Guns in the Gallery

FIVE

A large field had been given over to the new glamping project. Like everything else on the estate, the site was very high spec. A gate had been set into the surrounding walls, so that visitors would not have to use the imposing lion-guarded main entrance of Butterwyke House. A gravel drive led from the lane outside to a paved car park, from which York stone paths led to the individual camping units. New trees had been planted, so that in time the setting would be well shaded from the summer sun.

The accommodation came in the form of yurts, ‘genuine ones imported from Mongolia,’ Chervil Whittaker assured Carole and Jude. They were quite large, circular structures, squat with a conical roof shaped like a coolie hat. The framework was wooden, and its lattice wall sections and ceiling poles were covered with felt, ‘made from the wool collected from the Mongolian tribesmen’s flocks of sheep.’ The result was a semi-permanent building, ‘warm in winter and cool in summer.’

Chervil Whittaker’s presentation was very slick. Whatever it was she had previously done in the City, the experience had trained her well. Only when she got on the subject of the Buddhist symbolism of the yurt did her knowledge become a little shaky. And she wouldn’t have had a problem with the average potential yurt-renter. But in Jude she had encountered someone who did know quite a lot about Eastern religions.

‘The crown of the yurt,’ Chervil was saying, ‘or toono in Mongolian, takes the form of the Buddhist dharmacakra.’

‘And what’s that when it’s at home?’ asked Carole, who didn’t have much time for any religion but the Church of England (and she didn’t even believe in that one). She certainly thought that Eastern religions were for their ethnic adherents superstition and for any Westerners who subscribed to them sheer pretension.

‘The dharmacakra,’ replied Chervil, ‘is a circular symbol.’

‘Representing what?’ asked Carole.

‘What do you mean?’

‘A symbol can’t just be a symbol, can it? It’s got to be a symbol of something.’

‘Oh.’ But Chervil Whittaker was only momentarily nonplussed. ‘It’s a symbol of the circularity of life . . . sort of, how what comes around goes around.’

‘It’s not quite that, is it?’ said Jude gently.

‘Oh?’

‘Well, Chervil, the dharmacakra is one of the Ashtamagala symbols, isn’t it?’

‘If you say so.’

‘And it’s one of the eight auspicious symbols of Tibetan Buddhism.’

‘Right.’

‘Really it’s the Wheel of Law, representing dharma, the Buddha’s path to enlightenment. And its symbolism as a wheel depends on the number of spokes it has. Eight spokes represent Ariya magga, the Noble Eightfold Path. Twelve spokes represent Paticcasamuppada, the Twelve Laws of dependent Origination. And twenty-four spokes—’

‘Yeah, well, whatever,’ said Chervil. Then a marketing thought struck her. ‘Hey, Jude, maybe you could write a little piece about this stuff . . .? Then we could print them up and add them to the welcome pack we put in the yurts for our guests. We’re thinking of having on the welcome packs the logo “Deeply Felt”.’

‘Why?’ asked Carole.

‘“Felt”. That’s what the yurts are made of – Felt.’

‘Ah,’ said Carole.

‘But would you be up for writing something about the Buddhist bit, Jude?’

‘Sure. If you think—’

‘We’d pay you, obviously.’

‘Oh, I don’t think I’d need paying for something like that.’

‘No, of course we’d pay you,’ said Chervil firmly. The Whittakers had so much money that they liked to dole it out for every service, however minor. Paying for things gave them a sense of security. ‘Yes, I think that’d be good,’ she went on. ‘I think a lot of the people who’re likely to come here will have spiritual needs . . . you know, they’ll want time in the country really chilling out and getting their heads together.’

Carole could not prevent a wince of annoyance crossing her face at the mention of these two alien concepts.

‘You say “people who’re likely to come here”,’ observed Jude. ‘Does that mean the site isn’t open yet?’

‘We open officially next week. Last month we’ve had friends staying, testing everything out, seeing all the facilities work as they should.’

‘And what kind of facilities do you have?’ asked Carole.

Chervil smiled confidently. ‘I’ll show you,’ she said, and led them to the painted door of one of the largest yurts.

The central space was large and, though quite a lot of light came through the circular, spoked smoke vent at the crown of the structure, Chervil switched on the lights. Clearly the back-to-nature experience included electricity.

It also included a large wood-burning stove in the central area, perfectly appointed bathroom with toilet, and a fully equipped kitchen featuring a state-of-the-art gas cooker. Everything was so new and top of the range that Carole and Jude wouldn’t have been surprised to see an Aga in there. On the walls hung framed pictures of various Buddhas.

‘They won’t be exactly slumming, will they?’ said Jude.

‘Certainly not. What we’re offering here at Walden is pampering rather than slumming.’

‘Walden?’ echoed Jude.

‘That’s Dad’s input. From something he read, I forget what it was.’

‘Walden, or Life in the Woods,’ said Carole, with something of the tone of a school swot, ‘was the name of the book written by Henry David Thoreau, chronicling the two years of his life he spent practising self-sufficiency and simple living in a cottage near Walden Pond.’

‘Gosh,’ said Jude. ‘How on earth do you know all that?’

‘I found it on Wikipedia,’ admitted a somewhat shamefaced Carole. ‘There was a clue in The Times crossword to which the answer had to be “walken” or “walden”. “Walken” didn’t make sense, so I googled “walden”. Hence my exhaustive knowledge of Henry David Thoreau.’

‘Well, that would figure,’ said Chervil. ‘That must be why Dad chose the name: “simple living”.’

Jude looked around the lavish interior of the yurt and refrained from commenting on the irony of those last two words. ‘So if I were to do therapy sessions, how would it work? Would I come and visit the people who required them in their individual yurts?’

‘Oh no,’ said Chervil. ‘We have a special place where we’d do the therapy sessions.’ Keeping silent to maintain the drama of her revelation, she let them out and along a path to the largest yurt of the lot. Opening the door, she announced with a flourish, ‘This is the Spa and Treatment Area.’

Her coup de théâtre, seen through a short passage, was a complete state-of-the art gym in a circular space smaller than the exterior circumference of the yurt. It was floored with gleaming white ceramic tiles. Off this area, doors led to other rooms labelled ‘Plunge Pool’, ‘Hot Tub’, ‘Steam Room’ and ‘Sauna’. Chervil pointed to three doors without signs on them. ‘Those’ll be the treatment rooms.’

She opened one to reveal a pleasant space containing an electrically adjustable massage table and other equipment. Once again, everything was top of the range and brand new. ‘Would you be able to work somewhere like this?’

‘Looks fine,’ said Jude.

‘In our preliminary brochures we’re offering “a range of alternative therapies”.’

‘Like what?’

‘Reiki, Hatha yoga, homeopathy, acupuncture, reflexology, bach flower remedies.’

‘I don’t do any of those.’

‘Oh?’ Chervil Whittaker sounded severely disappointed. ‘Do you do hot stone massage?’

‘No.’

‘Why? Don’t you believe in any of them?’

‘No. I’ve tried some of them and I have friends who use them very successfully, but I’m not qualified in any of them.’

‘Oh? Does that matter?’ Chervil’s priorities were evidently different from Jude’s. She just wanted a range of therapies available for her potential customers, and didn’t seem too bothered by their practitioners’ level of competence.

‘I think it does a bit,’ Jude replied.

‘So what therapies do you do?’ the girl asked.

This was a question to which Carole had often wanted an answer, but she now knew her neighbour too well to ask it. How convenient that Chervil had done the job for her. She awaited the reply attentively.

‘I’m a healer,’ said Jude. ‘I channel energy.’

Well, what on earth does that mean, thought Carole, who had been hoping for more specifics.

But the answer appealed to Chervil Whittaker’s marketing instincts. ‘I like that,’ she said. ‘“Healing . . . Energy-channelling”. They’d look really good in the brochure. What does it involve, Jude?’

‘A mixture of techniques which I’ve worked out over the years.’

‘Massage?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Laying on of hands?’

‘In a way.’

‘Wow!’ The girl was getting very excited. ‘We could call it “Total Healing”. Lots of people would go for that.’

‘What kind of people?’ asked Carole. It was another question to which, as a natural sceptic in such matters, she had wanted an answer for a long time.

‘Well, people who feel kind of that they’ve got something wrong with them, but they don’t know what it is, so they’d like to have some kind of therapy that covers everything.’

‘“One size fits all”?’ Jude suggested.

‘Exactly that!’ Chervil Whittaker was ecstatic now. ‘This could be a real winner. Now, how would you rather be paid? Per session, or would you like us to put you on a retainer?’

‘I’m sorry, but I haven’t said that I’ll do it yet.’

‘But surely you will?’ Something in Jude’s face gave the girl pause. ‘Why not? Aren’t the facilities up to scratch?’

‘The facilities are absolutely fine. Best I’ve seen for a long time. But I don’t do healing as a kind of add-on leisure activity.’

‘Oh?’

‘I do it for people who I think need it, to help people who are genuinely suffering.’

‘Some of the people who come here might be genuinely suffering.’

‘And so they could have healing rather in the same way that they might have a session in the hot tub or the sauna?’

‘Yes.’ Chervil nodded with enthusiasm.

‘Hm. I don’t think that’s for me, I’m afraid.’

‘Why not? You’d get paid well over the odds.’

‘I don’t do it for the money.’ That prompted a predictable snort from Carole. Jude smiled wearily at her neighbour as she tried to explain. ‘Healing is a kind of gift. When I do it, it takes an enormous amount of energy out of me. And it doesn’t work unless I believe totally that the person with whom I’m working is in genuine need of my services.’

‘Oh.’ But Chervil was only cast down for a moment. ‘Well, some of the people who come here might be in genuine need of your services.’

‘Yes. And when you have some that you think genuinely are, then give me a call and I’ll come and make an assessment.’

‘Right.’ The girl still seemed upset that anyone could want to resist taking their share of the Whittaker millions. ‘Are you sure you don’t want us to put you on a retainer?’

‘Positive.’ There was a silence while Chervil seemed to turn something over in her mind. Then she said, ‘So you think my sister is in genuine need?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I know Fennel’s been coming to you.’

‘Yes.’

‘And her need is genuine?’

‘As opposed to what?’

‘As opposed to her just play-acting, doing the prima donna routine, trying to monopolize our parents’ attention?’

Aware of the underscoring of bitterness in the words, Jude replied gently, ‘I think her need is genuine.’

‘And do you think you can help her?’

‘I hope so.’

‘I hope so too. I’ve been living with her throwing hysterical fits all the time ever since I was born.’

‘Well, as I say, let’s hope I can help her.’

‘Hm.’

Carole decided that a new direction in the conversation might be timely. ‘I gather you used to work in the City, Chervil?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you decided to get out of the rat race?’

‘A bit of that, yes. And I really got excited about this Walden project. Now my boyfriend’s living down here too, so that’s fine.’

‘Giles Green.’

‘Yes.’ The girl looked curiously at Carole. ‘Do you know him?’

‘I’ve met him briefly. I was in his mother’s shop; you know, the gallery.’

‘Oh yes? And did she mention that I was his girlfriend?’

Carole realized she had got herself into something of a social cleft-stick. She hadn’t heard about the relationship between Giles and Chervil in the Cornelian Gallery. It had been Jude who’d mentioned it. And now she was in danger of looking as if she’d been gossiping about the girl behind her back. (Which of course she had. Gossiping behind people’s backs was the principal pastime of the Fethering community.)

‘No, no. Bonita didn’t mention it.’

‘No surprise there,’ said Chervil.

‘Oh?’

‘Bonita Green doesn’t approve of my relationship with Giles.’

‘Why not?’

The girl shrugged. ‘I think she got on rather dangerously well with his wife. Soon to be ex-wife, I’m glad to say. Or then again, maybe she’s just one of those mothers who think no girl is good enough for her son.’

On the way back to Fethering in her prim Renault, Carole said, ‘You missed a trick there, Jude.’

‘Oh?’

‘Turning down that retainer Chervil was offering. It would have been very nice for you to have a regular income coming in.’

Jude sighed. ‘You just don’t get it, Carole, do you?’

And it was true. Carole didn’t.