Guns in the Gallery

EIGHTEEN

‘Are you sure this is all right? There isn’t something else you should be doing?’

‘It’s fine and dandy, Jude,’ said Sam Torino. ‘They got their pound of flesh. I’ve done all they asked me to. I’ve earned a little “Me Time”.’

‘What about the kids?’

‘They’re fine. They’re toasting marshmallows over the bonfire with Katya.’

‘Katya?’

‘One of their nannies.’

‘Oh. Right. You said you had a problem . . .?’

They were in one of the side rooms of the treatment yurt with the door firmly closed. Even though everything had been meticulously cleaned and the white tiles gleamed, Jude could not quite remove from her memory the image of the space spattered with Fennel Whittaker’s blood.

Sam Torino, incapable of looking less than elegant in any posture, draped her long limbs across the treatment couch. ‘It’s a back thing. I always swore I’d never turn into one of those old women who had backs, and Lordy, Lordy, it’s caught up with me. Maybe growing old is just a process of becoming all the things one swore one’d never be.’

‘You’re not old,’ said Jude.

‘I am too.’

‘You still look stunning.’

‘Maybe. But if you knew how much longer it takes me to look stunning these days . . .’ She laughed grimly. ‘As I say, it’s a back thing.’

‘Caused by any particular injury?’

‘I don’t think the last divorce helped.’

‘But no physical injury?’

‘Not that I know of. Mind you, I grew up in the School of Hard Knocks. So it could be any one of those knocks that started the thing off.’

‘How long have you had the pain?’

‘Since the last divorce.’

‘Really?’

Sam Torino nodded. Close to, Jude could see the fine tracery of lines around her eyes. The model had been right. She’d always be beautiful, but time was beginning to fray away at her perfect outline.

‘Lie down on the couch and let’s have a look.’

‘Sure.’ Sam swivelled round to lie on her back. ‘Do you want me to take anything off?’ After a lifetime of backstage changing at catwalk shows, she had no coyness about removing her clothes.

‘Just the shoes for the time being.’

Sam Torino slipped off what looked like Converse Hi Top trainers (though a discerning fashionista would have recognized them as being by a far more exclusive designer). Like all her clothes, they appeared to have been put on the first time that day.

‘Could you just lie down on your front?’ Sam obeyed. ‘Just get comfortable. From what you said, you’ve used healers before.’

‘Sure. I’ll try anything. Anything that helps.’

‘And did the healing help?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘When you said you’d had the pain since your last divorce, was that a joke?’

‘No, I had the pain before the divorce, but then I divorced him.’ She stopped herself. ‘Sorry, I suffer from Reactive Wisecrack Syndrome. When I’m nervous I make dreadful jokes.’

‘Are you nervous now? You don’t look it.’

‘One thing you learn with a career like mine . . . Whatever you’re feeling, don’t look it.’

‘Well, you’re succeeding. Nobody would know you’re nervous.’

‘I am too.’

‘So why are you nervous now?’

‘Because if you’re anything like a decent healer – and I get the feeling you are – then you aren’t just going to be checking out my body, you’re going to be looking inside my soul. And I’ve got a lot of clutter down there in my soul, and some of it’s clutter I’m ashamed of.’

Jude nodded. What Sam Torino was saying to her didn’t seem strange at all. With an inward smile, she thanked the Lord that Carole wasn’t in the yurt with them at that moment.

‘OK, Sam, just relax. I’m just going to check where the pain is.’ Jude ran her hands expertly along the contours of the woman’s body. No contact was actually made with the designer clothes, her fingers hovered a couple of inches above the famous contours. They kept being drawn back to one source of heat.

‘That’s where the pain is, isn’t it?’ pronounced Jude, lightly touching a spot just above Sam’s right buttock.

‘Hey, you’re good,’ said the model. ‘Got it in one. Any idea how to get rid of the sonofabitch?’

‘I can try.’ Jude focused her energy on to the troublesome area. ‘So you say this started at the time of the divorce?’

‘In the run-up to it, yeah.’

‘You know why, don’t you?’

‘Do I? You tell me.’

‘It’s because you’re Sam Torino. Everyone who meets you gets the full Sam Torino experience, regardless of whether you’re feeling very Sam Torino or not.’

‘Meaning?’

‘You know what I mean. You never give yourself a break, Sam.’

‘I do too. I programme gym visits and spa days into my schedules. If I listed the number of vacations I take it’d embarrass me.’

‘That’s not what I’m talking about. When you’re in the gym, when you’re on vacation, you’re surrounded by other people. Other people who admire you, who’re impressed with the way you manage all the demands of your life. They expect you to give them the full-on Sam Torino treatment every moment of the day. And you oblige them.’

There was a long silence. Still not touching the woman’s body, the knuckles of Jude’s hands were whitening with the intensity she was channelling into it. Then, in a long drawl, Sam Torino said, ‘Yes, Jude. You’re good.’ Then, after a moment, she asked, ‘Can you take away the pain?’

‘I think I can for the time being. If you want it to stay away, you’ll have to make some changes.’

‘Like what?’

‘For your condition I would prescribe solitude.’

‘How d’ya mean?’

‘Just as important as your gym and spa visits, you need time on your own. You should programme that into your schedule. Time to think.’

‘Are you talking meditation? Because I’ve done classes in that and—’

‘Classes, no. Classes are with other people. They still have expectations of you. You want to be alone when the only person who has expectations of you is you.’

‘I have very high expectations of myself.’

‘Of course you do. And that’s good. All I’m asking is that you carve out for yourself half an hour a day to think about those expectations. Are they realistic? Would it really matter that much if you let your guard slip for a moment? Why not allow a little imperfection into your life? You’re a human being. All human beings have flaws.’

There was an even longer silence while Sam Torino took this in. Then she said, ‘Do you know how much you’re asking?’

‘I know exactly how much I’m asking.’

‘Hm.’ More silence. ‘I’ll give it a go. More “Me Time”.’

‘Don’t think of it as “Me Time”. Think of it as “Nothing Time”. Just time when you stop feeling the pressure to be Sam Torino. See where it takes you.’

‘OK.’ She flexed her long legs. ‘The pain’s easing, you know.’

‘Yes. A little bit longer and it’ll be gone . . . for the time being.’

‘And whether or not I keep it away is up to me, huh?’

‘Sure is,’ said Jude, dropping into a parody Canadian accent.

‘Right.’ Sam Torino looked around the interior of the treatment yurt. ‘Funny, this place doesn’t have any ghosts . . . considering what happened here so recently.’

Jude was shocked. ‘I didn’t know you knew about that.’

‘Ned told me.’

‘You know Ned?’

‘Sure.’

‘Can I ask how?’

‘No problem. There are a lot of events which people with a certain level of income get involved in. Charity fund-raisers, that kind of stuff. I can’t remember the first one I met him at, but we kind of got on and stayed in touch.’

‘So is that why you’re here for the Walden launch?’

‘Sure.’

‘I thought Gale Mostyn had organized your participation.’

Sam Torino let out a haughty laugh. ‘Gale Mostyn are not big players. I have my own personal PR company. Sure, Gale Mostyn can organize a line-up of reality TV hopefuls, but they don’t have access to the A-list.’ Somehow her words didn’t sound arrogant. She was just describing the realities of celebrity life. ‘And, incidentally . . .’ She reached into her back trouser pocket and produced a neat card case. ‘If you ever need to contact me, use this mobile number. If you try going through my PR people, they won’t let you near me.’

‘Thank you,’ said Jude, pocketing the card she’d been given. ‘So, Sam, I assume you heard from Ned about what happened to Fennel?’

‘Sure. I also heard that you were the one who found the body.’

‘Yes.’ Jude had a sudden thought. ‘Was that why you wanted to talk to me?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Is that why you asked me to stay behind after the launch?’

Sam Torino looked puzzled. ‘Hell, no. I asked you to stay behind because you’re a healer. Because you’re doing wonders for the pain in my hip.’

‘Oh, good.’

‘Why would I want to talk to you about Fennel?’

‘I don’t know. Sorry, I wasn’t thinking straight.’

‘Ned’s in a terrible state about it.’

‘I know.’

‘He always was besotted with that girl. Fathers and first daughters, you know . . .’

‘Whereas Sheena . . .?’

‘Hell, who knows what goes on in a mind like hers?’ Sam Torino clearly had less time for Fennel’s mother than she had for her father.

‘Did you know Fennel?’

‘I met her a couple of times. Ned brought her along to a few charity things. I think the idea was to promote her career as an artist . . . you know, get her some wealthy contacts who might commission stuff from her. I don’t think it paid off. Ned can sometimes be a bit naive in the workings of the celebrity circus.’

‘How did Fennel strike you when you met her?’

Sam Torino shrugged. ‘Pretty. Nice kid. If I hadn’t heard from Ned about her mental problems I’d never have guessed there was anything wrong.’

‘Has he talked to you much about her illness?’

‘Not a lot. He told me when she made the first attempt.’

‘You already knew him then?’

‘Sure.’

‘Did he give you much detail about what happened?’

‘No, he just told me that she’d done it. Up until then, like I said, I wouldn’t have known there was anything wrong with her. But from that time on I could see how much it got to him. Worrying about Fennel was a constant anxiety to him, and a constant drain on his energy.’

‘Did Ned tell you about her death before today?’

‘Sure. He called me the weekend it happened. He was in a hell of a state.’

‘Yes. I saw him soon after.’

A new shrewdness came into Sam Torino’s eyes. ‘He was also worried about local gossip.’

‘Oh?’

‘Even the suggestion that some people thought it wasn’t suicide at all. That Fennel was murdered.’

‘When something like that happens in an area like this,’ Jude responded breezily, ‘you’re bound get a lot of crackpot theories doing the rounds.’

‘Ned said there were a couple of things you thought were odd when you found Fennel’s body.’

‘Well, really only the fact that there was no sign of her mobile.’

‘Hm.’ The famous eyes were turned searchingly on to Jude. ‘So does that mean you’re one of the people who thinks it might have been murder?’

Jude was torn. Part of her wanted to admit the truth, in the hope perhaps of getting more information out of Sam Torino. But she knew the dangers of spreading suspicions and allegations. She also got the feeling that anything she said would get straight back to Ned Whittaker. And she didn’t want to do anything that might add to his misery.

So all she came up with by way of reply was: ‘I suppose I just didn’t want to think it was suicide, so I considered all of the other options.’

‘And are you still considering them?’

‘Maybe a bit.’

Sam Torino nodded slowly. ‘But the police took the suicide at face value?’

‘Oh yes. Sam, don’t you worry about what I’m thinking. I’ve allowed myself to get rather emotionally involved.’

Another slow, thoughtful nod.

‘No, really, I’m sure it was suicide,’ Jude lied. ‘When Ned talked to you, did he have any idea what might have tipped Fennel over the edge?’

‘No. But she’d been ill for a long time. And I can’t think getting involved with that little shit Denzil Willoughby can have helped.’

‘You know Denzil?’

‘Sure.’

‘Why, have you bought stuff from him?’

Sam Torino’s fine nose wrinkled with disgust at the suggestion. ‘Hell, no. If I buy art, I go for the real McCoy. If I want a Damien Hirst, I get a Damien Hirst. Not Denzil Willoughby’s kind of imitative rubbish.’

‘So how did you meet Denzil?’

Through his father.’

‘Oh?’

‘Addison Willoughby. You heard of him?’

‘I’ve heard the name.’

‘Founded one of the biggest advertising companies in the world. Another of the super-rich mafia.’

‘Whom you have met at charity events?’

‘Exactly. He brought Denzil along to a few, maybe trying to do the same service as Ned was for Fennel.’

‘Was that when the two of them met?’

‘I don’t know about that. They may have known each other before. All I know is that when I heard from Ned they were an item, I thought: “Uh-oh, that’s going to mean trouble.”’

‘Why did you think that?’

‘Denzil Willoughby once had a thing with a girlfriend of mine. She didn’t enjoy the relationship one bit.’

‘Why? Because he’s so up himself?’

‘No, she could have coped with that. She’s a model, she’s used to dealing with egos. You wouldn’t believe how many dickheads hang around the catwalks. No, with Denzil Willoughby, it was the physical violence she couldn’t put up with.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, that boy’s got a sadistic – not to say murderous – streak in him.’

‘Has he ever been charged with anything?’

‘Girlfriends have tried, but they’ve all been bought off. By Addison.’ Sam Torino grinned cynically. ‘Amazing how flexible the law becomes for those who can afford it.’