All the Rage (5 page)

‘What do you think? '

He swivelled awkwardly, caught like a thief in a shop. He released the frame as if it was contaminated. It thudded against the wall.

Michael composed himself sufficiently to hide his awkwardness. ‘Well,' he gestured with a wide exaggerated arc of his arm, ‘Where do I begin? It's a real mess to be frank with you. ' He'd hoped that his theatrical over-the-top motion was sufficient to distract her from the clatter he had just made. The painting embarrassed him, and surely embarrassed her. Why else would it be hidden?

‘Oh,' she murmured, ‘I was rather hoping you would approve…'

‘
Excuse me
? ' He was now flustered, and hot.

‘Of my dress, silly! ' Lauren had an infectious laugh. ‘I've changed into something I
thought
you might like. What do you think? '

Michael's face turned red. Thankfully, she was not referring to the offending canvas.

‘I keep putting my foot into it, don't I? ' He said lamely.

‘Somewhat. '

He took this opportunity to study her with an appreciative eye.

‘Stunning,' he said finally. ‘Lovely…you look absolutely lovely. The dress becomes you. I'm beginning to feel that I'm on a date! '

She laughed again, tossing her head back, the black silk skirt swaying with her easy body movement. ‘The salmon's ready. Can I drag you away, or is your professional curiosity above that of having a date with a girl who dresses for lunch? '

‘I'm honoured,' he said, laughing. ‘Lead on, I am but your humble servant. ' In reality, he was still reeling from the sight of the painting, the laughter simply deflecting from this hideous shock.

Fortunately, Lauren joined in the fun and appeared to have missed his uncomfortable reaction to her creeping up behind him in the studio.

‘And therefore, you must do as I command! ' She responded with a mixture of gaiety and edginess in her voice.

He followed her like a lamb to the slaughter.

 

***

 

Michael washed his hands in the kitchen sink as Lauren laid the table and served the fish and side salad. This was an immensely agreeable time, he reminded himself. These moments helped to deflect from his personal trials and tribulations, by letting him think about her problems. He found himself listening to her with a patience he had never found with Adele, aware that his fixation with this woman who dressed for him and cooked for him was both appallingly pathetic and – he recalled his earlier description – dangerous. For God's sake, she could be fifteen years younger, he chastised himself brutally. Fantasy was a dark and double-edged weapon.

Over the next hour, they discussed the many implications of valuing her husband's work, and the logistics of presenting such a big task. He reminded her of his misgivings and lack of expertise, and suggested she contact one of the big galleries in Germany or Scandinavia, which had represented Julius in the past. They, he suggested, would be better equipped to deal with the financial issues. The obvious route was not to her liking, he soon realised. A frown deepened on her forehead.

‘I have my reasons, Michael. I do not believe I can trust these galleries. Julius has strong contacts over there and they will be loyal to him. I need someone who is independent and I can trust
with my life
. ' He noted this emphasis on these last words, but he quickly dismissed it.

‘So,' she pleaded, ‘will you help me? '

He thought long and hard. ‘To a degree, yes,' he replied. He paused. ‘To be fair and accurate, we should of course be in contact with your husband. '

‘No! ' She flashed her temper like an erupting volcano, burying her head into her slender hands. ‘He has no say in this matter! Do you think he has rights? Tell me. I want to know. As far as I am concerned, when he left this house he left my life, for good. He betrayed me and humiliated me and…and…God will seek a terrible revenge on him. '

Michael sensed that she was beginning to reclaim her inner control, now shaking her head with a slower and more dignified purpose.

‘Believe me, Michael, he will find only sufferance and madness with
her,
a hell on earth. He'll wish…' Her voice trailed away into nothingness, replaced by a soft whimper and a teardrop in her eye.

Michael was rocked momentarily by this sudden alteration in behaviour. Instinctively, he removed his handkerchief from his own pocket and helped dab her eyes.

‘Can I have some more water? ' she asked.

He refilled her glass. ‘I know this has been hard for you. Perhaps you should see a doctor. '

‘No, I can handle it most days. I don't want tranquillizers or sympathy. It bloody hurts – right here. ' She thumped her chest with a clenched fist. ‘I want Julius to experience the same feeling, the rejection, the apathy, the utter crushing humiliation, the brutal disregard for another human being, betrayal, the damn lies I've had to put up with, his smugness, the misplaced pity…' She permitted herself an unexpected smile, and then said, ‘Yes, I think maybe I do need a doctor. '

He made a pot of tea and cleared away the unfinished meal while she rested. She sat by the window in the kitchen, looking out to the rear orchard. After a few minutes she was sufficiently composed again.

‘I've been an idiot and a complete bore,' she said. ‘You've been so kind to me; maybe you will be my doctor? ' Before he had a chance to answer, she spoke again, ‘I want to show you something. Have you still got time? '

He glanced at his watch. It was just gone three. He had largely forgotten the reason for being here. Although her outburst had disturbed him, he couldn't pull himself away. ‘It's fine by me. There's nothing that can't wait. ' His stomach tightened as he prepared his next line. ‘Lauren, I saw the painting of you in the studio. Do you want to talk about it? '

She was unmoved. ‘Rather flattering, don't you agree? '

Her voice had an air of resignation to it.

‘Let me show you something, by way of explanation. ' She stood. ‘This way, but be prepared for what you're about to see. '

She snatched a glass of red wine from the table and led him through a maze of corridors to the rear of the house. At this point, she climbed the narrow steep stairs, with Michael in tow. The horrible odour of damp air seeped into his nostrils.

‘It's OK, Michael,' she said, looking back at him. ‘I'm too tired to seduce you,' she teased, taking his hand.

At the top of the galleried landing, she threw open a door and switched on the ceiling lights to a room beyond where she momentarily stood. Lauren laughed and entered, swirling her body in a mad, rhythmic dance.

He could tell she was becoming dizzy. She stopped and drank greedily from her glass of wine, recovering her balance briefly. He was certain that the alcohol had failed to dull the pain he saw behind her eyes.

She swayed unsteadily on her feet again. Searching for him, her eyes narrowed and she beckoned him with her little finger.

He followed. Once inside, his eyes blinked once, twice. Adjusting to the bright light, it took barely a second before he was immediately transfixed by the scandalous images on the walls.

It was evident to him that this was the marital bedroom, the four poster a cascade of rich red and gold drape silks. The matching sheets were half-submerged beneath oversized pillows and assorted ethnic cushions. Affixed against one wall, opposite the bed, a giant plasma TV screen overfilled the space, but it was dwarfed by the numerous large paintings which now caught the eye. Michael counted six, seven, eight nude pictures… all depicted in the same graphic style as the one in the studio downstairs. They were
all
of Lauren. More disturbingly, each and every one revelled in the exaggerated, contorted sexual parts of her body, fashioned in a manner to strip her of the last remnants of dignity and decency.
Christ!
he thought
.
The shock hit him hard
.
Each image represented the degradation of Lauren O'Neill.

‘Why, why, why? ' he said, spinning around the room, his eyes ablaze with fury. ‘Oh, my God. . . Why did he hate you, to do
this
to you? '

‘He didn't hate me, Michael. He found them erotic. It gave him perverse pleasure to control me, manipulate me – imprison me. '

Michael was almost speechless. Eventually, he calmed down enough to ask, ‘
Why
did you let him do it?
Were
you a prisoner of his? '

She gulped the last of the wine. ‘No. I loved him madly. I wanted to please him, endear myself to him, and enslave myself to him. '

‘This can't be right,' he whispered under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief.

‘He was the only man I truly loved. '

He turned to confront her. ‘
Was
? '

Lauren grabbed the bedpost, momentarily regaining her poise. She attempted to remove the strap of her dress from her shoulder but the movement was clumsy and unattractive.

‘Take me to bed, Mr Strange. Tonight I will be
anything
you desire. Tonight, I will be your. . . ' Her frail voice petered out. He knew she was slipping fast into unconsciousness. He could see the hysteria in her eyes.

He quickly reached out to protect her fall…too late! Her body crumpled heavily to the floor. His first reaction was to try to revive her, but Lauren had blacked out completely.

Michael was stunned, and appalled by what had happened so very, very quickly. Minutes earlier, Lauren had seemed to be in control.
He
was in control. But this horrible room, this house, this woman were beginning to spell bad news: seriously bad news.

Coldness took hold, making him shiver. A kind of evil prevailed in every joist, every creaking floorboard, and each and every dark corner. He had to get out, now,
before a shadow descended and blocked out all light. That's how he felt, entombed and chilled to the bone. As a child, this blackness and “
a world of
make believe”
had
scared him. Now, in this alien situation, the old feelings of fear and uncertainty came flooding back to haunt him once again. It was as if he was hypnotised, rooted to the spot: imprisoned in this God-awful room with her.

Just who was she?

A fallen angel: or the devil in disguise?

Chapter Three

 

Michael awoke the next day, exhausted and bewildered by the weird events that had unfolded at Laburnum Farm. Given these circumstances, it was no surprise that he had uncharacteristically slept in. He wished only for a calmness to prevail. Clearing his head, he gulped water, checked the time by the wall clock, and cursed aloud. He padded to the kitchen, switched on the kettle, listened to the news headlines on Radio Five and slumped on the stool next to the breakfast table. His mind rattled with images of a half-naked woman lying unconscious at his feet. What was he getting himself into?

Reality kicked in. Phone Kara, he reminded himself urgently; but his brain was having none of it. It felt like a watermelon being smashed against a wall.

Taking two aspirin, he gradually and painfully began to recall the events of the day before. It transcended into a nightmare of sorts, one he did not care to repeat. Tarantino could not have scripted it better. But, on balance, he felt sorry for Lauren, discovering a deeply complex woman who had seen her own precious world collapse beneath her and as a result, found coping with it almost unbearable. Was that so hard to fathom?

After she had fainted at his feet, he remembered that somehow and with great difficulty he had lifted her onto the bed. In her state of half undress, it was an undignified manoeuvre. Then he checked for facial bruising and carefully supported her head to rest atop the soft pillows. He also managed to stir her awake just sufficiently so that she opened her eyes momentarily and smiled at him. It was a confused smile. However, this simple recognition gave him the confidence to leave her alone and in relative safety. In truth, he was terrified by the strange circumstances he found himself in. What would have happened if she had hit her head? Suppose she had swallowed her tongue? How could he explain his presence right here in the bedroom? What if she had died? Fuck. His mind had been in turmoil, just thinking of how his hands had been shaking and his shirt heavy with sweat. He recalled thinking
Get a grip!
He had sucked in air deeply and slowly and calmed himself adequately, in order to sort things out. Before leaving, he managed to pour a glass of water for her, placing it on the bedside table accompanied by a hastily scribbled note in his own rushed handwriting. It read:

Impossible to stay, but I'm sure that you will be OK on your own. Put the experience down to one of life's rich tapestries which we would rather forget. I've turned everything off, but I didn't dare let the dog out! Main door locked, key put back through the letterbox. Speak to you soon. Michael. P. S. In case you are wondering, no, you did not do anything to be ashamed of. Your behaviour was perfectly understandable in the circumstances. Great wine, though! I was happy to be there as a shoulder to cry on. Bruno wouldn't be so sympathetic to me. XX.

Now, in the cold hostility of the morning, he had grave doubts about her improper manner and the story she had told him. Hastily, he drank a black coffee, the first of several, and immersed himself under a very hot shower, lingering for an extra few luxuriant minutes. Damn. He had forgotten to contact his secretary.

 

***

 

During the rest of the afternoon and over an uneventful weekend, Michael received no word from Lauren. Even the fax that she promised to send detailing her solicitor's name and address failed to materialise. Although he knew how to contact her, he was reluctant to do so. On the one hand she held a certain fatal fascination for him, and she had made her intentions clear in the bedroom. It would have been difficult to resist the temptation had she not collapsed at his feet. On the other hand, he readily admitted this could so easily spiral out of control and drag him into a world that he would not be able to handle. Either Lauren was a clever and manipulative schemer
or
an innocent, damaged woman in genuine need of comfort and support. Naturally, he preferred to think of her in the latter terms. He
wanted
to be there for her, even if his reasoning was less than convincing.

Recollecting the events of their time together, he decided that the accumulation of pills and alcohol had contributed to her downfall. Clearly depressed, she had self-inflicted a heady cocktail which would have probably downed a bull elephant. It was her way of dealing with the pain and sorrow, he deduced. It was clearly the wrong way. A thumping headache would surely testify to this when she finally awoke.

But still he pondered. Although he could not put his finger on it, little things began to aggravate him and make him feel uneasy. Her anger was suppressed and raw and her temper quick to surface. She spoke of spite and vengeance and, more disturbingly, retribution. Yet she displayed outward signs of tenderness and compassion. When he analysed all of this, he pictured Lauren O'Neill as a volcano waiting to erupt.

And what of Julius Gray?

Where was he now living and with whom? Who was this mysterious seductress that he had run off with? Who had last seen him alive? Lauren had indeed spoken of him in the past tense: surely a slip of the tongue. Yet, it was evident from the set-up in the studio that the artist had left quickly. Had this Julius simply ran off with his mistress without a care or need for his work which he had carelessly left behind? Maybe, just maybe, Julius was forced to leave, forced to…to…he searched frantically for the right word…to escape. Many questions remained unanswered.

Putting all this aside, Michael tried to refocus on his failing business and failing marriage. But it was proving to be a hopeless task. Lauren was in his head, all consuming.

 

***

 

On the Monday morning, he called Kara into his office for their regular weekly meeting. They discussed the weekend events, or rather, lack of weekend events, and agreed between them that certain preferential clients needed jolting into action. Often it would be a case of following up several prospective customers' requirements and gently trying to coax them to part with their hard-earned money. Something had to happen and fast. Business was grim. All the retailers throughout the West End were bemoaning the lack of trade. It was bleak for everyone, the hotels, restaurants and the theatre. Two leading shows had already announced their immediate closure. With the continual threat of terrorist attacks in the city, London had become a jittery place in which to live and work.

Michael started the proceedings, without his normal enthusiasm for the task. ‘What about Mrs Dunning, from Hampstead? ' he asked.

‘Ah, yes,' Kara said, mulling things over. ‘She was keen on the John Hibbit still life. Thinking back, it was all to do with the cost of the redecoration of her dining room,' Kararemembered. ‘With her, I would think the price was the stumbling block. I'll chase it up. She's definitely worth a try. '

‘Hmm,' Michael pondered, jotting some figures down on a pad, ‘give her a call. Go in at £9,500, that's just over ten per cent discount. Tell her she can have the painting on approval for a few days. ' He hesitated. ‘What about the commission at the new hotel on Connaught Street? '

‘Delayed, I'm afraid. Apparently there are structural problems and they will not commit to us until they know the wall space available, which now could be smaller than they first envisaged. '

Michael shrugged. ‘OK, it will come good – eventually. In the meantime, contact Mr Pointing in Jersey and ask when he is coming over next. Could he be tempted with the new Nicky Jennings? What do you think? '

‘A strong possibility; I think he will buy, as he's an avid collector. How about we crate it over to him on approval for a few days? '

‘Always a good ploy,' he laughed. ‘It'll be too much trouble to return it: much easier to just stick it on the wall. '

They discussed other options which could prove beneficial to the financial welfare of the gallery, but the market was tough, and they had to respond with equal toughness. Leasing artwork was considered, but Michael wasn't keen as the margins were low. Next on the agenda were various issues regarding the spring exhibition in May, called “City Heat. ”

‘Oh, that reminds me,' Kara announced, ‘there are three of Marcus Heath's work in the stockroom, ready for collection by the photographer. Just in case you were wondering what they were doing there. '

‘He's keen,' Michael reflected. ‘A bit early to say the least. '

‘I think he panicked! Marcus thought you might change your mind. '

‘I'm tempted. '

Kara shared his laughter. ‘You can be such an ogre; I can't see why anyone wants to deal with you. '

He shrugged his shoulders in puzzlement. ‘Or work for me for that matter. I must have something going for me. '

‘Hmm, you think so? ' she teased, a mocking frown creasing her forehead.

 

***

 

Later that day, Kara poked her head around the door to Michael's office, still carrying a frown. This time it was for real.

‘Well,' she asked, with a tone of bewilderment, ‘what does a girl have to do around here to get information? '

Michael looked up, bemused.

‘It's like getting blood out of a stone,' she added, grinning now.

‘Perhaps you could enlighten me a little? '

She sighed, ‘Men! Always so secretive. '

Michael fiddled with his pencil, staring blankly.

‘Ah, keeping me in suspense, so typical. ' She stamped her foot playfully, advancing further into the office. ‘How long was it going to be before I got to know? '

‘Got to
know
? ' Michael was teasing her now.

‘Yes, damn it: the meeting with the so-called mistress of the manor. How did you get on with Lauren O'Neill? What was she like? '

‘Ah, yes, well – I'm not sure that I can breach client confidentiality. ' He somehow managed to maintain a serious face.

‘Bullshit. '

‘I'm not sure I can relate to that term. Has it got anything to do with a cup of coffee? '

‘OK, its bribery and corruption time,' she countered, folding her arms, ‘I'll make the coffee. First you spill the beans. Something big, you said on the phone. I'm dying to hear. '

‘Just what is it with women and gossip? ' he asked. ‘Actually, Kara,' he said seriously ‘I'm not entirely sure
how
I got on with Lauren. She turned out to be a strange and disturbing lady. '

‘Just your sort then,' Kara quipped.

He chose to ignore Kara's jibe, even though it was close to the truth. ‘The appraisals she wants me to do could prove to be a major logistical nightmare. ' His throat stuck on this last word.

‘And the Patrick Porters, were they as good as you'd hoped? '

‘To be perfectly frank with you, Kara, I didn't get to see those. It was all a bit of a disappointment. ' His voice trailed off.

‘Oh,' she muttered. ‘You seemed so full of it when we spoke on the phone. '

‘I got carried away with the excitement and intrigue. In reality, when I got there I soon discovered a tangled mess of, well, people's lives smashed and stolen. Too much for me to take in, really. I ended up being a reluctant counsellor, and a poor one at that. Next time I'll just stick to being a humble art dealer. I've got enough problems of my own. '

 

***

 

Within an hour, Kara returned, this time with a face like thunder. ‘Michael, how
exactly
was it left between you and Lauren? '

He looked vague. ‘There's been nothing…It was Thursday when we last had contact. I'm still hopeful of viewing the Porters, but I don't feel compelled to phone her. It's like opening a can of worms. '

He stared at her vacantly, waiting for a barrage of questions, but instead she stared back at him with a look of agitation.

‘You haven't made contact with her
at all
? ' she asked.

‘No. Perhaps I should write a courtesy letter, explaining our company position. Keep it simple. '

Kara raised her eyebrows. ‘Michael, I think you should come and see something. Now. '

‘Have we finally had word from her? '

Kara turned on her heels and walked briskly from his office.

‘Perhaps you should check out your emails,' she called from afar.

Intrigued, he rose from his desk and wearily followed her, knowing he was not quite on the same wavelength at this point. Kara could be so infuriating at times. Just what was she referring to? It was his policy to leave all the internet stuff to his secretary; it was basically too much trouble for him.

He soon found trouble. On the computer screen, he read:

WHERE ARE YOU? I NEED TO SEE YOU. WHERE ARE YOU? I NEED TO SEE YOU. WHERE ARE YOU? I NEED TO SEE YOU.

Kara clicked through a never-ending list of recurring emails.

‘This is one sick chick,' she said.

‘Is everyone the same? ' Michael asked with a nervous edge to his voice.