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Authors: Robert Harris
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rolling up her eyes. Despite everything, he almost burst out laughing. ‘ Hugo has it all under control,’ she said, ‘don’t you, Hugo? As usual .’ She kissed her husband’s hand where it lay on her shoulder. ‘I won’t be stopping anyway. I’ll just grab my things and get over to the gallery.’
The chauffeur opened the door.
‘Hey, listen,’ said Hoffmann. He was reluctant to let go of her. ‘Good luck this morning. I’ll come over and see how things are going as soon as I can get away.’
‘I’d like that.’
He climbed out on to the pavement. She had a sudden premonition that she would never see him again, so vivid she was nearly sick. ‘You’re sure we shouldn’t both cancel everything and take the day off?’
‘No way. It’s going to be great.’
Quarry said, ‘Cheerio then, sweetheart,’ and slid his neat bottom over the leather upholstery towards the open door. ‘D’you know,’ he said, as he clambered out, ‘I think I might actually come and buy one of your thingamabobs. Go very well in our reception, I reckon.’
As the car pulled away, Gabrielle looked back at them through the rear window. Quarry had his left arm round Alex’s shoulders and was steering him across the pavement; with his right he was gesturing. She could not tell what the gesture meant, but she knew he was making a joke. A moment later they disappeared.
THE OFFICES OF Hoffmann Investment Technologies revealed themselves to a visitor like the carefully rehearsed stages of a conjuring trick. First, heavy doors of smoked glass opened automatically on to a narrow reception barely wider than a corridor, low-ceilinged, walled by dimly lit brown granite. Next you presented your face to a camera for 3D recognition scanning: it took less than one second for the metric geometry algorithm to match your features to its database (during this process it was important to maintain a neutral expression); if you were a visitor, you gave your name to the unsmiling security guard. Once cleared, you were clicked through a tubular steel turnstile, walked down another short corridor and turned left – and suddenly you were confronted by a huge open space flooded with daylight: that was when it hit you that this was actually three buildings knocked into one. The masonry at the back had been demolished and replaced by a sheer Alpine ice-fall of frameless glass, eight storeys high, overlooking a courtyard centred round a jetting fountain and elaborate giant ferns. Twin elevators rose and fell noiselessly in their soundproofed glass silos.
Quarry, the showman and salesman, had been stunned by the concept the moment he had first been shown round the place nine months earlier. For his part, Hoffmann had loved the computer-controlled systems – the lighting that adjusted in harmony with the daylight outside, the windows that opened automatically to regulate the temperature, the funnels on the roof that drew in fresh air to remove the need for air-conditioning in all open spaces, the ground-source heat-pump system, the rainwater recycling unit with its hundred-thousand-litre holding tank used for flushing the lavatories. The building was advertised as ‘a holistic, digitally aware entity with minimal carbon emissions’. In the event of fire, the dampers would be shut off in the ventilation system to prevent the spread of smoke and the elevators sent to the ground floor to stop people boarding them. It was also, most important of all, connected to the GV1 fibre-optic pipe, the fastest in Europe. That clinched it: they took out a lease on the whole of the fifth floor. The corporate tenants above and below – DigiSyst, EcoTec, EuroTel – were as mysterious as their names. Nobody from one firm ever seemed to acknowledge the existence of anyone from another. Elevator rides passed in awkward silence, apart from when passengers stepped in and announced which floor they required (the voice-recognition system could differentiate between regional
The chauffeur opened the door.
‘Hey, listen,’ said Hoffmann. He was reluctant to let go of her. ‘Good luck this morning. I’ll come over and see how things are going as soon as I can get away.’
‘I’d like that.’
He climbed out on to the pavement. She had a sudden premonition that she would never see him again, so vivid she was nearly sick. ‘You’re sure we shouldn’t both cancel everything and take the day off?’
‘No way. It’s going to be great.’
Quarry said, ‘Cheerio then, sweetheart,’ and slid his neat bottom over the leather upholstery towards the open door. ‘D’you know,’ he said, as he clambered out, ‘I think I might actually come and buy one of your thingamabobs. Go very well in our reception, I reckon.’
As the car pulled away, Gabrielle looked back at them through the rear window. Quarry had his left arm round Alex’s shoulders and was steering him across the pavement; with his right he was gesturing. She could not tell what the gesture meant, but she knew he was making a joke. A moment later they disappeared.
THE OFFICES OF Hoffmann Investment Technologies revealed themselves to a visitor like the carefully rehearsed stages of a conjuring trick. First, heavy doors of smoked glass opened automatically on to a narrow reception barely wider than a corridor, low-ceilinged, walled by dimly lit brown granite. Next you presented your face to a camera for 3D recognition scanning: it took less than one second for the metric geometry algorithm to match your features to its database (during this process it was important to maintain a neutral expression); if you were a visitor, you gave your name to the unsmiling security guard. Once cleared, you were clicked through a tubular steel turnstile, walked down another short corridor and turned left – and suddenly you were confronted by a huge open space flooded with daylight: that was when it hit you that this was actually three buildings knocked into one. The masonry at the back had been demolished and replaced by a sheer Alpine ice-fall of frameless glass, eight storeys high, overlooking a courtyard centred round a jetting fountain and elaborate giant ferns. Twin elevators rose and fell noiselessly in their soundproofed glass silos.
Quarry, the showman and salesman, had been stunned by the concept the moment he had first been shown round the place nine months earlier. For his part, Hoffmann had loved the computer-controlled systems – the lighting that adjusted in harmony with the daylight outside, the windows that opened automatically to regulate the temperature, the funnels on the roof that drew in fresh air to remove the need for air-conditioning in all open spaces, the ground-source heat-pump system, the rainwater recycling unit with its hundred-thousand-litre holding tank used for flushing the lavatories. The building was advertised as ‘a holistic, digitally aware entity with minimal carbon emissions’. In the event of fire, the dampers would be shut off in the ventilation system to prevent the spread of smoke and the elevators sent to the ground floor to stop people boarding them. It was also, most important of all, connected to the GV1 fibre-optic pipe, the fastest in Europe. That clinched it: they took out a lease on the whole of the fifth floor. The corporate tenants above and below – DigiSyst, EcoTec, EuroTel – were as mysterious as their names. Nobody from one firm ever seemed to acknowledge the existence of anyone from another. Elevator rides passed in awkward silence, apart from when passengers stepped in and announced which floor they required (the voice-recognition system could differentiate between regional
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