The Administration Series (232 page)

Across the road from the residential buildings stood a commerce and entertainment complex, of modern construction but in the same style. According to the flat spec it was connected to the older buildings by underground access. They bypassed the complex, to Sara's obvious disappointment, and carried on to the main entrance.

The unmanned gates opened to Warrick's ID, allowing them into a fenced courtyard area. A man emerged from a low, white building largely hidden by glossy-leaved evergreen shrubs.

"Doctor Warrick?"

The first few minutes of the tour consisted of a potted history of the place, which Toreth ignored. He looked around the courtyard, noticing McLean doing the same thing. Both of them assessing the security, Toreth thought, if for different reasons.

It took Warrick a little time to pry out of the agent the detail that the previous owner had died here — the man obviously expected them to be put off by the revelation, and was plainly relieved when they weren't.

"That might lower the price," Sara whispered to Toreth as they set off towards the building entrance, and he nodded. Not that it was anything to do with him, but the idea of a slight bargain appealed somehow.

As they climbed the stairs up to the third floor, Toreth heard Sara say to McLean, "It doesn't look as safe as the last place."

"It isn't," he replied, sounding disapproving. "It's in the bottom quarter of the acceptable scoring."

"Scoring?" she asked.

"There's a system for assessing security provision in a building. And another one for assigning a value to personnel. It's not
quite
as bad as it looks. This place does meet Doctor Warrick's required level. The security systems are top class, and there are a lot of concealed modifications to the structure. Sympathetic to the architecture."

Toreth looked over his shoulder. "And you don't like architectural sympathy?"

McLean smiled slightly. "Not when I'm on duty, no."

At the top of the stairs, Warrick stopped and turned. "You're exaggerating the risk, McLean."

"Possibly." He didn't look at all discomforted. "But that's my job, too. I'd rather have completely modern construction with better-assessed materials."

"It's in the corporate high security zone. If there's any sign of trouble, the whole district is saturated with corporate security forces. Not to mention Service troopers."

"
If
the troopers show up, yes."

Warrick shrugged. "A fair point." He turned to the hovering agent. "Please, carry on."

The flat was significantly larger than Warrick's current residence, but it was still a sane size for two people. It spread over two floors, which would be a novelty for Toreth. He'd never lived anywhere with internal stairs. It opened a whole new range of possibilities for fucking.

Downstairs there was a kitchen, living room, dining room, office, and a completely empty room, with startlingly green walls, that the agent called a library. Toreth boggled slightly at the idea of living somewhere with a
library
; Warrick seemed quite unfazed by the idea.

Upstairs, the main bathroom contained an interestingly large bath, and Toreth spotted an oddly reassuring cracked tile or two. There was a second, smaller bathroom off the main bedroom with a spacious shower. Added to the one squeezed into an oddly-shaped room downstairs, Toreth realised they'd have more toilets than residents, which seemed wrong. Still, the place wasn't vast. Not so obviously corporate, either. Not so easy to imagine hordes of guests here, and corporate events full of tedious corporate tossers Toreth didn't know or didn't want to know.

There were two smaller bedrooms as well as the main one, and a room described in the particulars as a dressing room, which Warrick suggested would do as somewhere to keep Toreth's exercise equipment.

The master bedroom certainly appealed — even with furniture, there would be plenty of floor space for games. The large curved windows, filled with coloured glass, flooded the room with tinted evening light. Best of all, the room was shaped to provide a large alcove opposite the central window. Probably meant for the bed, but there was room elsewhere for that.

Toreth imagined the curtains looped back on either side, framing the alcove, the cabinet within it, and Warrick, his body dappled with sunlight through the coloured panes. Panes and pain — Toreth smiled, surprising himself with the idea that he liked the place. So surprised, in fact, that he felt compelled to tell someone, to test the feeling out.

"It's not bad, is it?" he asked Sara.

"No, I suppose not. No balcony like the last one, though."

"And has fewer shops?"

She grinned. "There is that. But it's further from I&I."

"The extra walk won't kill me. Or I can get a taxi and walk the last part."

"Not so convenient for nighttime calls."

Toreth shrugged. "If I'm further away, maybe I'll get fewer of them."

"No gym in the building," she said.

"There's a swimming pool in the basement. Probably something across the road, too."

Talking himself out of the problems with it. That had to be a good sign, didn't it?

When Warrick asked him what he thought, he didn't have to feign enthusiasm. "It's great."

"If you want to think about it . . . "

That was the last thing he wanted to do. "No. I'm fine with it if you are."

"Excellent." Warrick turned to the agent. "I'll — we'll take it. I'll have someone get in touch with you to discuss details."

As they left the building, Toreth said, "Christ, can you just
do
that?"

"What?"

"Say you'll take it."

"Well, no. But I can tell Asher tomorrow, and she can clear it with the appropriate people. This flat is somewhat cheaper than the first one we looked at, which should please her."

Warrick's slightly sour tone caught his attention. "Is SimTech in trouble?" he asked.

"Good Lord, no!" Warrick stopped in the middle of the courtyard. "Or . . . not yet, at least. But the market for luxury items like the sim has taken a rather brutal hammering, so any savings are welcome."

"So why move at all?" Sara asked.

"I did offer to pick somewhere less expensive, or even stay at the current place, but — "

"Neither of those options are possible," McLean said with finality. "The security is what costs. All the corporate insurance schemes are increasing their required security levels for providing coverage. You'd be uninsurable."

"So I've been told," Warrick said. "But security already did a first approximation check of this place, so I don't imagine there will be any problem. Will there?"

The security officer shrugged. "Not from what I've seen."

Warrick looked at his watch. "Shall we get something to eat?"

In a spirit of exploration, they tried one of the restaurants in the complex opposite. In view of Toreth and Sara's uniforms they avoided the more expensive-looking establishments, although the Eastern Mediterranean place they eventually selected would still have rated a stiff memo from Accounts if Toreth had tried to slide it past on expenses without a good cover story.

Conversation during the meal revolved entirely around flats and other domestic things, and was carried out primarily by Warrick and Sara. Toreth felt glad she'd come along, since he couldn't think of much to contribute. The easy spirit in which he'd agreed to living at the flat had slipped away, leaving him feeling oddly exposed.

McLean sat in an apparently more contented silence, expressing professional opinions when required to do so. Someone else spectating on a world he didn't belong to, Toreth thought. But so was Sara, and she seemed quite at home and not in the least overawed by the evidence of Warrick's corporate credentials.

Toreth had liked the flat. As the meal wore on, he found himself having to deliberately recall that, silently repeating it. For a while, thinking of the master bedroom and the prospect of installing the cabinet there worked to ward off the growing unease. However, by the time the other three were discussing dessert, even that image had lost its power. The discomfort, vague and so impossible to drive away, grew until it was hard even to sit still.

Then he wondered why the hell he was bothering. There was no obligation to stay, no reason to put himself through this. Warrick wouldn't care, and keeping up a front for Sara was even more stupid, considering what she'd seen in the past. McLean could go fuck himself.

Toreth stood up abruptly, dropping his napkin on the floor and not bothering to pick it up. "I've got to go."

No need to apologise or explain. Warrick simply nodded while Sara said, "See you on Monday."

Once the restaurant door closed behind Toreth, Warrick looked at Sara, who shrugged and held her glass out for a refill. A moment later, McLean discovered a tactful need to visit the toilet.

"What did you expect?" Sara said, when they were alone.

"More or less that, at some point."

"He'll be back. And he'll say yes to the flat."

"Do you think so?" he asked, surprised by her confidence.

"I know so." She had a mouthful of the wine. "Are you going to get new furniture?"

"Mm . . . yes. I'll have to pay for it personally, rather than taking money from SimTech, but I'll buy something new for the living room and dining room at least." Not the bedroom furniture — or at least he'd have to get new furniture that also matched the cabinet. The bedroom at the new flat had conjured some irresistible images. He glanced down at his hands, automatically rubbing his wrists, then looked up in time to see Sara hiding a smile.

"Sorry," she said.

He shook his head, annoyed with himself rather than her. "I don't want to embarrass you."

She waved her hand dismissively. "Doesn't bother me in the
least
. Why on Earth would it? Actually, I think it's all kind of sweet. You two." Before he could think of an answer to
that
, she glanced over towards the toilets, then lowered her voice. "Can I ask something that's probably none of my business? Nothing to do with chains."

"Go ahead."

"It's just . . . are you sure you want to do this?" she asked.

"I would hardly have asked him to move in if I didn't."

"Okay. But . . . well, you know what he's like about his flat. I mean, that he doesn't invite people there much. Ordinary people."

People other than the two of them. "Yes, I know."

"And I've lived with you. Not for very long or anything, but, well . . . "

"You couldn't help but notice that I'm an obsessive-compulsive control freak with a clean towel fetish."

"Um . . . yes. And I'm still really, really sorry about your carpet. And so is Bastard." She was blushing, but she pressed on determinedly. "What I wanted to say was, well, do you think there'll be enough room?"

That didn't simply mean in the flat across from the restaurant. "You mean, won't putting Toreth and me in the same flat, however large, be something like tying two tomcats in a sack and poking them with a stick?"

Sara snorted. "Except louder."

He picked up his beer and had a mouthful, savouring the hops.

The chances of the cohabitation lasting was something he'd tried not to dwell on excessively. Second-guessing Toreth's reactions was an exercise in frustration that provided only an illusion of control in return. And despite the careful planning he'd put into his circumspect approach to asking Toreth to stay, Warrick hadn't really expected him to agree. The whole project had a disconcertingly uncontrollable feeling. Comparisons with his marriage to Lissa were no help. She'd shared none of Toreth's mess of fears about commitment and dependency.

If they tried this and failed, what effect would that failure have on Toreth?

Out of the corner of his eye he saw McLean, hovering, obviously trying to work out if it was a conversation he could interrupt.

Warrick set his glass down, consciously not aligning it with the other items on the table. "I don't know, Sara. Maybe, yes. We'll have to see."

Sunday brunch in the park had seemed like such a good idea when Warrick had sent the invitation. The park cafe was the setting for so many happy memories that he was sure it would be the perfect place. They could go back to something they'd had a long time ago, before life in its infinite complexity and frequent unpleasantness had complicated things between them so impossibly. There, they would know who they were, or at least who they had been.

Then he had arrived, and it wasn't the same at all. Literally, since the building had been demolished. A large and grander new cafe had replaced it, built in unexceptional and rather soulless modern style, and the spotless white walls had none of the familiar, friendly shabbiness he'd hoped for. According to the polished steel letters set above the entrance, the building was only a year old — surprising that Jen hadn't mentioned it.

In the cafe, a floor-to-ceiling glass wall gave a view out over the main park, directly overlooking the complex paths and elaborate topiary of the formal garden in the centre. At least that looked to be substantially the same. On the grassy bank closer to the restaurant, the hands of the floral clock stood still. Two uniformed park employees worked at planting out the dial, filling in the bare earth between the white hands and numerals.