Read Online Black Glass by Meg; Mundell - Free Book Online
Authors: Meg; Mundell
Tags: Fiction
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reception console. The verbal shorthand of the official visitor came easily to Damonâs lips, but his body always felt vaguely puppet-like when surrounded by so much marble. Or was this stuff fake? Apparently you could only tell by tapping your teeth against it, which didnât seem feasible.
Heâd practised saying her name in the mirror that morning as heâd wrestled his hair into an amicable but crisp shape, somewhat like a meringue, with the help of some hi-tech moulding paste that had cost almost as much as his tie. He had to get this right: heâd tried pronouncing her name with authority, with warmth, then with various combinations of the two. Inexplicably, heâd even tried it with a slight Korean accent. The swoops carved into his scalp felt overly ornate, but it was too late for that now.
âLuella Martin,â he said to the guard. âAh, Damon Spark â to see Ms Martin, state liaison.â
She didnât move. âMr Spark, from â¦?â
This question always irked him, but he produced his ID card with a practised air.
â Freelance information consultant ,â the woman recited as she swiped it through the scanner and shot a beam of pale blue from her eyes to his. âTake a seat over there, please, Mr Spark.â
Luella Martin: a tall and long-limbed name, he thought, a glossy name; a dark swish of hair, a library card, perhaps a weakness for fountain pens and expensive perfume. Heâd run a search, of course, and narrowed her down to three possibilities: a teenage rowing champ; a controversial cat breeder; and a youngish honours graduate from the stateâs most efficient university, who had presented papers at dull policy forums throughout the country and been extremely careful not to let her photo loose in the virtual realm. Damon was confident she was this latter Luella, fairly certain she wasnât the cat breeder and as yet undecided about her rowing history. He could have uncovered much more, obviously â including her exact shoulder measurements â but money was tight and, given the context, his searches could well be monitored. He had learned the hard way not to blithely type his own name plus the word brilliant into search engines. (Now, when he couldnât stop himself, he logged in through a privacy screen.)
A woman was standing before him, speaking his name and holding out her hand: a tiny brunette with a buzz cut, intense greenish eyes, no make-up whatsoever and a smile that left as swiftly as it arrived. She stood very straight and wore an androgynous suit cut like a flight attendantâs uniform. Fighting the urge to check his hair, he conveyed his greetings and let the diminutive Luella Martin usher him to the lifts.
In a windowless room on level 42, a water jug and two glasses sat waiting. They both took their seats, Luella suddenly seeming taller. Damon fumbled surreptitiously for a lever to raise the height of his chair, but there wasnât one.
âSo Damon â this is just a get-to-know?â She was straight in, that quick smile blinking on and off. He attempted to slow things down by pouring her a glass of water, but the jug was heavier than it looked and liquid slopped onto the table. He poured his own glass with more care, but now the jug seemed wilfully erratic and the water tumbled right to the very rim, where it bulged and trembled, threatening to spill over the edge. They both watched it.
âYou could lean down and drink a bit off,â observed Luella.
What does it matter, he thought. As he craned forward he had a fleeting image of an antelope teetering over a waterhole. Luella watched him, her face inscrutable. He puckered his mouth to avoid slurping but wasnât entirely successful.
âWell, thatâs broken the ice,â she said with some warmth.
He decided to take the frank approach and began to speak, making small, open-handed gestures. Of course heâd been looking
Heâd practised saying her name in the mirror that morning as heâd wrestled his hair into an amicable but crisp shape, somewhat like a meringue, with the help of some hi-tech moulding paste that had cost almost as much as his tie. He had to get this right: heâd tried pronouncing her name with authority, with warmth, then with various combinations of the two. Inexplicably, heâd even tried it with a slight Korean accent. The swoops carved into his scalp felt overly ornate, but it was too late for that now.
âLuella Martin,â he said to the guard. âAh, Damon Spark â to see Ms Martin, state liaison.â
She didnât move. âMr Spark, from â¦?â
This question always irked him, but he produced his ID card with a practised air.
â Freelance information consultant ,â the woman recited as she swiped it through the scanner and shot a beam of pale blue from her eyes to his. âTake a seat over there, please, Mr Spark.â
Luella Martin: a tall and long-limbed name, he thought, a glossy name; a dark swish of hair, a library card, perhaps a weakness for fountain pens and expensive perfume. Heâd run a search, of course, and narrowed her down to three possibilities: a teenage rowing champ; a controversial cat breeder; and a youngish honours graduate from the stateâs most efficient university, who had presented papers at dull policy forums throughout the country and been extremely careful not to let her photo loose in the virtual realm. Damon was confident she was this latter Luella, fairly certain she wasnât the cat breeder and as yet undecided about her rowing history. He could have uncovered much more, obviously â including her exact shoulder measurements â but money was tight and, given the context, his searches could well be monitored. He had learned the hard way not to blithely type his own name plus the word brilliant into search engines. (Now, when he couldnât stop himself, he logged in through a privacy screen.)
A woman was standing before him, speaking his name and holding out her hand: a tiny brunette with a buzz cut, intense greenish eyes, no make-up whatsoever and a smile that left as swiftly as it arrived. She stood very straight and wore an androgynous suit cut like a flight attendantâs uniform. Fighting the urge to check his hair, he conveyed his greetings and let the diminutive Luella Martin usher him to the lifts.
In a windowless room on level 42, a water jug and two glasses sat waiting. They both took their seats, Luella suddenly seeming taller. Damon fumbled surreptitiously for a lever to raise the height of his chair, but there wasnât one.
âSo Damon â this is just a get-to-know?â She was straight in, that quick smile blinking on and off. He attempted to slow things down by pouring her a glass of water, but the jug was heavier than it looked and liquid slopped onto the table. He poured his own glass with more care, but now the jug seemed wilfully erratic and the water tumbled right to the very rim, where it bulged and trembled, threatening to spill over the edge. They both watched it.
âYou could lean down and drink a bit off,â observed Luella.
What does it matter, he thought. As he craned forward he had a fleeting image of an antelope teetering over a waterhole. Luella watched him, her face inscrutable. He puckered his mouth to avoid slurping but wasnât entirely successful.
âWell, thatâs broken the ice,â she said with some warmth.
He decided to take the frank approach and began to speak, making small, open-handed gestures. Of course heâd been looking
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