"Found them in dad's study," I told Ashley, holding the disks out to her. She put a gaily wrapped package down on a chair, took one of the big disks from me and slid it out of its paper wrapper, grinning.
Then she looked up, frowned and stepped back, arms wide. "Prentice," she said, voice deep with censure. "You haven't said how stunning I look yet. I mean, come now."
Ash wore loose black pants and a shimmery silver top; hair back-swept and piled up. The glasses had been replaced by contacts. "You look great," I told her. I nodded at the disk in her hand. "Think you can do anything with that?"
Ash sighed and shook her head. "I don't know. Haven't you got the machine they ran on?"
I shook my head. "I asked my mum about it; she thinks they might have been Rory's."
"That long ago, eh?" Ash tapped the disk sleeve dubiously, as though expecting it to crumble to dust at any second.
"I didn't know until today he even had one; I mentioned to mum I'd ask you about these, and she said Rory did have a computer, or a word processor or whatever. Got it out in Hong Kong about a year before he disappeared."
"Hong Kong?" Ash looked even more dubious.
"Some sort of… copy; clone? Of an… well, mum said an Orange, but I guess she means Apple. She remembers him complaining that it — or the program or whatever — didn't come with proper instructions, but he got it to work eventually."
"… Uh-huh."
"Dad left it in the flat Rory shared in Glasgow when he took Rory's papers away. Wouldn't have a computer in the house, at the time'.
"Wise man."
"I'm going to try and track down the guy Rory shared the flat with but I reckon the machine's been chucked out or whatever long ago, and I just thought, could you… you know… you might know somebody who perhaps could be able to… to decode what's on there?" I shrugged, suddenly feeling awkward. Ash was now looking at the disk as though fully anticipating that creepy crawlies were about to start emerging from it. "I mean," I said, clearing my throat, suddenly feeling hot and sweaty. "There might not be anything on them at all, but… I just thought…»
"So," Ash said slowly. "Let me get this straight: you don't know the machine, but it's probably some ancient nameless Apple clone from the dark grey end of the market, almost certainly using reject chips; it probably had a production run that lasted until the first month's rent fell due on the shed the child-labourers were assembling them in, it used an eight-inch drive and ran what sounds like dodgy proprietorial software with more bugs than the Natural History Museum?"
"Umm… Yeah. That about sums it up."
Ash nodded a few times, lips tight, weighing the disk in her hands. "Right." She nodded at the ones I still held. "Okay. Can I take these?"
"Sure." I handed them to her and she turned for the door.
"See you later," she said, heading into the crowded hall. I went after her; she was excusing her way to the front door.
"Ash!" I said, squeezing through after her. "Not now! Come and enjoy the party!"
"Don't worry," she said, glancing back. "I shall return. I'll drop these at home so I don't forget to take them back to London; I know people who might be able to help… but I just remembered I forgot something; something for you. Left it at mum's." She looked out the door; it was starting to rain. "Shit."
There was an old giant brass cartridge case by the hall hat stand which held our assorted umbrellas and walking sticks; I lifted a brolly from it. Ash turned to me, a worried expression on her face as she said, "I saw that guy again. I'll show you. Give my present to the happy couple!"
"What guy —?" I said, but she was already sprinting through the still-arriving guests for the little red 2CV, parked a good fifty metres down the car-crowded drive, the disks held tight to her chest. I watched her high-heels flashing over the gravel, and the other guests turning to look at her, then there were more people to greet and hands to shake.
I took the brolly myself eventually and went for a walk up the garden to dad's grave, just to get away from the crowds for a bit.
Back in the house, I dodged one of the waitresses from the Lochgair Hotel, carrying a huge tray with champagne flutes out of the kitchen towards the marquee; I waved at mum, splendid in black with white stripes and standing talking to Helen Urvill, and went through to the hall. I put the umbrella in the old cartridge case. Then I thought maybe I should open it out and dry it, like you're supposed to, so I hauled it out again and left it opened in the hall.
"Prentice," Verity said, coming down from upstairs.
She was enfolded in white silk; a creation of some clothes-designer, friend of hers in Edinburgh. Technically it was a blouse, medium-length skirt and jacket, but when she wore it it looked like a single piece, and handsome it was too. She was hardly showing yet, but the outfit would anyway have disguised an almost full-term pregnancy. She wore white leggings, and high-heels that made her taller than me. She also wore the fulgurite necklace; mum had guessed both that Verity would want to wear it, and that she might think it best not to, in case the association hurt, so she d made a point of telling Lewis she thought Verity ought to wear it, if it suited the outfit she had chosen. Verity's hair was as short-cropped as ever, but she looked none the worse for that, and the little white micro-hat she wore, complete with thrown-back, white fish-net veil, sat well on her too. She came up to me, took me by the shoulders and kissed me on the cheek.
"That was a great speech; thanks," she said. She was still holding my shoulders, and squeezed them. She looked the way you're supposed to look, both when you're pregnant and on the day of your marriage; glowing, radiant, suffused with joy. Still had perfect skin. She put on a convincingly upper-class English accent as she said, "You've been en ebserloortly soopah byest men, my deah."
I put my hands lightly on her still slim waist and made a small bowing motion. "Any time," I said, and grinned.
She laughed, shaking her head. She stepped back, folded her arms, looked me up and down and said, "And so smart."
I curtsied, fluttering my eyelashes.
She laughed again and held out her hand. "Come on; let's find my husband. He's probably flirting with the bridesmaids by now."
"I thought that was my job," I said, taking her arm in mine as we went towards the rear of the hall. I heard the front door open behind us. I turned and looked, stopped, then turned back to Verity. "I'll take a rain check on that, shweetheart."
Verity smiled at Ashley Watt, shaking a glistening waterproof she'd just taken off, and nodded. "Well, there's appropriate, today." She winked at me and walked off.
Ashley met me at the foot of the stairs, brandishing a VHS cassette. "Got it. Take me to your video."
"Walk this way," I told her, heading up the stairs two at a time.
"Do I get to look up your kilt?" she said from behind.
"Not if you're lucky."
I switched the lights on in the study; we tended to keep the curtains closed. There was a TV and video in the study. I switched it all on and put the cassette in the machine.
"Cool," Ashely said, standing hands on hips in the middle of the study, hands nearly over the centre of dad's Persian rug, bunned hair directly beneath the big brass and stained-glass light fixture, hanging extravagantly beneath an ornate plaster ceiling rose. She swivelled, surveying the book-case walls, the maps, the prints and paintings and various interesting bits and pieces scattered around shelves, tables, desks and the floor.