The Mandel Files by Peter F. Hamilton Page B

small gold St Christopher dangling from a chain round her neck. He thought her choice of a strapless royal purple silk dress was sagacious; she had the kind of confident poise necessary to carry it well, and not many her age could claim the same.
    The boys would look twice, sure enough. Because she was sparky in that way that all teenage girls were sparky. It was just that she hadn’t developed any striking characteristics to lift her out of the ordinary. And right now that was her major problem. She was a satellite deep into an eclipse. Her primary, the girl she stood beside, was an absolutely dazzling seraph.
    Her name was Katerina Cawthorp, introduced as Julia’s friend from their Swiss boarding school. A true golden girl, with richly tanned satin-smooth skin, and a thick mane of honey-blonde hair which cascaded over wide, strong shoulders. Her figure was an ensemble of superbly moulded curves, accentuated by a dress of some glittering bronze fabric which hugged tight. A deliciously low-cut front displayed a great deal of firm shapely cleavage, while a high tight hem did the same for long elegant legs. Her face was foxy; bee-stung lips, pert nose, and clear Nordic-blue eyes which regarded Greg with faint condescension. He’d been staring.
    Katerina must have been used to it. That sly almost-smile let the whole world know that butter would most definitely melt in her mouth.
    Julia wheeled her grandfather’s chair on to a small platform which ran down a set of rails at the side of the stairs.
    “That father of yours, is he coming down?” Evans asked her sourly.
    “Now don’t you two start quarrelling tonight.”
    “Probably skulking in his room getting stoned.”
    She slapped his wrist, quite sharply. “Behave. This is a party.”
    Evans grunted irritably, and the platform began to slide down. Julia kept up with it, skipping lightly.
    Naturally, Katerina’s descent was far more dignified. She glided effortlessly, an old-style film-star making her grand entrance at a blockbuster premiere.
    It left Greg free to talk to the boy, Adrian Marler; he didn’t have to ask anything, Adrian turned out to be one of nature’s gushers. He launched into conversation by telling Greg how he’d just begun to study medicine at Cambridge, hoped to make the rugby team as a winger, complained about the New Conservative government’s pitifully inadequate student grant, confided that his family was comfortably off but nowhere near as rich as the Evans dynasty.
    Adrian was six foot tall with surf-king muscles, short curly blond hair, chiselled cheekbones, and a roguish grin that would send young—and not so young—female hearts racing; he was also intelligent, humorous, and respectful. Greg felt a flash of envious dislike for a kind of adolescence he’d never had, dismissing it quickly.
    “So how did you meet Julia?” he enquired.
    “Katey introduced us,” Adrian said. “Hey listen, no way was I going to turn down the chance to crash out at this palace for a few days, meet the great Philip Evans. Then there’s gourmet food, as much booze as you want, clean sheets every day, valet service.” He leaned over and gave Greg a significant between us-men look, before murmuring, “And our rooms are fortuitously close together.”
    “She seems a nice girl,” Greg ventured.
    Adrian’s eyes tracked the slow-moving, foil-wrapped backside in front of them with radar precision. “You have no idea how truly you speak.” His mind was awhirl with hot elation.
    “Are we talking about Julia or Katerina?”
    Adrian broke off his admiring stare with obvious reluctance. “Katey, of course. I mean, Julia’s decent enough, despite her old man being a complete arsehole. But she couldn’t possibly match up to Katey, nobody could.” He dropped his voice, taking Greg into his confidence. “If I had the money, I’d marry Katey straight off. I know it sounds stupid, considering her age. But her parents just don’t care about her. It’s a