Streaking by Brian Stableford

Venezuela.”
    â€œTonight, if you like, when you finish the shoot,” Canny said, indicating with the slightest possible shrug of his shoulders that he wouldn’t be offended by a polite refusal.
    â€œI’d like that,” she said, with all apparent sincerity. “I don’t know what time we’ll finish, though—photographers are an exceedingly unreliable breed.”
    â€œThat’s okay,” he assured her. “Come if and when you can. No need to call ahead—cook’s always able to stretch dinner if unexpected guests turn up, or lay on a little late supper. Shall I draw you a map?”
    â€œIt’s not necessary,” she told him, flatly. She didn’t even bother to ask for an address; she was obviously the kind of person who took it for granted that she’d always be able to find her way to wherever it was that she wanted to go. Canny couldn’t help wondering exactly where she did want to go, and why. A man in his position had to be even more careful about reading too little into coincidence than he did about reading too much.
    â€œDon’t expect too much of a welcome,” he warned her. “Daddy will be delighted to see you, if he’s conscious, but Mummy’s bound to be a bit distracted.”
    â€œNo problem,” she said serenely. “Is there anything I shouldn’t mention?”
    Even that could have passed, just about, for a polite and disinterest enquiry—but this time, Canny got the distinct impression that there was something not quite right about this entire situation, and that he was being pumped for information that he’d be better off keeping to himself.
    â€œYou mean the bet I placed?” he said. “Well, yes—it might be as well if you didn’t mention that. Mummy would think better of me if she were allowed to assume that I came straight home rather than sitting down for one last dip on the roulette wheel. Stevie Larkin will probably be spreading the story all along the coast for the next six months, but Mummy leads a sheltered existence, so it won’t get back to her any time soon if you and I keep quiet about it.”
    â€œMy lips are sealed,” she said.
    He might have made a joke about lipstick, but he didn’t. She was, after all, one of the ten most beautiful women in the world—and her best assets were perfectly natural.

CHAPTER SIX
    Having been forewarned of his arrival, Bentley was waiting with his namesake at Church Fenton. The butler was chatting amiably to the drivers of the two hire-cars that were waiting to collect Lissa Lo’s party and whisk her away to Harewood House; he watched the company disembark with an affected air of quiet amazement.
    Customs and Immigration were less officious than usual, even though their people had been called out. Canny’s bag was the one they elected to rummage through in search of illegal stimulants; he knew better than to joke about it, and simply stood patiently by until they had gone through the motions.
    After the dry and artificial atmosphere of the plane the Yorkshire air seemed cool and fresh enough, but it wasn’t moist and the sky was clear. The heat wave hadn’t relented yet. Lissa and her entourage were already busy loading up their vehicles, and Lissa couldn’t tear herself away to bid him a fond farewell. She did wave, though, and flashed him a smile as bright as any benign streak. Canny did his best to reciprocate.
    â€œYou were fortunate to obtain a lift, sir,” the butler observed, when Canny finally settled into the passenger seat beside him.
    â€œCareful planning,” Canny said. “It’s always best to have a supermodel and a private jet standing by, just in case one’s cancerous father happens to take a sudden turn for the worse.”
    â€œOf course it is, sir,” the butler agreed, effortlessly matching his sarcasm. “Is the lady an intimate