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Benjamin, I got the wrong—”
    “Okay. Let’s order some tea, calm down and start again.” And as an afterthought, “I’ll have to stop that bloody rumor now.”
    After some twenty minutes’ mock appraisal, Benjamin cut the air with outspread hands. “Enough. Let’s go off record. How are other things going? Working hours and so on.”
    “Fine.”
    “Because I noticed you were here early today. If you’re working too hard then you will jump to irrational conclusions.”
    It was true. She had turned up before the other analysts to steam through some personal research. She’d downloaded research papers on child development,
The General Practitioner
’s articles on food cravings (was Lamb Biryani a common craving?), University of Warwick research into the olfactory senses, together with 1,143 linked resources, which oddly led her to historical crime stats organized according to perpetrator status and crime category.
    “I wanted to spend more time preparing for this meeting. And, to compensate, I plan to leave the office earlier this afternoon.” Had he looked through her downloads? She should offer more. As she stood to leave the meeting, she added, “By the way, I’m doing some wildcat research at present. I’m taking a broader look at crime stats. It isn’t a high priority but I’ll let you know if anything interesting emerges.”
    “You said you were busy with the energy stuff. You didn’t want distractions.”
    “It’s back-burner research, Benjamin, rather like the Letters to Shareholders. Research without any guaranteed commercial outcome. That’s why I’m allocating a very low priority. But I have a hunch…And I still hold the classified crime data. We must make full use before our access approval comes up for renewal.”
    “Okay. But don’t get carried away. Let me know before you increase its status. You’re the one concerned about your working hours.”
    “Fine.”
    “Anything else you want to raise?”
    She seized the opportunity. “There
is
, as a matter of fact. I’ve been wondering…I think it would be an excellent idea for me to see a few home environments. I was fascinated by Jon-Jo yesterday…I know I’d need authorization and I’d need invitations…”
    “I’m not sure. Leave it with me.” Benjamin guided her towards his door by placing his hand behind her arm. His hand slid towards her elbow.
    She stopped in her tracks and turned towards her boss.
    “Jayna, I’m sorry. Really. It’s in the small print, I know.”

    An internal communication flagged
Sad News
hit everyone’s array shortly after lunchtime:
    I’m sorry, yet relieved, to inform you all that Tom Blenkinsop’s body has been found by the local coastguard. An autopsy is required before the body can be released to the family. However, when funeral arrangements are eventually finalized, Mayhew McCline staff will be informed and anyone wishing to attend will be given time off to do so. If any of you are struggling with this sudden loss and require counseling, please contact HR.
    Olivia
    Why would counseling help
, wondered Jayna? Why would talking about Tom’s death to a professional be any different to chatting with colleagues? Scheduling a meeting with HR seemed so unnecessary. The junior analysts, she noticed, were congregating yet again in the kitchen.
And, after all, it’s not as though anyone here were related to him.

    Leaving precisely twenty minutes early, Jayna called into the small floristry tucked into the ground floor retail outlets below Mayhew McCline. Some succulent foliage might prevent any further malaise among her stick insects. The second smallest, she thought, had never had a name…Eloise kept a projection of her cat at work; it wandered around her work array. She called it Freud but Jayna could make no connection. So puzzling. People seemed to harbor a delusion that animals were like them, thought like them, which, of course, theypatently could not, any more than the pigeons in the