Dillian began the introduction, but before she got any further than "Cele, this is Val —", the woman grinned.
"We've met before."
News to him. For a moment he wondered if he'd interrogated her, but the smile made that unlikely. He looked at her more closely but his memory remained stubbornly unhelpful, which probably meant he'd fucked her.
He was trying to frame a tactful way of asking, when she continued, "Well, I grant you, it was ten years ago, and you called yourself Marc then, but I remember distinctly that you have a faint scar on your left temple —" She reached up to him and traced the mark with her finger "— like this. Got it in a bar brawl, you said." She looked over at Warrick and winked. "He was colossally intoxicated at the time I discovered it, you see. So was I, for all that."
Tact didn't seem to be a requirement. In any case, ten years made it ancient history. Toreth took a sip of wine and smiled. "I'm sorry, but I still don't remember. Maybe you met my evil twin."
Warrick raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting that you're the good one?"
"I found the scar when I was licking you all over," Cele said. "Does that help?"
"Cele," Dillian said, with a warning note in her voice. Sara appeared frankly intrigued.
Cele pulled a pencil out of her bag and flourished it, looking round the group. "Are we having a problem here? No? Good. Shall I draw your erection, Marc?"
Toreth blinked, stuck for an answer. He glanced at Warrick, but he still seemed amused rather than upset. Clearly, this was standard behaviour for Cele.
She picked up a paper napkin from beside a tray of canapes. "Everyone's is different, you know, and yours is quite attractive. Seven inches —"
"Well, there you go, then," Toreth interrupted.
She paused, pencil raised. "What?"
"Must have been my evil twin." He grinned at her. "Far too small to be me."
Warrick closed his eyes, Dillian rolled hers, Sara yelped delightedly, and Cele's smile got bigger.
"You know why women are such poor judges of perspective?" Cele asked them all. After a suitable pause, she held her hands up, palms facing each other, about a hand's breadth apart. "Because all our lives we've been told this is eight inches."
This time Sara's laugh attracted attention from all around them. Dillian snorted wine out of her nose and choked. Warrick thumped her on the back until she could stop coughing and stand up again. Cele offered her a glass and the napkin.
"Sorry, sweetheart," she said, and then smiled at Toreth. "It's all right, Seven Inches. I forgive you for not remembering — it was just fucking, after all."
Woman after his own heart. Toreth was perfectly willing to concede that he had, indeed, fucked Cele at some time in the past. He wished he could remember; she looked fuckable enough now that he could imagine ten years ago he would have homed in on her like a heat-seeking missile. He'd have to try to get her alone at some point to continue the conversation. If nothing else, she could tell him if they'd had fun.
With order finally restored, Dillian looked at the glass Cele had given her and asked, "Water?"
Cele nodded. "May not look it, but I'm hard at work here. Guided tours of my work later, for the sponsors."
"Work?" Toreth asked, feeling a stupid, infuriating twinge of unease at the idea of Cele at SimTech. She hadn't been on the staff during the investigation.
"I've been contracting for Keir," Cele said, mildly impressing Toreth with the intensity of innuendo she crammed into such a short sentence. "He took pity on me. For I am An Artist — poor and starving in a garret — and he's stinking rich."
Warrick shook his head. "Don't listen to her. She's designed some sim rooms for us, and they're beautiful work. The sim can do a lot, but if we're not going to be confined simply to what we can generate from templates or copy from the real world, creativity is still required."
"And she's not poor, either," Dillian added. "She's very talented, and in a lot of demand."
"Ah." Cele waved her hand. "You're embarrassing me. But Dilly — if I'm so good, are you going to have a look at my rooms?"
"I, er . . ." Dillian glanced round, as if seeking inspiration. "I saw the drawings."
"Not the same thing, sweetheart. Go on — go in this time."
"Maybe."
"Haven't you been in the sim yet, Dillian?" Sara asked.
"No." Dillian glanced at Warrick. "I know, I really ought to. But I don't like the idea."
"Are you claustrophobic?" Sara asked. "I didn't like the visor much the first time, but after that it was fine."
"Good Lord, no. I could hardly spend so much time on sealed-environment constructions if I were. It's hard to explain why. It's the idea of . . . of my body being in one place and my mind being somewhere else."
Warrick sighed. "It's nothing at all like that. I've explained the principle a hundred times."
As Warrick started to explain the principle again, Toreth turned to Cele and said, "I suppose you had to spend a lot of time in the sim." Starting an oblique approach to a question.
"A fair bit. Finding out what it could do, building the rooms. You?"
He nodded. "I've helped out in a few trials. Mostly I just use up Warrick's personal sim time for fucking."
"Oh, yes. You can do some
weird
shit in there." She grinned. "But I haven't done any of it with him, Seven Inches, so you can stop looking at me like that."
Toreth hadn't been aware he'd been looking like anything. "I wouldn't mind," he said evenly. "It's his job."
She laughed. "Of course it is. And of course you wouldn't. But if you were going to mind, there isn't any need. He's my unofficial adopted big brother, at least when he can spare the time from big-brothering Dilly."
He shrugged, feeling at least somewhat reassured. "Like I said, it doesn't matter."
Cele didn't answer. She was staring past his shoulder. After a moment, she nudged Dillian and said, "My God — look!"
"At what?" Toreth asked as he followed her gaze. Nothing notable caught his attention, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Warrick putting his glass down. He looked . . . shocked, as if he'd seen something totally unexpected.
"Excuse me," Warrick said, striding away before Toreth could ask what or who he'd seen. Toreth watched, wondering, until Warrick halted beside a dark-haired woman, apparently interrupting her current conversation without ceremony.
When the woman turned towards Warrick, she seemed faintly familiar to Toreth.
"Who's that?" he asked Dillian, who obviously knew.
"It's the b — it's Mel. Melissa. Keir's ex."
Of course — her hair had confused him. The colour must be recent because she'd been blonde in the security file.
"Ex-
wife
?" Sara asked, catching up with the conversation.
"Yes." Dillian frowned thoughtfully. "I wonder what she's doing here?"
"Looks like we'll find out in a minute," Cele said, as the woman turned and started towards them, Warrick a step or two behind her.
"Cele," Melissa she said as she reached them, and kissed Cele's cheeks. "Lovely to see you again."
Cele returned the greeting, adding a hug. "You look great, Mel. It's been too long."
"Yes, it has. And Dillian." This time the single kiss was what Toreth would classify as insultingly perfunctory, missing Dillian's cheek by about three inches. Dillian didn't reply.
Warrick didn't appear to have had the time — or possibly inclination — to mention Sara or Toreth, because Melissa looked between them, obviously trying to work out the relationships. Since Warrick didn't seem inclined to do anything, Toreth offered his hand. "Val Toreth. And this is Sara Lovelady."
Her hand was cool, the grip brief but firm. "Melissa Aetherford." After a moment's silence, she asked, "Are you a friend of Keir's?"
Toreth smiled. "Not really." Sara stepped on his foot and he ignored her. "Actually, I'm fucking him."
This time, Warrick went paler, Dillian went pinker, Cele grinned openly, and Sara turned away hastily, adjusting the strap of her dress.
Melissa looked back at him steadily, matching his smile. "Lucky man."
He thought about the obvious question, but he didn't feel like playing to her feed lines. "I think so."
Her smile went slightly frosty and he chalked up a point.
"What are you doing here?" Cele asked Mel. "Not that there's any reason you shouldn't be, of course, but Keir didn't mention."
"I'm here with a client," she said, still looking at Toreth.
"You should've let me know, Lissa," Warrick said.
So you could've kept me out of the way? Toreth wondered.
Melissa turned to her ex-husband, her smile melting into something Toreth had to admit was quite charming. "I would have done, of course, but I didn't know myself until very last thing this afternoon. I'm filling in for someone with sick children."
Dillian, out of Melissa's line of sight, rolled her eyes and mouthed, "Of course."
"I'm sorry if I startled you," Melissa continued.
"Not at all." Warrick's voice had a brittle edge, as though he were running a strict internal censor on every word. "It's very good to see you again. It's been a while since we . . . since we spoke. What are you doing these days?"
"Sales — market projections, primarily. Not my first choice, but there are only so many jobs for statisticians."
"Researching markets for sim applications?" Cele asked.
"Broadly, yes. Demand estimation. Nothing very exciting."
"It's not P-Leisure, then?" Dillian asked.
"Hardly." Mel lifted her head slightly, as though an unpleasant smell had drifted past. "Training simulation systems, primarily. Specialist environments: radiation hazard, low gravity, deep sea — that kind of thing."
Cele chuckled. "I'm sure you could combine the two."
Warrick cleared his throat. "Sex isn't the only application for the sim, Cele."
"It's the most popular one, though," Dillian said. "And the most potentially profitable." When Warrick fixed her with an icy stare, she smiled sweetly. "Well, it is. I
am
a shareholder. I do have to think of my investment. It wouldn't surprise me if three-quarters of the people who've been through tonight weren't looking at Cele's scenery. It's full of corporates taking their mistresses in there. In all senses of the word."
"Dillian!" Warrick said, and Toreth frankly stared. He'd never heard Warrick so defensive. Almost embarrassed, which in the context of the sim was something new.
Dillian glanced at Mel, then back to her brother. "Oh, am I being discriminatory? There
were
a few women with rather attractive escorts."
"They're only running ten-minute slots," Sara said.
Cele snorted. "Sounds about five minutes too long for most of the corporates
I
saw in the queue."
Mel shook her head. "Surely people wouldn't — not right here?"
"You should put a screen up next time, Keir," Dillian suggested. "So we can see who's right."
"Public sex?" Mel looked round the group, her gaze ending up on Warrick. "Well, I suppose it's only to be expected."
"It's not in public, though, is it?" Sara said. "The sim's about as private as you can get."
Warrick took a breath. "I don't —"
"Oh, come on, Mel," Cele interrupted, and Toreth wondered what she'd thought Warrick might say. "Dilly's only joking. Nobody would do that at an official event."
"Actually, I know someone who has," Sara said. "Toreth, do the buffet story."
He was about to refuse, when he caught Mel's expression. She looked to be on the brink of walking off anyway, and a push wouldn't hurt. Toreth couldn't resist. Cele and Dillian would probably find it funny, if no one else did.
"This is back when I was a trainee. They laid on a party after the final set of exams and . . . so on. Buffet, which they did every year, but our year was the first one they had a free bar, which considering how tight they usually are was a miracle. Probably splashing out because it was the last one before the reorganisation."
Eleven years ago. He paused for a moment, thinking of security files and trying to remember whether Warrick had been married to Melissa then.
"Anyway, it was a
good
party, especially when you've spent a year on trainee pay. There was this woman there — one of our intake. Don't remember her name, but she was
very
. . ." He mimed curves in the air. "Which was a waste, really, because she didn't drink, didn't date, didn't do anything except pass exams. I had a few bets on that I'd get her before the end of the year, and the party was the official end of training, so that was the last evening."
He glanced round the group, assessing. Sara, who'd heard this a million times, was looking round, too. Cele seemed amused, as did Dillian, although Toreth suspected Dillian's appreciation might be due partly Melissa's reaction. She looked positively arctic. Warrick, his eye on Melissa, didn't appear too happy, either, but Toreth decided the payoff would probably be worth it.
"The later it got, the more people kept coming up, asking me if I'd got the money with me. I managed to persuade her to have a glass or three, since we were celebrating, and finally, ten to midnight, I got her — on the buffet table."
"Didn't anyone
notice
?" Dillian asked.
"Pretty much everyone who was still sober enough to see straight. So about half of them. I didn't want anyone claiming I'd missed my deadline and wriggling out of paying up."
Cele laughed. "Not to mention that you were drunk enough that you've forgotten
her
name as well."
"No, that's my normal awful memory." He grinned. "Nothing personal. I was pretty sober.
She
was hammered, mind — she ended up sat on a meringue. Someone took a picture of her on the table with her legs round my waist. Cream and fruit everywhere. Flew round the division systems, of course. Paper copies printed and stuck up everywhere, too. She never spoke to me again. God knows why —
I
didn't take the picture."