“Ah yes, isn’t it lovely? A Gainsborough, you know. That’s Lady Cecily Beaumont and her little daughter, Eliza. They were both so beloved by Teddy, the Lord at the time. But there was an outbreak of TB just after Eliza turned three, a few weeks after that painting was completed. Eliza died very quickly, and Cecily died just two weeks later. It’s terribly sad.”
A vision of my own lost mum, fleeting and unfocused, made of sunshine and half-remembered smile, comes to mind. When I remember how she hugged me, it’s almost like I’m hugging my own little self.
“It’s really sad,” I say. “Weird how you can feel so sad for people you never knew and who lived centuries ago.”
“I always think it’s rather lovely,” LadyB says. “A thread of connection that runs through all of time. Here we are, the dining room!”
She hesitates outside the room.
“You may see the Blue Lady while you are here,” LadyB tells me, lowering her voice. “She appears quite regularly, when there is a child in danger, but also, they say, to those that she thinks might help her.”
“Help her?” I ask.
“Oh, it’s very sad, you see. They say that Cecily and little Eliza both haunt Castle Beaumont, each one always looking for the other, little Eliza crying out in the night and the Blue Lady gently weeping as she looks for her child.”
I don’t know what expression LadyB sees on my face but she pulls me into a sudden and unexpected hug.
“My dear, there are tears in your eyes!” she says as I breathe in the scent of Chanel.
“Are there?” I touch my fingertips to my face, astonished to find there are.
“I have a feeling that Cecily might see a kindred spirit in you,” LadyB says. “Does that thought frighten you?”
“Oh no, I’ve always wanted to meet a ghost,” I tell her.
“Excellent.” She hesitates. “Tell me, I’m curious. Why did you decide to throw your genius in AI? Out of all of the things that you could have chosen?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” I say. “When I was a kid nothing that happened to me was within my control. I knew AI was coming, and I knew that a lot of it would be exploitative rather than truly useful. So, I decided to make an AI that would really benefit everyone on Earth, no matter who they are. That would give them control over their own futures and the tools to make the best kind of life they can for themselves, not by thinking for them but by showingthem what it means to think. That’s why I made FreeThought. He’s like the ultimate big brother. Which, when I come to think of it, is maybe not thebestterm. But you get what I mean?”
“I do, and think you are remarkable. Now go and eat a hearty breakfast,” she says, distracted by a couple wearing matching very short, tight shorts approaching us.
“Ah, rogue guests,” she mutters, smiling broadly. “Hello there. How lovely to meet you. I’m afraid you’ve strayed into a private area of the castle. Let me show you the way out...”
Suddenly ravenous, I go into the dining room to find that I will not be eating alone after all. There is one other person still having breakfast, and of course it’s Forrest Faulkner.
Chapter Five
The dining room is long and narrow, lit on one side by enormous windows. A polished mahogany table stretches almost its full length, gleaming in the morning sun.
Forrest is sitting at the far end, writing in a notebook. He doesn’t hear me come in. I could turn around right now, and he’d never know I was here. Except I’m really hungry. I haven’t had anything since those profiteroles.
There’s a huge oak dresser on the long wall opposite the windows, with a breakfast buffet of bacon and eggs kept warm under silver domes and a selection of fresh pastries piled high. I love self-service food; it is, in my opinion, one of the greatest inventions of humanity. It provides instant access to food without any awkward menu or waiting staff interaction, and you get to decide your own portions. Perfection. I put it right up there with landing on the moon.
The problem is, where do I sit at this table and how will Forrest Faulkner interpret my choice? Not that I am overthinking this or anything.
If I were doing that, I’d being thinking about how I don’t wantto sit near him, but also, I don’t want to look like I am deliberately sitting as far away from him as I possibly can because then he’d know that I find him intolerable, and he’d win.
If I sit in the middle of the table, I’d look like I’d thought about it too much and then he’d know that I was thinking about him, and he’d win.
If Rani were here, I wouldn’t have to think about it, she’d just go sit somewhere and I’d sit next to her, and it wouldn’t mean anything at all. But Rani is not here, and it falls to me to make a strategic move that could determine the course of the rest of my life.
So, yeah, not overthinking it AT ALL.
Then it hits me: I’ll do what he least expects.
He’ll be confused and I will win. So, in a moment of unprecedented swagger, I put my plate down, right next to him. Not opposite, you understand, but right next to him. I parallel parked this dilemma. Then, picking up the catering-size flask of coffee and a stupidly small porcelain cup and saucer, I bring them back to the table and pour my first coffee of the day.
“I think that’s for sharing.” Forrest Faulkner nods at the giant flask as I finish my first thimble of caffeine and go for a refill.
