The Veil by William Bowden Page A

about right now. But when he is not looking her way, Lucy is sure to secure what furtive glances she can, at the transformed object of interest in whose company she finds herself.
    “How are you feeling?” Robert asks of her.
    “Wonderful!”
    “Your…body. Any…problems?”
    “No…”
    Lucy takes his arm to halt him with a giggle.
    “I know how humans work. How do you feel?”
    Robert is somewhat taken aback by the familiarity she has just exhibited. It is out of character. But then, she has never been corporeal before.
    “Well…all things considered, not too bad,” he says. “The virus helps—I don’t feel as tired as I should.”
    She beams a big Lucy-smile back at him.
    “Look, don’t forget where we are,” he warns her.
    “I won’t,” she says, rushing ahead, before calling back. “Come along, Bob!”
    Few who met Lucy for the first time knew of her peculiar way of addressing others, which was to invariably take the name and salutation stated at initial introduction to be the given mode from that point forward, with formal name, rank and title being used if none was offered. The typical result was long-winded names, simultaneously annoying and endearing to those on the receiving end, yet with few requesting an alternate, such was Lucy’s infectious nature for those who took the trouble to get to know her, though sadly most did not.
    Bebbington had clued Robert in on Lucy’s foibles, and he had been certain to make his own introduction unambiguous. Yet unlike all others with whom she came into contact she rarely addressed him directly by name, and when she did so she chose Robert . That she now should choose Bob was deeply unsettling, but for reasons he could not put his finger on. Despite the short acquaintance there was something about her, something that was more than just engaging—in the way she moves, in her style, something in the things she shows me . Whatever it was it had snuck up on Robert and caught him unawares.
    * * *
    The path brings them to the edge of a clearing and sight of the pavilion—a grand stone building with two halls, one either side of a central dome, each with tall, expansive windows glowing with a welcoming light. Beneath the dome a broad flight of steps lead up to its wide doors.
    Ril and Ramani are on the steps talking to each other, their conversation inaudible. Robert and Lucy take a moment to observe unseen.
    “I wonder what it is with those two,” Robert muses.
    “Do you suppose they are lovers?” Lucy asks, transfixed by the couple.
    “Come on,” Robert says, grabbing Lucy’s hand and pulling her after him into the clearing. “And behave yourself.”
    Ril and Ramani turn to greet them, both dressed in dinner suits. Like Lucy’s, Ramani’s is in the style of a man’s, cut for a woman, though with a more appropriate choice of shoe. She has an appreciative grin for Robert.
    “We do scrub up rather well, don’t we, Mr. Cantor.”
    “Are you both rested?” Ril enquires. “I trust the house was in order.”
    “It was, thank you.”
    Ramani motions Robert and Lucy up the steps, taking the opportunity to look over Lucy’s attire.
    “A good choice, Lucy. It suits you.”
    “Thank you.”
    Robert detects the haughtiness in her voice that manifests when Lucy’s mood is condescending or combative. He raises his eyebrows at Ramani to show he sees the game she is playing, as Lucy trots up the steps.
    The pavilion is a single open space divided by its dome, brightly lit and elegant in appearance. The hall to the left contains a formal dining table set for dinner, with sofas and armchairs arranged around it in informal clusters. The other hall is a dance floor, with an empty stage at the far end. Between the two, opposite the main entrance, a set of French windows lead out onto a terrace.
    Lucy’s attention has been caught by the dining table and comfortable chairs—lots of tactile sensations. Robert watches her drift among it all, unaware of their