Pete had never been as fond of the estate as Jackie had. It was nice enough, he supposed, one of the old houses that had belonged to one of the old aristocrats back in the day. Not that the peerage had gone completely the way of the monarchy. You could still find the random hereditary lord or lady still living in their ancestral mansion, but increased income taxes on the wealthy, coupled with growing inflation, which meant that the upkeep of most of these old palaces of the gentry soon outreached even what they could afford. Most of the peerage had sold up when land prices went sky high, taking the money to invest in expensive townhomes in the city and make themselves rich in the new regime of business. Many of the old estates were gone now, made into hotels or torn down for housing developments, but this one had been renovated and owned by various titans of industry until Jackie fell in love with it fifteen years ago. She of course had spared no expense in making it her "dream" home, with fine paneling and marble floors, and Pete had let her have at it indulgently, though privately wishing she'd have been content with their expensive townhouse in the city. The house just never felt like home.
Gravel crunched under his tires as he pulled into the private drive, already filled with catering vans and delivery trucks. He could feel the blood pressure rising steadily despite himself. For all that Jackie was just as chavvy as he was when it came down to it, she took to the life of the rich like a duck to water, and became a celebrity in the media for nothing more than liking to spend money and throwing a party. And admittedly, she was good at it. Jacks had taste, or at least the media thought she had taste, they certainly gave her enough talk shows and magazine articles to talk about it, and the tabloids loved to note with detail the type of fabric she used to redecorate her sitting room and the flowers she purchased for her latest dinner party. Pete merely quietly transferred money into her account and said nothing, even as he heartily wished he never had to look at another swath of silk or bottle of Cristal ever again.
Just as predicted, the house was in chaos. Servants ran through rooms, carrying flowers and linens, orders being barked from some sort of party organizer. He shifted the flowers he had in hand, looking for his wife. "Hello? Sweetheart? Only me?"
He wondered if Jackie could even hear him over the noise, but he shouldn't have been surprised. The woman had the ears of a bat, even with the earpods on, and he could see her gliding down the stairs, a grimace already on her pretty face. He steeled himself, wondering what he had possibly done now.
"Oh, the bad penny," she sneered, even as Pete felt his heart twist at the accusation. "Was this your idea? Don't deny it. It's got your fingerprints all over it. Trust me on this. Oh, I can trust you all right. Trust you to cock it up."
On any given day anymore it could be anything that set Jacks off. It was even odds as to what today's might have been. "What have I done now?"
"Have a look," she ordered, pointing to the drawing room. Between two large pillars hung a sign that read "Happy 40th birthday".
"What's wrong with that?"
"Forty, it says forty," she threw up her hands in exasperation.
"You are forty," he repeated, knowing exactly where this argument was going.
"Well, I don't want the whole world telling, do I?"
He had long ago give up on trying to find any rational in Jackie's reasoning, and so simply accepted his fault in all of this with a sigh. "You're having a party tonight."
"My thirty-ninth," she countered. "My official biography says I was born on the same day as Cuba Gooding Junior, and that makes me thirty-nine, thank you very much. Rose!"
He realized as she called for her infernal dog that this was one of those moments he just wasn't going to win. Instead he held out the cellophane wrapped flowers instead as something of a peace offering. "These are from the girls at office. Happy birthday!"
In older, happier days, Jacks would have been pleased at the thoughtful gesture, even if they were just plain old flowers from the market. Now, her lip curled in mild disgust as she barely glanced at them. "I've got hand sculpted arrangements by Veronica of Reykjavik, and your secretary stopped off at a garage? I don't think so. And if you're giving out presents, where's my zeppelin? Everyone else has got one."
What little was left of his self-esteem ran off to hide as he tried to think of a polite way of telling her he wasn't getting her any bleeding zeppelin because he hated the things, but his already mangled manhood just couldn't seem to manage it.
"Rose, come on!" Jackie glared up the stairs impatiently before shooting Pete another impatient look. "Look, you didn't even notice, did you? Special delivery. Got sent round today."
One of her glossy nails brushed against an earpod, beautifully set with diamonds. And he knew it wasn't a gift from him.
"Birthday present from Mr. Lumic, latest model, picks up signals from Venezuela," Jackie breezed, preening slightly at what was obviously an expensive gift from his boss...well, his other boss. Not that Lumic sending expensive gifts was unusual, he made a habit of repaying Pete's hard work with all manner of expensive items. But he thought of his simple gift, meant to recall a happier time, and he inwardly cringed.
"Why would you want to pick up signals from Venezuela?"
"Well, I don't know, but now I can find out," Jackie groused impatiently. "For God's sake, where is she? She needs a good bath before tonight. She's going to be honking. Rose! Come to mummy!"
On the landing above him the sound of little claws clicking against fine parquet. A set of bright, dark eyes peeked out over the stairs, lost in a ball of fluffy fur.
"Come on! There you are, my darling!" Cooing, Jackie met the dog on the stairs, scooping it up for cuddles and affection. It was about the only thing she showed affection to, anymore. Certainly wasn't him.
The earpods sounded before any further dark thoughts regarding Jackie and her puppy could surface. The feed told him it was Lumic. Surprising, he hadn't expected to hear from him for a few days. Flipping them on, he slapped on a cheery smile that he in no way felt.
"Mister Lumic! Jackie was just saying thank you, that's very kind of you!"
The deep, gravel voice of the man who now owned his business sounded through his brain, rattling, but polite. "Those earpods are hand made. Tell her to take care."
"Course I will, course I will," Pete assured him, glancing up the stairs as Jackie ascended with the terrier in tow. "I don't suppose you'll be joining us for the party? We'd be very honored!"
They'd already extended an unanswered invitation to Lumic, but he'd been ill and Pete hadn't pressed. Still, it was only polite he make the effort, let the old man know that he was appreciative, perhaps see what he was like around people for once. God knew when the last time he had actually seen Lumic at an event was. That was what he had kept Pete around for, after all, to be the face at these functions that he no longer could be.
"The world below can party," Lumic muttered dourly. "Some of us have work to do. My plans have advanced, Peter! The President has promised a decision. I'm flying in now. We'll be at the airstrip at five o'clock."
A decision? Pete frowned. That soon? "Right...it's just that I promised I'd help the wife out tonight."
Lumic was hardly sympathetic. "If the President of Great Britain can make this meeting, then so can you."
Pete thought of Jackie upstairs and wondered on that. "Oh, I don't know. He's not married to Jackie, is he?"
"Five o'clock, Mr. Tyler," Lumic responded firmly. "Famous day."
The line went silent as an image of the strange, robot men that Yvonne had shown him came to mind. Plans were moving quicker than even she had anticipated. Dread curdled inside, both at the thought of just what Lumic was up to and at the idea of having to tell Jackie he had to go and meet him. He rather wished he hadn't gotten out of bed that morning.
Like a man going to the scaffold, he took the stairs slowly, avoiding a young woman in black cargo pants and a dark t-shirt teetering precariously with a large vase of exotic flowers in hand. Down the way from the ornate, antique table that sat at the top he could hear one of the staff cooing to what he assumed was the dog, trying to coax it into the bath. Good luck, he thought dryly. The dog, a present to Jackie on a birthday several years ago, was as spoiled as her mistress was. She got more love and affection than he'd received in the last six years. He'd gotten it for Jacks in the hopes that she might want to eventually think about having a child. They'd wanted kids, once upon a time. But instead of encouraging any motherly instincts, it had simply suppressed them. Why bother with a baby when they had Rose? Besides, she had said, they were both so busy, a baby was work, and she didn't want to hire extra staff to feed and take care of it. And she had her figure to think of, a baby would ruin all of that. And so Pete had given in, just as he always did, all thoughts of a son to teach footie to, or a daughter to have as the apple of his eye, gone. Perhaps the worst irony was that Jackie had gone and named the furrball Rose. They'd always talked of naming a daughter that. Now, that was the closest thing he'd get to one, a dog who hated him and loved Jackie. Perhaps, in the end, it was appropriate.
He found his wife in what had been their room until recently, sitting at her vanity checking her make up. She barely noticed as he walked up behind her, hands shoved in his pockets as he watched her. She was still pretty, even if it was in a more glamorous and less chavvy sort of way. The platinum blonde had never gone away, she had told him once it was her signature, hence why she kept it, but now she paired it with silks and gemstones rather than tracksuits. He smiled at her as she primped, remembering fondly how she used to do the same thing in their old estate flat, meticulously slathering on product and spending hours just getting herself ready just to go bowling.
"What you laughing at," she frowned crossly, glaring at him from her dressing table mirror.
"Nothing," he insisted, still grinning soppily. "Just remembering back in the day how you used to take forever just to go out to the pub or bowling."
"Oh, that." She waved it away with a flicker of a powder brush. "That was forever ago, Pete. What in the world made you think of that."
"I don't know. Guess I'm missing the old days lately." He pulled his right hand from his pocket to tug lightly at a curl that had come loose from her hair. "Our old flat. The old gang. Do you ever hear from them anymore?"
"That group of tossers?" She sniffed, shaking her head. "The moment you got big, they all thought you were the Bank of England, remember. Glad to be rid of them. Nothing but dead weight."
"Not all of them were, though." Pete recalled most of them had been happy to see good old, lovable loser Pete Tyler's fortunes rise. A few of them he'd tried to help out as he could, getting them jobs and such. Some made it out all right, others didn't.
"You ever talk to them?" Jackie eyed him curiously in the mirror.
"No, I never." He sighed, trailing a finger down her hair to the soft skin of her neck. He could see her shiver at the movement, exasperation flickering to light in her blue eyes. "Don't you ever miss the way things used to be. The way we used to be?"
"Pete, don't you start. Not today." She pulled away from his touch, busying herself with cosmetics that he knew she had no intention of putting on. "We have a photographer here in twenty minutes and far too much to do."
"I don't know, twenty minutes, gives us plenty of time to…"
"Stop!" She cut him off, glaring up at his suggestive grin, mingled irritation and amusement on her face. "Just...Pete, not today. We promised no more of this, we can't just...I can't keep doing this?"
The hurt in her voice was enough to break his heart. Jackie so rarely opened up to him anymore, hiding herself behind a shield of anger all the time. "Jacks, I've not hidden how I still feel for you."
"I know, Pete. But that's the problem. This isn't about feelings, it's about our relationship. And we can't just keep doing this, having these larks, promising ourselves this is it, and then falling into bed together, knowing that it's all a lie." Tears glazed her eyes as she blinked up at him. "It's not healthy. That's what my therapist said."
Her therapist? She could talk to the therapist but not him. He held back the growl brewing in his chest, clenching his fist tightly as he shoved it back into his trouser pocket. "Jacks, I love you. You know that."
"It's not about love. It's about the fact that we are two separate people, Pete." She sighed, pushing herself up to stand in front of him sadly. "I love you too. But we don't work. Not anymore. You've got your business and Mr. Lumic to look after. And I have all these things going on. BBC is talking about giving me my own show on the telly. Imagine that!"
"And shows on the telly are more important than our marriage?"
"No," she replied. "But would you walk away from Vitex and for our marriage?"
He thought of Yvonne Hartman then and silently cursed her. "It's not as simple as that, Jacks."
"No, it isn't, is it?" For the briefest of moments she looked quietly crushed. But then she shrugged, slapping a smile on her face. "Still, it's my birthday, no time to waste tears on something I can't fix, now is it? I have a party to arrange!"
And just like that, Hurricane Jackie was in full force again. "Now, I have the photographer here soon, for the official pictures, and then there will be the reporter who will want to speak to us, and…"
"Jacks," Pete cut in, knowing if he didn't he'd never get a word in edgewise. "Mr. Lumic called when you came up. He wants me there at five to meet with him and the President."
That was not what she wanted to hear. "Pete, no! My party! Don't ruin this!"
"I'm sorry, Jacks. You know how he is."
She did. Her fingers went to the earpods, brushing against the diamonds. He could tell she was weighing the price of the gift against her anger with Lumic's request, and probably had already come to the conclusion that Pete had, they were Lumic's way of appeasing her for monopolizing his time. She sighed finally, fluttering her hands as she turned to spin out of the room. "Do whatever you need to, Pete. Just be there for the pics, yeah? Don't want the tabs speculating on what is going on between us.
"Whatever you need, Jacks," he replied quietly, ignoring the ache left behind as she marched down the hallway, shouting orders to some staff member regarding her dog. He sank slowly onto the large bed that they had once shared together.
His earpods rang again, and he absently flicked them on. It was Miles.
"How are things in the eye of the storm?"
"Miserable," he muttered, rubbing at his eyes. "What have you got?"
"Mrs. Moore got back. Says that one of their operatives saw someone they've identified as one of Lumic's cronies. He's been rounding up some of the homeless and using them for experiments."
"What kind?" Images of the robot Yvonne showed him sprang to mind.
"She sent video. I don't recognize anyone, but they are using a van registered to one of Lumic's subsidiary companies."
"What's on the video?"
"Let me upload it." With a few clicks of a keyboard on the other end, pictures began streaming into his mind. A video, just like one he'd watch on a television screen, popped into his brain. It was shaky, clearly done by hand on a small camera. It looked as if it were in some trash heap or junkyard. A can smoked nearby, as in the distance, a van rocked. Unearthly screams of pain sounded hauntingly, as outside of the non-descript vehicle several men stood. One of them, in a suit and glasses, looked familiar to Pete, but not anyone he could have pinpointed easily.
"That's one of Lumic's, yeah." He wondered at just what was going on inside the van and decided he didn't want to know. "These more of those missing people?"
"Yeah," Miles replied grimly. "The Preachers have been trying to track down what they can. Mostly homeless, drug dealers, prostitutes, people no one would notice go missing. The people that society tends to forget."
"And how long has this been going on, you think?"
"Their intel? Months. Never many, no more than five or six at a time, most of the time it's only one or two."
"And no information on what's going on."
"The Moore woman said they only know that they are being taken and they think that he's running experiments on them."
"He might just be," Pete admitted grimly. "Get back to that Moore woman, she's more level-headed than Ricky Smith. Give her all the intel you got on International Electronics, make sure it trails back to Cybus Industries. I want her on it, making the connections. Maybe they can get in there and figure out what he's up to."
"I'm on it." Sarcasm was gone, replaced by utter efficiency. "Several members of the Torchwood board will be at the event tonight."
"Who?" Not that it was unusual. Torchwood's board had many wealthy funders who appeared at most of the same functions Jackie roped him into.
"Stephen Cavanaugh, Jim Brickman, the usual. Keep up your usual profile, none of them know you work for Yvonne."
"And lets keep it that way, shall we? I need to get out to Lumic's airstrip soon. He's coming back, is meeting with the President."
He could hear his PA pause both mentally and physically. "That soon?"
"I don't know, but he seems to have something special he wants to discuss, and I would lay even money it's whatever I've been trying to ferret out. I'll drive over there and call in when its done."
"Jackie must be thrilled," Miles intoned.
"Jacks is busy with other things." He could hear her down the way and cringed at the poor staff member who was getting it on the other end, knowing it was his fault. "Let me know what the Preachers find out, eh?"
"I'm on it." With a click, Miles was gone, replaced by the sound of voices and Jackie's demands down below. He considered which he loathed worse at the moment, Lumic's meeting or Jackie's party, and decided both ranked equally high. He'd have had his skinned flailed off at this point, it seemed the friendlier option. For the moment, just the moment, he thought he had found her, the old Jacks, the girl who he had wooed with chips and haddock and made love to on an old blanket in the back of his buddies van. And then, like that, she was gone, back to her glitz and glamor. And he was back to John Lumic.
He rose as down below Jackie bellowed about the photographer being early and would he come down here so they could get this over with. Without a response he followed her summons.