A Calculated Life (17 page)

“Is Prudence in this morning?” There was no queue at the florist’s and Jayna hoped to be in and out quickly.

“No, love. She’s in tomorrow.”

“Well, Prudence gave me some off-cuts last week for my stick insects and she told me to drop in anytime I needed more. You must be Geena.”

“That’s right. But it’s a bit early for wastage.”

“Mid-afternoon?”

“I should have plenty by then. Anything in particular?”

“Rose leaves and ivy would be perfect. Variegated.”

Geena looked over Jayna’s shoulder at a new customer entering the shop, and smiled.

“Jayna, who are you buying flowers for?” It was Benjamin.

“No!” She shook her head, evidently fazed. “I’m just here for some foliage for my pets.”

“Ah! The stick insects. Well, I’m ordering some flowers for my wife. Help me choose some, will you? I never know what to get.”

“I usually choose for him,” said Geena. “I don’t know what he finds so difficult.”

“I don’t want to choose something she’d hate. She doesn’t like lilies. Why would anyone not like lilies?”

“That’s obvious. They’re funeral flowers,” said Geena.

“Not always,” he said.

“Puts a lot of people off.”

“I’d buy these fuchsia,” said Jayna, anxious to speed things up and get away. “They’d be nice on their own.”

“That’s it then. Decided. I’ll collect them at the end of the afternoon. For now, Geena, please make a fuchsia buttonhole for Jayna.”

“No, Benjamin, it’s not…I’ve got to go.”

“No, you don’t. I say so.”

As Geena busied herself with the twists and wraps of the buttonhole, Jayna covered her awkwardness by faking an interest in the carnations. Why had Benjamin, she thought, placed her in this difficult position? Everyone would notice the fuchsias. But, then…perhaps, better to be noticed for the flowers than anything else. He stepped forward and pinned the exquisite arrangement to her lapel, the back of his fingers grazing the flat area of her rib cage just below her collarbone. She was aware of inhaling Benjamin’s exhaled breath. They left together and, waiting for the elevators, he looked down to her, demanding she return his gaze. She acquiesced, and he smiled.

As the elevator doors opened Jayna came face-to-face with Dave.

His eyes scanned, briefly, intensely, as he tried to read the situation. But before he could make any sense of the flowers, of Benjamin standing a little too close to Jayna, he stepped out, pushed through the crowd, and disappeared.

Soon after starting work, she made an internal call. “Dave, I need some research material archiving later this week. I’ll come down now and explain how I want it all organized.” Hester noticed Jayna’s fast pace across the office but was evidently unfazed, no doubt presuming she was on some sort of mission to complete the energy findings.

Dave jumped up. “So, what’s with the flowers?”

“Never mind the stupid flowers.”

“Did Benjamin give them—?”

“Never mind Benjamin.” She jerked her head to the right and stepped behind a pillar, partly obscuring herself from the corridor. “I’ve decided. I
do
want to see you again. I’ll come on Sunday…if that’s all right.” She pulled Dave close to her as if to whisper in his ear. But she had second thoughts and kissed his upper lip. What was it about his mouth? She pulled herself away, remembering what she’d come for. But she was no longer controlling events. He pulled her back towards him and maneuvered her farther from the door towards the one spot in the room out of sight from the corridor. “I thought we weren’t supposed to talk in the office,” he said, distracted.

“Everything’s changed, Dave. I need to tell you something.” She tried to make space between them. “I’m sorting some ideas…there’s something you need to do.”

“So, you’re not here about archiving?” He laughed.

“Yes, I am.” She pushed again. “When the Hydrogen Archive reaches the main tower, look for a sub-folder named Sarcophagus. And hide it.”

“What?”

“Don’t ask, Dave. Just do it.”

And, as if he’d completely misunderstood, he walked coolly to the door, closed it, and turned the lock. From that point on,
everything seemed to happen at double speed. Looking up at the underside of the shelves, Jayna fleetingly thought of Nicole and the broom cupboard.

For the next three days, she worked assiduously and stuffed the Sarcophagus folder with all the data from her covert share dealings. By Thursday afternoon, she had more or less completed the challenge and, unable to stall any further, she submitted her draft report to Benjamin. Before leaving the office she uploaded her archive data to the central storage tower, with the tiny Sarcophagus embedded deep within the material. It contained short and long strings of numerals, no meaningful prose. A few surnames and initials but mostly short sets of capitalized letters. It wouldn’t take a code breaker to get the general gist; anyone with finance know-how could make a good guess.

When Dave opened the file, he feigned a bored, slumped posture for the benefit of Craig, who was rummaging around for some ancient management accounts. Dave scanned through the data and wondered if Jayna might be two-thirds mad.

He interred the Sarcophagus in a dark, deep place.

CHAPTER 11

F
riday. At the conclusion of a directors’ meeting,
Jayna’s attendance was politely requested at a gathering upstairs; as expected. She knew Olivia would do this—hold a discrete celebration before the final report was even completed. Jayna heard hoots of laughter before opening the boardroom door. High spirits indeed. She found the directors chinking champagne glasses as though the report’s revenues were already banked and bonuses already disbursed. Jayna captioned the scene:
Here Today, Somewhere Better Tomorrow
. She wondered if it would occur to any of them to imbibe that very particular cocktail favored in times past (equal measures greed, opportunity, temptation). Fairly unlikely, she thought.

Benjamin basked in Jayna’s success, and as he raised his glass, he toasted, “To hydrogen futures.”

“So what comes next, Jayna? What are you going to cook up for us?” asked Olivia.

“Oh, I don’t know. I think it may be something more mundane.” She wanted to cool things down. “The financial implications might be less dramatic.”

“No clues for us?”

No harm in spinning something out. “I’m digging around in the economic data for running the enclaves. It may not come to anything but I plan to spend a few more days sifting the data before
I decide if it’s worth pursuing. That would be the best time to talk about it.” She glanced sideways at
Jesse
.

“But what’s your gut feel at the moment?”

“I don’t really have a gut feel as such. All I can say is…there’s a certain momentum within the data.” Many raised eyebrows. She knew that would grab their attention. “It leads me to wonder whether a more interventionist role could be taken in these areas.”

“You mean clamping down on spending, on policing,” said Benjamin.

“I don’t know yet. In fact, the opposite could be true. Higher spending might be the answer. Or at least a more responsive approach.”

“But is there a specific problem that needs addressing?” said Olivia. “What can the state offer beyond its current policies? They get a fair minimum wage, subsidized housing, free health care, free transport…What else is there?”

“Nevertheless, Olivia, I’ve come across data that indicates the authorities are turning a blind eye to dissatisfaction in the enclaves. There are regular riots now when the housing allocations are announced.”

“But that’s just a local issue for the police,” said Benjamin.

“Ideally, though, public policy should not generate unnecessary aggravation. It should be tuned to prevent dissatisfaction from welling up, especially if that anger threatens to spill outside the enclaves.”

“Well, it’s always good for our image to have an impact on public sector administration,” said Olivia. “So if you need any advice come straight to me.”

So Jayna decided to venture further. It was easier to suggest something in conversation, almost as an afterthought; better than scheduling an appointment with Olivia because
then
any suggestion she made would appear to be a formal proposal or, more to the point, premeditated. She twisted around to take a sandwich from a
platter being offered around the group and as she turned back, she said, “What I may need, Olivia, are some first-hand accounts of the enclaves. Or, ideally, a fact-finding visit.”

“What?” said Benjamin. “I don’t think so, Jayna. I don’t really know the enclaves myself, and how would you—”

“I know the enclaves better than anyone here,” Olivia cut in. “I sat on the original Transport Networking Group. Why not visit with one of our own staff who lives in the enclaves? It’s perfectly safe if you’re with someone who knows the way around. Just keep it low key.”

Benjamin quickly changed tack. “You could go with Dave Madoc. He’s a dependable sort, doing a pretty good job in Archives.”

“What do you think, Olivia? Should I organize something?”

“It’s fine by me as long as we have an itinerary on record.”

“I could make arrangements for this weekend and assess the situation straight away.”

“My guess is you’ll drop it. So the sooner you decide the better.”

“Could I file for out-of-pocket expenses?”

“Yes. Benjamin, will you sort that out?”

“Sure.”

She wanted to rush from the boardroom and tell Dave about the sudden turn of events. Their assignation was now officially sanctioned; no need for secrecy. Her mind chased ahead: suggest to Olivia next week…a long-term investigation…adopt the enclaves as a personal project for the weekends…Dave as an escort. On Monday she would submit a feedback report pointing out that Dave had cancelled his own plans at short notice, that she would need Dave’s co-operation for the future…some modest payment…But she didn’t chase off to tell him. An audit trail was essential for all their communication.
I’ll send him an internal communication straightaway, outlining the proposal, and talk to him face-to-face by mid-afternoon. I’ll send the details of my itinerary to Benjamin and
Olivia, confirm the visit by formal internal communication with Dave and, finally, collect my advance expenses
.

Leaving Mayhew McCline that afternoon, she slipped into a daydream free-fall: a repeated image of Dave greeting her at the station; a disembodied hand, her own, holding a spoon and stirring vegetables in a wok; repeated glimpses of Dave, naked; better still, Dave reading aloud from one of his books, reading a favorite passage to her with precise emphasis.

On automatic, she crossed at the first junction. Her eyes latched onto a woman walking several steps ahead. Stirred from her blissful musings, she observed the woman’s peculiar gait—a lumbering distortion caused by her marginally out-turned feet. This minor peculiarity set her apart from Jayna’s world of average-ness, neat-ness, correct-ness. So Jayna, as though adding another object to her collection, walked precisely in the woman’s out-turned footsteps. She took the act further. She considered the face that might belong to this woman; surely a slack face, the corners of her mouth definitely turned down, and her eyelids nearly conjoined as though her mind were blinded to anything inessential. The woman could only see the color of the traffic lights and the edge of the pavement. All this Jayna imagined and enacted.