Guilt at the Garage

TEN

Jeremiah was a tall man, probably in his late forties, well muscled with a bulk that could have been intimidating. But it wasn’t, because he also carried with him an air of calm. Jude could imagine him being a compelling charismatic preacher. That did not lessen her suspicion of him.

But, as they talked, she found herself warming to Jeremiah. He seemed to anticipate all possible objections. Like her, he had, throughout his career, needed to be ready for accusations of charlatanism and, like her, he had his arguments well marshalled.

Also, Jude could not be unaware, he found her attractive. Over the years, she had got used to this response from men. She never took it too seriously. In most cases, it caused her no more than mild irritation, but with a few her reaction was different. With some, knowing they found her attractive gave her a warm glow. Jeremiah quickly enlisted himself into that small category.

‘I know a lot of us in the profession,’ he was saying, ‘are altruistic about the way we use our gifts. But the fact remains that we all have to make a living, and I’ve kept thinking of ways to simplify the way our income is generated. We can do a certain amount through the local press, social media can be very effective, but the best way to find new clients is always going to be word of mouth, personal recommendation.’

His views perfectly reflected her own. ‘I couldn’t agree more,’ she said.

‘But I was thinking this is still a fairly hit-and-miss approach, particularly for someone like me, just moving to a new area.’

‘Remind me – where is it you’ve come from?’

‘Australia most recently. And some years in the States before that.’

‘Useful experience?’

‘Very definitely. Particularly in the States. California, they’re way ahead of this country in their appreciation of alternative therapies. I went to some very good alternative therapy conferences there, learned a lot.’

‘Yes, I find conferences very useful. Going to one in a couple of weeks, actually. In Leeds.’

‘Oh, what’s it called?’

‘“Healing Is in the Head”.’ Jude was glad Carole wasn’t there. She could imagine the derision that title would prompt.

‘Oh, thanks, I’ll check it out online. Anyway, as I’m sure you know, wherever you practise as a healer, it’s still a hand-to-mouth existence … or is that expression the exclusive property of dentists?’

Jude grinned at the half-joke. ‘So …’ he went on, ‘I was wondering whether the situation might be improved by setting up a centre for alternative therapies … you know, a permanent venue where people know they can come for a variety of treatments.’

Forewarned by Ted Crisp that this might be the reason Jeremiah wanted to contact her, Jude had had time to form her reactions to the idea. And the main one was scepticism. But she didn’t express that straight away. First, find out how much Jeremiah had thought the idea through. ‘What, you mean like one of those spas in expensive hotels where they’ll cover you with hot stones, drip candle wax on you and walk up and down your back?’

She was proud of the sarcasm in her question – Carole couldn’t have done it better – but Jeremiah grinned, as if he’d anticipated her approach. ‘You know I don’t mean that, Jude. Not somewhere expensive, just somewhere accessible and welcoming. I’m talking about a centre staffed by serious practitioners.’

‘Ah, but how do you find them? And how do you check the authenticity of their “seriousness”? As you know, we’re talking about a professional area that is not very well policed. Anyone can wake up one morning, decide they’re going to be a healer or some other kind of therapist, put a brass plate on their door and wait for the gullible public to stream in.’

‘I’m well aware of that. I met my fair share of cowboy therapists in California, believe me. So, I think it’s essential that, as well as the unregulated ones, we get some people involved who have recognized qualifications. Quite a lot of GPs working in conventional medicine are open to the idea of alternative therapies, you know. The two are not so far apart. Doctor friend of mine, Bob Rawley, is very keen on the idea of co-operation between them. If the centre I’m trying to get going existed, he’d definitely be doing acupuncture there. And of course, he’d refer patients who he thought might benefit. Complementary medicine, I’m sure that’s the future.’

‘I don’t disagree. But I think you would have to be very careful about who you let in. It only takes one charlatan to unleash a storm of bad publicity and put the image of our profession back a couple of decades.’

‘I’m well aware of that. But I think we find the right practitioners by the same method as we currently do clients. Word of mouth, personal recommendation.’

‘It could take a long time.’

‘Yes, it could. But I’m thinking of the benefits of having a talented group of therapists all in touch with each other, exchanging new ideas, referring clients to each other …’

‘Hm,’ said Jude, hoping it didn’t sound too much like one of Carole’s ‘Hm’s. It was rarely that she was as sceptical as her neighbour, but this was fast becoming one of those occasions.

‘Look …’ Jeremiah almost sounded as though he were pleading ‘… I’m suggesting that we start in a small way and slowly build up the reputation of the place, until it becomes a recognized centre of excellence for alternative therapies.’

This plan sounded naïve to Jude, which rather surprised her, because Jeremiah hadn’t given her the impression of being a naïve person. ‘OK. That’s all very fine, but let’s face the biggest question: how do you fund such an enterprise?’

‘From the therapists who use the facility. When they join, they sign a contract agreeing to pay a percentage of their fees – I don’t know, say ten per cent – into a communal pot which pays for the premises.’

Jude grimaced wryly. ‘But how do you start? All right, you find your premises … and I assume you’re talking about renting, not buying … and at that point you have no therapists signed up … or maybe one or two … So, where do you find the first month’s rent? Or, come to that, the second month’s rent? Or—’

‘Yes, all right. I take your point. I’d be prepared to fund the start-up. For a few months.’

‘Oh? Do you have a secret supply of money?’

‘Why does it have to be a secret supply?’

‘Come on, Jeremiah. You’re a healer. Very few healers make enough to trouble HM Revenue and Customs.’

‘All right.’ He coloured. ‘I don’t have a lot of money, no, but I would be prepared to invest what I do have into a project I believe in.’ He looked at her expectantly.

‘I don’t have much money either, Jeremiah,’ she said, and paused before continuing, ‘but I’m afraid, if I did, I wouldn’t be investing it in your therapy centre … if that’s what you were asking me to do?’

‘Well, not exactly … I mean, obviously, I would have been delighted if you had wanted to contribute, but I wanted to see you more to use you as a sounding board, to see if you think the project is a good idea.’

Jude twisted her lips. ‘It may be a good idea, Jeremiah. That I don’t know. But it’s not a good idea for me.’

‘Oh?’

‘For me, healing is a very private interaction between me and the client. I need privacy to build up the required concentration. Though I am sure that working in a place where there were lots of other therapists with whom to exchange ideas would be very pleasant socially, I don’t think it would help me to do my job. I think it might actually make it more difficult.’

‘Oh well.’ Jeremiah grinned, a reassuring grin. ‘Fair enough. I thought it was worth asking.’

‘Always worth asking anything.’

‘Yes.’

‘So how long have you been in the area, since you came back from Australia?’

‘Getting on for six months now.’

‘In Fethering?’ If so, Jude was surprised she hadn’t seen him around.

‘No Fedborough.’ He referred to the larger town, some six miles upstream on the River Fether.

‘And are you liking it here?’

‘Yes, very pleasant area. I should think it’s nicer in the summer.’

‘Certainly is.’

‘We just caught the end of the last one, then a rather wet autumn.’

‘Tell me about it.’ Jude had registered the ‘we’. Suggested he had a partner, a wife maybe. She felt the smallest of pangs.

‘Anyway, I seem to have built up quite a respectable list of clients. Some over in Worthing, and as far away as Portsmouth to the West.’

Jude nodded. ‘That’s more or less my catchment area too.’

‘No lack of ailments on the Costa Geriatrica,’ said Jeremiah with a grin.

It was the first thing he’d said wrong. Nothing overt, but just a slight hint of callousness, as though the clients existed for his benefit more than because they were people needing help.

There was a silence, then Jeremiah said, ‘I heard in the Crown and Anchor that your neighbour was actually present at Shefford’s Garage when that awful accident happened.’

‘Yes. Carole Seddon. She was.’

‘Terrible business.’

‘Mm. Did you know Bill Shefford?’

Jeremiah shrugged. ‘I’d met him. Been in there to get petrol, that’s all. Did you?’

Jude shook her head. ‘Like you, I’d met him. You don’t have to be long in a place like Fethering before you know everyone. But I only knew Bill for a polite nod and a “Good morning”.’

‘Your friend Carole knew him better?’

‘A bit. She always went to Shefford’s when there was something wrong with her precious Renault. I don’t have a car.’

‘Ah.’ Another silence. ‘Needless to say, a lot of speculation about the death last time I was in the Crown and Anchor.’

‘You don’t surprise me. Everyone convinced it was murder – and the perpetrator identified as everyone from Cain the Killer of Abel to Russian undercover agents?’

‘That’s about right.’ He grinned. ‘Does your neighbour have a view?’

‘On whether Bill Shefford was murdered?’

‘Mm.’

‘What makes you think she might?’

‘The landlord at the Crown and Anchor …’

‘Ted Crisp.’

‘Ah. I didn’t get his name.’

‘He mentioned that you two had a bit of a reputation locally as amateur sleuths.’

‘Did he?’ said Jude drily. ‘Well, it is the view of my neighbourly Miss Marple that Bill Shefford’s death was an accident. Sorry to disappoint you.’

‘I’ll survive.’ Jeremiah’s smile suggested he wasn’t that disappointed. ‘Oh, incidentally …’

‘Mm?’

‘I wondered if you had been contacted by a woman called Natalie Kendrick …?’

‘Why?’ Jude was instantly and instinctively alert. If Jeremiah was going to ask her about her healing work, he would find her surprisingly circumspect. She had high standards about protecting the confidentiality of her clients.

‘Just that she consulted me about helping her son. Boy – well, man – called Tom. I wondered whether she might have contacted you too.’

‘Why should she have done?’ asked Jude, still cagey.

‘Because I was no bloody use to her. Or to him.’

Jude considered her moral position. Technically, Tom Kendrick was not one of her clients. She had talked to him, at his mother’s request, and didn’t reckon she could help with whatever was wrong with him … if indeed there was anything wrong with him. Jeremiah, who had gone further into the therapeutic process, didn’t seem to be constrained by any confidentiality worries. So, there was no reason why she should discuss Tom with him.

‘I was rather in the same boat,’ she said. ‘Whatever he did need, I don’t think it was my kind of healing.’

‘Or mine. I thought he needed – to use a technical psychotherapeutic term – a kick up the backside.’ Jude giggled. ‘He seemed to me to be just a layabout – and nothing was going to change that situation, until his mother cuts off the very generous allowance she was giving him.’

‘I came to the same conclusion.’ A pause. ‘But why did you suddenly bring him up, Jeremiah?’

‘Because of his connection to Shefford’s.’

‘I didn’t know Tom Kendrick had a connection with Shefford’s.’

‘Oh yes. Amongst the many courses and things that his mother set up for him, he did spend some time working at the garage.’

‘I didn’t know that.’

‘Just on a casual basis. I think the idea was that, if it went well, it might be formalized into some kind of apprenticeship. But, needless to say, because it involved Tom Kendrick, it didn’t go well.’

‘Did he learn anything?’

‘A bit of basic mechanics, I gather. Bill Shefford had been very generous in taking him on. The Kendricks’ family cars were always serviced at the garage and she persuaded him to give the boy a chance.’

‘I can imagine.’ Jude had encountered too many women of Natalie Kendrick’s type to have any doubts about their powers of persuasion.

‘But, of course, Tom screwed up. After a couple of months, he was asked to leave.’

‘What for? Anything specific?’

‘I don’t think so. Just general inefficiency, turning up late, skiving, you name it. The customary behaviour of a layabout with a private income.’

‘Ah.’

‘Apparently, Bill Shefford was very upset by Tom’s behaviour. He’d bent over backwards to give the boy a chance, and he’d had his generosity thrown back in his face. According to what I heard, Bill Shefford was the mildest of men, never lost his temper, never even raised his voice. But when he finally sacked Tom Kendrick, there was a great shouting match.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. In front of all the staff and customers, I gather.’

‘Who told you this?’

‘Tom himself. Well, his version was slightly different from what I’ve just told you. In his version, he’d done nothing wrong. He was just trying to do his job, but Bill Shefford kept picking on him. Tom was still clearly very angry.’

‘Was he?’

‘Yes. There was a lot of bad blood there.’