"You want me to go up to Zanthus?" Greg asked. There was a sensation in his gut, as if he'd just knocked back a few brandies in rapid-fire succession.

"That's right, boy. Why, that a problem?"

"No." Greg grinned. "No problem at all."

"It's not a bloody holiday," Evans snapped. "You get your arse up there, and you stop them, Greg. Hard and fast. I've got to have something concrete to show my backing consortium. They're due for the figures in another six weeks. I've got to have something positive for them, they'll understand a spoiler, God knows enough of the kombinates are trying to throttle each other rather than do an honest day's work. What they won't stand for is me dallying about whingeing instead of stomping on it." Philip Evans subsided, resting on the powerchair's tall back. "That just leaves this evening."

"What's happening this evening?" Greg asked.

"I'm throwing a small dinner party—some close friends and associates, one or two glams, plus Julia's houseguests. There's a couple of people I want you to screen for me. I've invited Dr. Ranasfari. He's leading one of Event Horizon's research teams, a genuine genius. I've got him working on a project I consider absolutely crucial to my plans for the company's future. So you handle with care." Evans stopped, looking as uncomfortable as Greg had yet seen him. For a moment he thought it was the illness. But the old man's mind was flush with an emotion verging on guilt. Walshaw had turned away, Uninterested. Diplomatic.

"The second…" Philip Evans nodded vaguely at the window. "That lad out there… Adrian, I think his name is. Julia seems quite taken with him. Leastways, she doesn't talk of hardly anything else. Don't get me wrong, I don't object to him, not if he makes her happy. Nothing I want more than to see her smiling, she's my world. It's just that I don't want her hurt. Now, I know you can't expect eternal commitment, not at that age, and he seems pleasant enough. But make sure she's not just another tick in his stud diary. Life's going to be tough enough for her, being my heir, she surely doesn't deserve bad-news boyfriends as well."

CHAPTER FOUR

There was a dinner jacket waiting for Greg in the guest suite after he'd finished bathing. It fitted perfectly. He put it on, feeling foolish, then went out to find his host. At least he had remembered how to do up his bow tie.

The lights throughout the majority of Wilholm's rooms were old-fashioned electric bulbs, drawing their power from solar panels clipped over the splendid Collyweston slates. He had to admit that biolums' pink-white glow wouldn't have done the classical decor justice. Evans had obviously gone to a lot of trouble recreating the old building's original glory.