Blue Remembered Earth

Hector examined the glove with the narrowed, probing eyes of a stamp collector.

‘Let me see,’ Lucas said.

‘We can consult the house records,’ Hector said, passing the item to his brother, ‘see if it matches any of the suits Eunice was known to have worn.’

Lucas fingered the glove with rank distaste, the tip of his nose puckering. ‘On a strict cost-benefit basis, sending Geoffrey all the way to the Moon to retrieve this may not have been the most prudent of our recent financial decisions.’

‘It does look a bit tatty,’ Hector admitted, before returning to his drink. ‘And there really wasn’t anything else in the vault, Geoffrey?’

‘That’s what I said.’

‘Nothing else?’ Lucas probed. ‘No accompanying documentation?’

‘Just the glove,’ Geoffrey said testily.

‘She was dotty,’ Hector said, taking the glove back from his brother. ‘That’s the only possible explanation. Not that it particularly matters why she put it there. Our concern was that there might be something hurtful in the vault, something that could impinge on the family’s reputation. At least we can set our minds at ease on that score, can’t we?’ He was still examining the glove, peering at it with renewed concentration.

‘I suppose so,’ Lucas allowed. ‘Our primary concern, at least, has been allayed.’

‘Which was?’ Geoffrey asked.

‘That we’d find paperwork, documents,’ Hector said. ‘Something that needed to be followed up. Not some old relic we can safely bury in the family museum, where it’ll never get a second look.’

‘If that’s all you need me for . . .’ Geoffrey said, reaching to zip up the sports bag.

‘Yes, of course,’ Hector said, beaming. ‘You’ve done magnificently! The very model of discretion. Hasn’t he done splendidly, Lucas?’

‘Our requirements in this matter,’ Lucas affirmed, ‘have been satisfactorily discharged.’

‘I’ll say this about you, Geoffrey,’ Hector said. ‘Whatever opinion anyone has voiced in regard to your commitment to the family in the past, you’ve come through on this one with flying colours. You can hold your head up as a true Akinya now, with the rest of us.’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ Geoffrey said.

‘And we will of course honour our side of the arrangement,’ Hector continued. ‘As soon as I finish this drink, I’ll release the first instalment of your new research budget.’

Geoffrey slung the bag over his shoulder. ‘Is Memphis around?’

‘Business necessitated a physical journey to Mombasa . . .’ Lucas looked at Geoffrey with sharp interest. ‘But he should be home by now. Anything in particular you wanted to discuss with him?’

‘He’s my friend,’ Geoffrey said. ‘I just want to catch up.’

Lucas smiled tightly. ‘It behoves us all to extract the maximum return from such a valued resource.’

He voked the football match back into existence, clapping his hands at a swooping pass from Cameroon’s current top midfielder. ‘Seal genes,’ he confided to his brother appreciatively. ‘Enhanced muscular myoglobin density for increased O₂ uptake and storage. Thinking of having some put in myself.’

Geoffrey gladly abandoned the cousins and their soccer for the cool of the house. His room was clean and spartan, the bed crisply made, the shelves bare save for one or two books and artefacts. Drapes stirred softly in the afternoon breeze, the window slightly ajar. He touched the carved wooden bull elephant at the head of its procession, stroking its smooth, polished back, and placed his bag on the bed. He opened one of the cupboards to check that there was a change of clothes.

He sat down at the writing desk and voked into his research funds. The first instalment was already present, as Hector had promised. It was a staggering amount of money; more than Geoffrey had ever seen sitting in any of his accounts at one time. He was meant to spend it on his elephant studies, but he doubted the cousins cared where it actually ended up. Money, at least in these quantities, was like water to them. It had a function, like hydraulic fluid, but in such small measures it barely merited accounting.

Delaying his shower, he left the room and wandered the house until he found Memphis, sitting in his office on the ground floor with his back to the doorway. Ramrod-straight spine, the old but immaculate suit hanging off the sharp scaffolding of his shoulders, household finances auged up around him in a half-circle of multicoloured ledgers and spreadsheet accounts. He was moving figures from one pane to another, cajoling the bright symbols through the air like well-trained sprites.

‘Memphis,’ Geoffrey said, knocking lightly on the doorframe. ‘I’m back.’

Memphis completed a transaction and then dismissed the ledgers and accounts. His old-fashioned pneumatic swivel-chair squeaked as he spun around and beamed at Geoffrey. ‘How was your return journey?’

‘Fast. I was looking forward to taking the overnight train, but the cousins had other ideas. They sent an airpod.’

‘I can understand how you might have wished to take your time. Still, I suppose another part of you was just as anxious to get back home.’

‘Not that I had any doubts that you could take care of things in my absence.’

‘My talents are perhaps better suited to household administration than animal husbandry. You have visited the herd already?’

‘No – not yet. I’ll fly out in a while, just to let them know I’m back. Then in the morning . . . I was wondering if you felt like coming with me?’