‘Anyway,’ Lucy says, her face still fixed in a grin. ‘Giles? Where is he? The three of you were in the small sitting room by the fire when we arrived.’
Tiggy is even more confused now. ‘The three of us?’
Lucy’s smile slips, just a little. ‘You, Giles and Brenda, of course. Who did you think I meant?’
Tiggy swallows hard. ‘I . . . um . . . I don’t remember seeing Brenda since I got here.’ She looks at Amelia, pleading for help. ‘I thought she was with you?’
‘They brought her back here a bit before us,’ Amelia says. ‘She collapsed.’ Her forehead pulls into a frown. ‘You haven’t seen her?’
‘I haven’t seen her or Giles!’
‘What?’ Lucy says. ‘But—’
She doesn’t get a chance to say any more. There’s a double handclap, then Harvey appears through the partition. ‘Ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for your patience.’ Behind him, two men push the partition doors open wider, revealing the lounge room behind. Both men are youngish and awkward-looking in their white shirts and neat black trousers. Tiggy notices that her glass has been cleared away. ‘It’s time for our final presentations, before you meet our wonderful, yet elusive, host – the CEO and founder of the incredible Timeo Technologies, Merryn Hicks.’
Are they supposed to applaud? Scott catches her eye and shrugs, then starts a slow handclap. James joins in. Then Lucy.
The two young men stand watching, expressionless.
Behind her, Tiggy hears James whisper to Amelia. Something that sounds like, ‘Is one of them your friend?’ She whips her head round just in time to see Amelia give a small shake of her head and look away from Tiggy’s gaze. James smiles, still clapping.
Her friend? What on earth is that all about?
She thinks back to the earlier presentations of the day. Giles’s awful projection. Then hers. Then that really boring one on the beach afterwards, going through all the ‘hashtag amazing’ inventions that the company has come up with – that this host, this Merryn Hicks, has come up with, if they are supposed to believe all of that. Tiggy still can’t understand why someone who’s so bloody clever would want to keep it all a secret. Surely they’d want to be on TV and the front cover of TIME, telling the world what a genius they are – getting even more funding to invent even more things? Why would anyone want to share that across so many different companies and not take any of the credit? And why would they go to all this effort to test it in such secrecy?
‘But first,’ Harvey continues, ‘please enjoy the feast . . . as you may have worked out by now, we’ve been suppressing your appetite all day to build you up for this.’ He looks slightly sheepish.
‘So you did drug us?’ Tiggy folds her arms across her chest. ‘How?’
‘The water, dummy,’ Scott mutters. ‘Why do you think I drank so much of the stuff?’ He turns to Harvey. ‘Amphetamines, I assume?’
Harvey continues with his insipid smile. ‘I expect so. Not really my department.’
‘And the champagne?’ Tiggy says. ‘What was in that?’
‘Just a little something to keep you calm. Help you get past the stresses of the day.’ He pauses. ‘Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you don’t like it?’ He turns to Tiggy. ‘You, of course, had a little something extra at the top of the stairs. But I don’t suppose you remember that.’
A fragment of a scene flashes into her brain. Leaving the room. Heading for the stairs. Something holding her back.
‘You grabbed me!’ she says.
He shakes his head. ‘Again – not my department.’ He nods towards the two young men, who remain stony-faced. ‘But we had to look after you, I’m afraid. You couldn’t go wandering off on your own. Who knows what you might have found.’ He laughs, but it sounds mirthless and forced, and after a moment he stops – his face falling serious once more.
‘As I said, please enjoy your feast. You deserve a bit of luxury now – after all, isn’t that what you signed up for?’ He refuses to catch anyone’s eye as he sweeps his arm towards the long dining table, laden with all sorts of fancy-looking treats.
‘Well, I guess I am kinda hungry now.’ Scott makes his way across to the table and picks up something small and round, topped with a pile of what looks like caviar. He pops it into his mouth, smacks his lips together. Lifts his flute. ‘Any chance of a top-up here?’
Another staff member appears from a door to the side, a slight woman with her hair pulled back in a severe bun. She looks vaguely familiar, and Tiggy wonders if she might have been one of the women who dressed her earlier on. She rushes over clutching a bottle in a white linen napkin, and with one hand behind her back, expertly pours champagne into Scott’s glass. She then walks over to James, who waves her away.
Tiggy picks up a glass and holds it out. But she doesn’t look at the woman. She’s back to looking at Harvey. Still waiting for him to say more. When he doesn’t, she takes a sip of her champagne, then says, ‘And what about the others? Aren’t they getting to enjoy this treat?’
There’s a murmuring from behind her: Lucy and Scott agreeing.
Harvey tips his head to the side and lifts a finger to his mouth, putting on an exaggerated look of confusion. ‘The others?’
Tiggy puffs out a stream of angry air. She never thought she’d feel this again, but she has the urge to ram this champagne flute into his face. ‘Yes,’ she snaps. ‘The others. Brenda and Giles, of course. Where are they?’
Harvey pales, his forced joviality gone. ‘Oh, I see. My apologies. I thought you’d realised that all surviving players were present.’
Tiggy feels a burning in her gullet, as if the champagne is going to make a swift reappearance.
‘Surviving players?’ Scott holds another caviar blini, but he stares at Harvey now, leaving the canapé hovering close to his mouth. ‘What in hell does that mean?’
‘Where are Brenda and Giles?’ Tiggy demands, clutching the flute tighter, her hand shaking. ‘Tell us. Tell us right this second!’
Harvey taps his tracker. ‘I’m sorry. I assumed you knew.’ A holographic screen pops up. Two bodies, covered with white sheets. He taps the tracker again and it vanishes. He stares at them all, holds his palms up. ‘I’m afraid Brenda and Giles are dead.’
Lucy
This is not happening, Lucy thinks. We saw them . . . in the other room. Didn’t we? She feels sick. Walks over to a high-backed chair and leans her hands on it to steady herself.
Scott slams his glass down on the table and the stem snaps off. He flicks it angrily away. ‘What the hell d’you mean, they’re dead? Where are they? Did you take them to the hospital?’
Tiggy collapses onto the floor, sobbing. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she manages, between wails. ‘I know he was a . . . a . . .’ She can’t speak any more. James goes to her and crouches down, puts an arm around her shoulder, and she falls into him, broken.
The nice little drunken buzz that Lucy felt earlier is gone in an instant. Despite everything, she’d still thought it was all a game. Well, seems it is a game, but not one that has any winners. She looks over at Amelia, who is standing perfectly still, her face contorted in a mixture of shock and terror. She won’t catch Lucy’s eye.