Serafina and the Virtual Man - By Marie Treanor Page 0,23

had less to do with truth than his desire to make sure she still applied for a job. “Adam was brilliant, but everything still ticks along pretty well.”

“He was a genius,” Jilly observed.

Curly grinned. “Bloody was,” he agreed. “But never so almighty that he couldn’t muck in and get the work done. Pleasure to work for Adam—wasn’t it, boys?”

Jilly turned on her stool to take in the “boys,” who were all nodding with enthusiasm. The gloomy man even raised his nearly empty pint in a silent toast.

“Sounds too good to be true,” Jilly observed, with just a hint of scepticism.

“Oh no,” said the optimistic one. “You didn’t want to get on the wrong side of him. Laziness pissed him off. And stupidity.”

“I expect that happened more toward the end,” Jilly said sympathetically.

“Why would it?” the gloomy one pounced with a hint of aggression.

Jilly met his gaze with boldness, wondering how far he’d go in Adam’s defence. “I heard he went downhill. It was in the papers.”

“The papers talk shite,” Curly said.

“You mean he still came into the office every day?”

“Well, no, but then he never did that. Sometimes he worked for days on end at home, especially when he had a new idea.”

“So he was always fine with you guys, right up until he sold out?”

“‘Course he was. Didn’t see him much from around May, but he kept in touch by e-mail.”

Jilly frowned. “So why did he sell out, then? I always thought it was because of the—er—downhill thing.”

“No,” the gloomy man said. Curly paid the barman and began to ferry the drinks from the bar to the table. And Jilly realised she’d get no more out of them on that score. There was loyalty to the company, but she sensed there was a deeper loyalty to their dead boss that seemed to have more to do with affection. Their very silence said they missed him.

For some reason, she was glad of that. And yet it didn’t help her.

She drained her orange juice and slid off the stool. “Well, thanks for that, guys. I’m going to give them my CV and see what happens. See you around, I hope.”

****

So how, Jilly wondered as she walked back to Serafina’s, did Genesis Adam degenerate so quickly from the man who owned that flat, the brilliant developer of the wild and wacky imagination who inspired affection and loyalty in his employees, and man of many enthusiastic interests, to the drink-and-drugs soaked wreck who’d sold out to his partner and left the country to die? Unspeakably sad.

It was time to do that side of the research, but she wasn’t looking forward to it.

Sera was in the inner office with a client when she returned. Jilly merely grunted in response to Elspeth’s and Jack’s greetings and went to put the kettle on. Deep in thought, she made three cups of instant coffee, plonked one on Elspeth’s desk, said, “Oi!” to Jack by way of announcing its availability and took her own to her own desk, where the laptop awaited her.

Sighing, she sat down and became aware that both Elspeth and Jack were staring at her.

“Thank you, Jilly,” Elspeth said faintly.

Fuck, is that really the first time I’ve made her coffee? How grumpy an old bat am I? Shite, she was twenty-nine years old; maybe she could afford to start being at least pleasant to a few people, people she didn’t actively dislike.

If I died tomorrow, or even in six months’ time, how would I be remembered? If at all...

Aware that these dark, uneasy thoughts were encouraged by her inexplicable sadness over Adam’s decline and death, she shook them off and set to work.

Adam’s end was documented in the newspapers and a couple of the big gaming magazines. In true British-tabloid style, his fall was given far more coverage than his success. Only now was there a clear picture of him, and Jilly’s heart gave a funny little lurch as she zoomed in on it.

Here was the man who’d accosted her in Ewan’s house. That much was clear, even though the photo was shot in a dark Edinburgh street, and Adam looked thin, gaunt, and unwell. There were swollen dark shadows under his eyes, several days’ stubble around his jaw, and even in the poor light, his clothes—jeans and a sloppy sweatshirt—looked none too fresh. She couldn’t make out his expression. The photographer’s flash was reflected in his eyes, so he just looked permanently surprised. It had been taken in May last year, shortly after rumours