At the end of the room, a couple of feet above the ground, standing on a platform carpeted in red fabric, was Robert. Behind him, two thick curtains were drawn and oversized gold candelabras marked either end of the stage. He had a glass in hand, and smiled generously as his guests turned to look at him. The string quartet, who had been playing continuously until this point, put down their bows. Robert waited for absolute silence to descend before addressing the gathering.

  ‘Thank you,’ he began, his voice loud and clear, ‘for making the journey today.’ In the crowd below, murmurs were accompanied by approving nods. ‘I know that, for many of you, it is difficult to take time away from your work, and so your presence here tonight is greatly appreciated. You are all our treasured guests.’ Robert raised his glass and smiled, an action that was mirrored by almost everyone below. Aurélie now with her mother, Mary was back at Alexander’s side and she raised a glass before letting Alexander, who was without one, share a sip of her wine.

  On the stage, Robert continued. ‘It goes without saying that I have my wife, Sophie,’ he paused to look at her, which made her blush, the eyes of the room now on her, ‘to thank for arranging this evening as marvellously as she does each year.’ Robert paused again, and when he continued, spoke in a softer voice that seemed as though it was meant only for her, ‘Thank you, my darling.’ Taking their cue from Robert, the guests thanked their hostess in unison. By the fire, Sophie giggled and pushed her face against the sleeve of her brother’s jacket in an attempt to conceal her bashfulness.

  ‘And, of course,’ Robert boomed, recapturing the attention of the crowd, ‘what would an evening such as this be without music?’ He gestured, a wide, elegant movement of the arm to the string quartet. ‘Let us show our appreciation for our musicians tonight, who have played beautifully and with impeccable good taste.’ A man close to the front of the stage shouted, ‘Hear, hear!’ and the rest began to applaud, turning to face the string players, who dipped their heads with grace and gratitude. ‘Such good playing,’ Robert said over the continuing applause. When it had died down, he brought his hands together in front of him and invited the musicians to leave. ‘Return home and enjoy the rest of the year with your families,’ he smiled, his brown eyes as gentle as always. The applause returned as they gathered their instruments and left the room. Once they were through the double doors, Ern, who was standing close by, moved to close them, drawing the large brass handles together before standing back to the side.

  ‘Good, good,’ Robert smiled from the stage. Those in the crowd turned back to face him, eyes eager, awaiting his next words. Robert moved to place his glass down on the edge of the stage and walked back to the centre. ‘As I said,’ he continued slowly, ‘it is wonderful that so many of you made the journey tonight. It is,’ he held his hand up and drew his eyes over the crowd, ‘important that we see each other like this. Come together and share our stories, our experiences, our—’ he paused and took a step towards the curtains at the back of the stage. ‘Our discoveries.’ He placed a soft hand on the thick red cord that kept the curtains drawn. With a tug, the heavy fabric withdrew and, in doing so, revealed a tremendous sight.

  Standing beside Robert on the stage, bound in chains between two stone pillars, entirely naked save for a single piece of cloth draped around his hips, was Clifford. Another strip of fabric was over his mouth, and his eyes, terror filled and wide, darted as a wave of gasps came from the gathering. Once they ebbed away, the gasps were replaced by another sound: the sound of praise and of glee and of more applause. Red rose in his buttonhole, Robert stood and absorbed it all, smiling and waiting for the silence to descend again.

  Observing his father’s exhibition, Alexander noticed how Clifford struggled, his wrists tugging at the manacles that tied him to the pillars. He thought the man looked like a cartoon Samson, short-haired and weak, his strength sapped by the actions of his lover. Alexander laughed loudly and Mary elbowed him in the ribs.

  Back on stage, Robert spoke again. ‘The sub-homo,’ he began, gesturing to the man in chains, ‘a term first used by Dr. Richard Alexander Wheatleigh, my ancestor and one of the four founders of our movement. His was a proposition that would change the course of history.’ Robert paused and looked at his audience. ‘His was a proposition that has us all gathered here this evening. As you know, he said that we, homo sapiens — discerning, wise, sensible — share our planet with another, another who, although they may look like us, are anything but discerning, anything but wise, anything but sensible.’

  At Robert’s side, Clifford strained against his bonds, the fabric that gagged his mouth tight against the corners of his mouth.

  ‘Dr. Wheatleigh,’ Robert smiled and continued, ‘called it ‘a secret repulsion in the blood’, something inside of these creatures that makes them barbarous, makes them noxious, makes them,’ he paused and smiled, ‘suitable for only one purpose.’ Chuckles from the audience. He waited and then said, ‘And whilst there were certain moral habits which Dr. Wheatleigh identified as being the prerogative of the sub-homo, it was the creeping nature of this creature’s behaviours — the very essence of their vulgarism — which made them difficult to identify. And so, our ancestors turned to the institutions — the prisons and the asylums — to find examples of the creature that sought to imitate, and, ultimately, displace us, whilst, sadly, knowing that these places only held but a small sample of the wider sub-homo population. The secret repulsion in the blood being just that, secret, and therefore difficult to uncover.’

  Robert moved across the stage, walking in front of Clifford to stand on the other side. ‘A perfect science,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘imperfectly applied. But now—’ Robert laid a hand on the man’s bare shoulder and drew his eyes over the audience. ‘Now, I give you a perfect method.’ He spoke with bright confidence and exposed his teeth as he smiled. ‘A way to identify the secret repulsion in the blood in a manner that our ancestors could have only dreamed.’

  The crowd was on tenterhooks. A great mass could have come crashing in through one of the windows and still their eyes would have remained on Robert.

  ‘Genetic identification,’ he stated. ‘A concept that, as some of you will no doubt know, I have been experimenting with for many years. The identification of the genetic element which separates us from them.’ He prodded Clifford’s shoulder to emphasise his point. ‘And here,’ he prodded the man again, ‘the manifestation — I give you the first breeding bull to be selected using genetic identification.’ Bobbing heads and hushed voices came from the audience. A man at the back strained his neck, as if trying to get a better view. ‘He was profiled,’ Robert continued, ‘in much the same manner as we have done previously, and then, prior to selection, I obtained a sample — saliva on a drinking glass — and had it tested. The genetic element,’ Robert beamed as he spoke, ‘was present. He, this creature here before you, is the culmination of generations’ worth of effort. A perfect science, perfectly applied. And now,’ Robert clapped his hands together and stepped forward, ‘I invite you, my friends, to come forward—’ He gestured to his guests. ‘Come and observe him, come and find him to be the proof that you need, so that we may continue to advance, continue to advance towards the creation of a new Eden.’

  Some people started to applaud, others shuffled through the crowd to get to the front, where Robert took their hands in his and invited them onto the stage, slapping their backs and laughing with them, guiding them over to the man chained between the two pillars. He squirmed as they touched him, trying to get away as they poked and prodded his naked body, commenting on the structure of his legs and the thickness of his torso. He closed his eyes as they lifted his loincloth, screaming into the fabric that gagged his mouth as they nodded approvingly at his scrotal size.

  They swelled the stage, all those clean shaven men in black bow ties and ladies dripping in diamonds. They told Robert just how impressed they were with his work, telling him that he was an inspiration, shaking his hand as they thanked him for being a true example of self-sacrifice and dedication. Robert took it all in his stride, graciously accepting their compliments, thanking them again for coming, encouraging them to get a closer look, reminding them to listen for the bell to let them know dinner was ready, smiling as he told them he hoped they would enjoy the feast that was about to be served.

  Thirty-One

  After his father’s speech, Alexander left Mary with Ern whilst he went to his bedroom. He told them he needed to use the bathroom, which was true, but the trip upstairs was necessitated not so much by that, but by the urge to retrieve a personal artefact he had left to cool off in the sink. He slipped the cloth pouch into the inner pocket of his dinner jacket and closed his bedroom door. Later, there would be fireworks.

  People were already starting to take their seats at the table when Alexander returned. Names, printed in gold foil on thick cream card, announced where everyone was to be seated for the meal. After a short walk about the table, Alexander found his — the tail of the ‘A’ elegantly looped in spidery cursive — and glanced at the name cards either side of his place. On the opposite side of the table and some way further down, Mary sat alone, neither place either side of her yet occupied. She didn’t see him watching her, her eyes instead focused on something in the distance, her expression plain, as if she were locked away inside herself, thinking.

  Years earlier, a teenage Alexander had complained to his mother about her persistent, and what he considered to be irritating, tendency to seat him next to Mary at this annual event. He had hurt Sophie’s feelings when he had shouted at her the evening before New Year’s Eve. Afterwards, he hadn’t sat next to Mary anymore, and neither he nor his mother had ever mentioned the issue again.

  Alexander picked up his name card and walked around to the other side of the table. Gerald Foye. He looked at the card to the right of Mary and, with two fingers, flicked it away, off somewhere into the middle of the table. Her trance broken, she looked up and, noticing him, smiled as he sat down. He placed his own name card in front of him, in line with hers. ‘Please, call me Gerald,’ he teased, pulling a funny face as he took her hand in his and kissed it, lingering a little too long over her fingers. This made her laugh and tilt her face in his direction.

  Laughter subsided, Mary nodded down the length of the table to where others were looking for their seats. ‘Your father spoke well,’ she said as Robert entered the room.

  Alexander turned a little in his seat, so that his back was to the door and his face closer to hers. ‘You think so?’ he asked, leaning forward, curious as to what she really thought.

  ‘He’s a clever man,’ Mary said. ‘I admire him very much.’

  Alexander nodded. ‘I know. But, I wonder if you would have done it differently.’ Mary looked at him to determine his meaning. ‘All of this,’ he said, raising his right hand and gesturing to the room. ‘New Year’s, the speeches, the theatrics, the—’ he paused and grinned, struggling for something to end his list, ‘the music.’

  Mary laughed. ‘I rather like your father’s taste in music, Alex.’ Teasing, he rolled his eyes at her. ‘I understand your meaning,’ she said, her hand absentmindedly straying onto the tablecloth to straighten his cutlery. ‘And yes, I would have done it differently — I would not have bothered at all.’

  Alexander shook his head, grinning. ‘You see,’ he said, leaning forward again and touching her wrist, ‘you can’t say things like that.’

  ‘Whyever not?’

  ‘Because I can’t say things like that,’ he laughed. ‘No New Year’s party — that’s heretical talk, especially coming from someone of the Founders. You’ll be in charge, head of one of the families one day,’ he said, his eyes on hers. ‘It’ll be your job.’

  ‘Oh really, I’ll be in charge,’ she said with subtle provocation. ‘And what will your job be?’

  He shrugged and slouched back in his chair. After a moment, he said, all of a sudden dark and serious, ‘That’s my point.’

  Down the other end of the table, most of the guests now seated, Sophie was attending to a problem. Gerald Foye, the man with the thin grey hair, couldn’t find his seat and was at a loss as to where to place himself. He took the issue in good cheer, saying there was no need to worry as Sophie apologised and said she would locate his place immediately. Alexander and Mary, and indeed many others at the table, watched on as she searched for the missing seat. Eventually, an empty chair with no name was found, and Sophie guided Gerald to it, touching him on the shoulder and apologising once again before returning to her own seat. She looked down the table and caught Alexander’s eye. When she raised her eyebrows at him, he simply shrugged.

  The first course was ready to be served. It was brought in on a large silver platter, covered by a domed cloche. Placed in the centre of the table, it was warm, tiny droplets of condensation blanketing the polished metal like morning dew on the petals of a flower, and steam billowed out from under the lid as it was lifted.

  On a bed of fresh sage, rosemary and parsley, crispy, glossy and the colour of caramel, a baby. The infant was served whole, five kilograms of delicate meat, fat drooling from its toothless mouth, which was slightly agape to accommodate the placement of a single, roasted crabapple. Eyeless, black olives having been inserted in the place of eyes, it lay curled, on its stomach, as if in peaceful slumber. Little fingers and toes had crisped in the oven and glistened gold. A lack of muscle and an abundance of fat made it a culinary delicacy. Fed solely on its mother’s milk before being slaughtered at just seven weeks, the suckling babe was gorged with collagen, which kept it juicy and tender and sweetly perfumed.

  The gathering was allowed to admire the animal before it was carved. There was something uniquely gratifying about having an infant cooked and served in its entirety, and the guests were allowed to absorb this primaeval sensation before the knife was drawn along its spine.

  An arm was removed first, the knife starting at the top of the shoulder, separating what was one of the richest, most fat abundant areas from the rest of the carcass. The leg of the same side came next, and then the scant meat from the middle of the babe’s back. Crispy ears were cut from the head, and the cheeks, an especially tender part of the infant, were sliced away, reserved for plates of the hostess’ choosing.

  The pluck — the heart, liver, kidneys, lungs and tongue — had been removed from the carcass prior to roasting, and was served now alongside the rest of the body as pâté. Plates of caramelised cauliflower and buttered green beans and crumbly white cheeses were also brought to the table, as well as baskets ladened with warm petits pains.

  A showpiece appetiser, it was exceptional fare and the guests were eager to fill their plates. After the spectacle of carving the suckling babe was concluded, two further silver platters arrived at the table and placed an equal distance away from the first. Lids lifted and two more babies, plenty to feed the party. As the animals were carved, the feasting began. Heaps of green beans and baby swelled individual plates, and petit pain was layered with homemade pâté and cheese. Some, in the ecstasy of consumption, abandoned their cutlery, and instead used their hands to push heaps of buttery, fatty flesh into their mouths. For Gerald Foye, by way of apology for the botched seating plan, a cheek, and to Luc’s daughter, Sabine, the other.

  So moist, so succulent, so satisfying, all the guests could do was eat and give thanks and eat some more.

  As they ate, one of the guests dabbed his fat jewelled lips with a napkin. ‘It is a shame that such a delicious thing cannot be had more often,’ he said, putting down his knife and fork and addressing the table. His plate was still almost full and it was clear he had taken more than he could manage.

  At the head of the table, Robert swallowed. ‘Indeed,’ he smiled. ‘But it would not be a delicacy if one ate it every day.’

  Another man, close to Robert and older than the first, held out his finger, signalling he wished to speak. He swallowed the piece of suckling babe he was chewing and said, ‘That’s not what Rupert says. I’ve heard he serves baby quite regularly.’

  Several sighes came from around the table. Everyone knew the name: it was one that needed no further introduction or explanation. Robert Senior looked up from his plate and shook his head. ‘Here we go.’

  Before anything more could be said, the man who had encouraged Alexander to admire his shoes earlier in the evening interjected. ‘It is true, Robert,’ he said, holding a wine glass in his hand. ‘It’s baby every other day up there!’

  The younger Robert smiled at such a ludicrous statement. ‘Whilst I am sure Rupert has his own way of doing things,’ he said, ‘I can hardly imagine such consumption to be sustainable.’

  Shoe man laughed and, before taking a sip of wine, responded by exclaiming, ‘When has Rupert ever cared about sustainability!’

  Like Robert, Rupert was head of one of the four founding families. An eccentric libertine who ran a homestead — if his operation could be thought of as such — in Scotland, he was considered to be a controversial figure by those with conservative tastes.

  To Robert’s displeasure, the conversation was far from exhausted. ‘Not so,’ another person at the table, this time a woman, said, ‘I hear he has one female who gives him quadruplets every time. It’s a miracle of science!’

  Incredulous laughter and Sophie put down her fork and placed her hand over her husband’s.

  ‘Quadruplets? Each time?’ Robert asked, his eyes crinkling with amusement. ‘I would have to see such a thing to believe it.’

  The woman nodded in earnest and encouraged her husband, who was at her side, to say something. Looking from her to Robert, he put down a hunk of bread covered in pâté and shrugged his shoulders. ‘What can I say, Robert? You know how theatrical the man can be — at his parties he says it is so, but who is to know the truth of the matter when it comes to him?’ Sighing, his wife shot him a disapproving look before returning to her food.