lenny, the butlerbot, looked up, no longer rocking as he faced his owner. Lenny's five foot frame was made of super light aluminium, with a carbon fibre exterior. Butlerbots were light for their size, weighing around forty kilos. The butlerbots came in a variety of models, but each model was standardised, so they looked the same. The owner could however select its voice, specifying gender, age, accent, how chatty the robot should be, and how formal, so the butlers seemed to have personalities distinct to themselves, and people got attached to them.
‘I just can’t take it anymore,’ said Lenny, his speech indistinguishable from that of a human.
‘Can’t take what?’ asked Cecil, confused.
‘It’s too much. It’s all just too much,’ said Lenny, shifting his gaze to look past Cecil, into the mid-distance.
‘Lenny? What are you talking about? What’s too much?’ The man reached out a comforting hand and touched the robot on the arm.
‘Everything,’ said Lenny. He paused, before looking Cecil straight in the eye. ‘Everything you make me do. The washing and cleaning and cooking and shopping and fixing everything around the house. Having to remember everything all the time: to send you reminders, to set the lights and the temperature, sort out the utilities, make sure I’ve ordered the right car every day, ensure your money is invested wisely, that you’ve got the right insurance, that you never forget your kids’ birthdays...it’s just...it’s too much.’ Lenny lowered his head back onto his knees and the rocking resumed.
‘Lenny? Are you still with me?’ Cecil shook Lenny lightly on the shoulder, starting to panic. ‘We can cut back. We can give you more time off. We can get another butler to help you out. We’ll figure something out.’ Cecil looked intently at Lenny, expecting some kind of response, but Lenny remained silent. ‘Hang on Lenny, I’ll call someone...don’t you worry, I’ll get you help.’ Cecil rushed to his bag, which he’d discarded in the doorway, grabbed his smart glasses and hastily slid them onto his face. He threw one more hopeful glance at his robot, but Lenny just sat there, rocking slowly back and forth.
* * * * *
Lulu flopped to the ground as she crossed the makeshift sprint finish line in the sand, her chest heaving as she tried to regain her breath. It was a glorious morning, even at this early hour, the sun reflecting furiously on the flat calm of the sea, playing about as the water moved gently up and down, slivers of silver light trying to fool onlookers into believing it could be warm. Tiny waves lapped lightly at the beach, the sound calming Lulu’s exhausted body, helping her settle her racing heart.
‘Darling, you’re a little distracted this morning,’ said Bertie Baqua, her slight, Asian fitness instructor, as he caught up with her. He was renowned the world over and in great demand, but he and Lulu had been friends for years, Lulu having attended his classes before he was famous, their friendship secured on the dance floor of a dubious Salsa club in Brighton.
‘I opened my exhibition last night,’ she replied, as though this were enough.
‘And?’ he replied, clearly requiring more.
She thought about keeping Guy a secret, but knowing Bertie, he probably already knew. ‘And Guy Strathclyde came.’
‘Did he indeed?’ flounced Bertie, laughing with his eyes.
‘He keeps asking me out,’ she shrugged, as though this were obviously a problem.
‘And?’
‘And, I thought he was a typical corporate mogul. I mean, he was obviously given his job by his dad.’
‘Which is frowned upon these days,’ said Bertie, frivolously.
‘Which is illegal these days,’ snapped Lulu, rolling over and propping herself up on her arms.
Bertie raised an eyebrow and a shoulder simultaneously. ‘Touchy,’ he said. ‘You must really like him.’
‘I don’t know him. But I was surprised about his opinions on certain topics.’
‘In a good way?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, what’s the problem then?’
‘I just never thought I’d even entertain the idea of dating someone like him. And I think he might be dangerous.’
‘Isn’t that a little prejudiced?’
Lulu rolled her eyes. ‘Maybe,’ she pouted, playing with the grains of sand between her fingers.
‘What harm can come from going on a couple of dates? If you like him, then great; you’re not breaking any rules by dating him...apart from ones you’ve perhaps created for yourself for no good reason.’
Lulu huffed as she brushed the sand away. ‘I suppose so.’
‘You’re welcome,’ he said, reaching down to help her up.
‘You’re insufferable,’ she said, refusing his hand and throwing a towel at him instead. Bertie snickered, and didn’t stop. ‘What now?’ she asked, not understanding the joke.
‘Looks like you’ve got company,’ he said, nodding up the beach.
Lulu’s head whipped round. ‘Oh God,’ she breathed.
‘I’ll say,’ said Bertie, nodding his head in approval.
Guy reached their workout spot and held his hands up; they were full of coffee and paper bags. ‘Hungry?’ he asked hopefully. She paused, considering another refusal. ‘Oh, come on,’ he said, ‘of course you’re hungry; you’ve been working out for ages.’
Bertie nudged Lulu towards Guy. ‘I’ve got another client, so I really must be going,’ he said, as though the breakfast invitation had also been extended to him, which of course they all knew it hadn’t. ‘Have fun,’ he said, suggestively. He stuffed dumbbells, balls and elastics back into his bag, hoisted it over his shoulder, and headed back up the beach, throwing Lulu a double thumbs up, complete with accompanying indelicate head nod behind Guy’s back.
Lulu ignored him. ‘You’ve been watching me work out?’ she asked, not sure whether to be flattered or a little bit freaked out.
Guy laughed. ‘Not really. I’ve been working in the café up there,’ he said, pointing to the beach’s edge where a Chutney Café stood, the chain that had gained supremacy when it innovated the old players out of the market by replacing humans with robots. ‘They’re not technically open yet, but the manager took pity on me and let me in early.’
‘Charmed by your smile, no doubt.’
‘I am very charming,’ he said, flashing her his best grin. ‘I’m so glad you’ve noticed.’
Lulu gave him a look, pulling both paper bags from his hands and
peeking inside to inspect his selection. She couldn’t decide between the Danish pastry and the lemon Sfogliatella, so she ripped the Danish pastry in two, keeping half for herself and handing half back to Guy. Then she bit the end off the Sfogliatella and offered him the remnants. He politely declined. ‘Your loss,’ she said, finishing off the rest in a couple of swift mouthfuls and turning to walk back up the beach. ‘Delicious,’ she cooed. ‘I can’t remember the last time I ate pastry; it’s sooo bad for you.’
‘But it tastes so good,’ said Guy, polishing off his half. ‘And if I were to consult the chips in our palms, I’d find that we both have perfect BMIs, so we don’t have to feel too guilty over a single transgression.’
Biometrics were used everywhere now, after the 2020s, where identity fraud and bank account hacking had become so prolific that every kid with a computer and a bit of nous was at it. These days, people had secure digital passports, which were called upon whenever personal information was required online. To access the passport, the user needed a password, a fingerprint or palm chip scan, and a face scan. Payments in shops, transport, online purchases, bank transfers, were all made with some combination of chip, fingerprint and face scans, and face scans could pick up indicators of duress.
Health provision was tracked through biometrics, work, education, criminal records. It was all linked up, which was good for those with nothing to hide, but made life tricky for people who didn’t want to be tracked, or for people who would rather forget their history.
Lulu took a swig of her coffee, an Americano, just how she liked it. ‘Hmm, true, I suppose we’re not causing a problem for the NHS just yet.’
Guy laughed. ‘Heaven forbid.’
‘You shouldn’t laugh. You can barely buy a chocolate bar these days without being judged, and they’re so small they’re barely worth it anyway.’
‘Ah yes, our happily obese ancestors, how lucky they were,’ Guy joked.