‘Also, I think I might be able to organize a few celebrities at the launch.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh yes. So would you be able to make it to Walden this Saturday?’
‘I’m sure I could.’
‘I wonder . . . You live in Fethering, don’t you?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Look, I’m coming over there shortly with my boyfriend.’
‘Giles.’
‘Oh yes, of course, you’ve met him. I forgot. Anyway, he’s got to pick up some stuff from his mother’s flat.’
‘I heard he was moving out of there.’
‘Mm. Anyway, we’ll be over in, I suppose, about half an hour. Wondered if we could just meet for a chat about your involvement in the Walden project?’
‘Fine,’ said Jude instantly. She wasn’t going to turn down an investigative gift like that.
‘What, shall we come to your place?’
‘Why don’t we meet for a drink in the Crown and Anchor?’
Jude got to the pub before her visitors and was served by the landlord himself. And, as was so often the case, Ted Crisp had a joke for her. ‘How do you recognize a dyslexic Yorkshireman?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know,’ she replied dutifully. ‘How do you recognize a dyslexic Yorkshireman?’
‘He’s the one wearing a cat flap!’
Jude quite liked the joke, but didn’t laugh at it as loudly as Ted himself did. ‘Again, how much the stand-up circuit must miss you,’ she said.
‘Ooh, incidentally, you must come to this. Week tomorrow.’ He shoved a printed flyer across the bar to her. The space was dominated by an image of Elvis Presley in his sequinned romper-suit phase. The text read: ‘FOR ONE NIGHT ONLY – ELVIS COMES TO THE CROWN AND ANCHOR! RECAPTURE YOUR YOUTH, THRILL TO THE HITS! LET ELVIS LOVE YOU TENDER. 8.00 p.m. TICKETS: £5.’
‘What on earth’s this?’ asked Jude.
‘Like it says – Elvis.’
‘The real one?’
‘Of course.’
‘Oh yes? And he’ll be arriving with Lord Lucan, both of them riding on Shergar?’
‘Uncanny, Jude. How did you know that?’
‘Instinct. Unless, of course, you prefer to give me the real explanation . . .?’
‘That bloke Spider.’
‘The one who does the framing at the Cornelian Gallery?’
‘The very same. I got talking to him at that Private View. Turns out he does the full Elvis impersonation schtick.’
‘That would at least explain his haircut.’
‘Yeah. Anyway, I said I’d give him a night in the function room. See what he’s like. You’ll come?’
‘Sure.’
‘And bring Carole.’
Jude looked dubious. ‘I’m not sure that Elvis would be exactly Carole’s sort of thing.’
‘Bring Carole,’ Ted Crisp repeated forcibly.
‘OK,’ said Jude with a grin, and took her large Chilean Chardonnay across to one of the alcove tables.
Chervil Whittaker and Giles Green appeared only moments later. Both were wearing pinstriped City suits, hers with the understated perfection of cut for which the best designers charge a small fortune. His was more conventional, but pretty expensive too. Having checked Jude had a drink, Giles got fizzy mineral waters with ice for both of them. Clearly this was going to be a business meeting.
‘I just wanted to run this text by you,’ said Chervil, handing across a rough of a flyer for Walden. As with the website which Carole had shown her, the quality of the printing and detail was very slick, set over professional photographs of the glamping site. And the ‘Deeply Felt’ pun featured again. ‘It’s there, under “Therapeutic Services”.’
Jude read the indicated paragraph. ‘An expert healer may also be booked by arrangement for one-hour sessions. She has wide experience in dealing with a variety of conditions, both physical and mental.’
She didn’t like what it said; she was still alienated by the thought of her skills being sold off in convenient chunks like carpet tiles. But she did want to keep Chervil Whittaker onside in the cause of investigation. So the only objection she made was to the description of ‘one-hour sessions’.
‘You mean the healing takes longer?’ asked Chervil.
‘It can do.’
‘How long?’
Jude puffed out her cheeks and spread her hands helplessly wide. ‘How long is a piece of string? I’m afraid I can’t predict the duration of a healing session. Sometimes it just works and only takes ten minutes. Other times it doesn’t work at all. The energy’s just not flowing.’
‘Well, suppose,’ said Chervil, ‘that I just cut the “one-hour” and say: “An expert healer may also be booked by arrangement for individual sessions”?’
Jude still didn’t feel quite comfortable with the wording – or indeed the whole concept – but she didn’t raise any further objections.
‘Good,’ said Giles. ‘We can get these printed this afternoon and email the text to the press list.’
He spoke with authority, and Jude wondered whether he was now muscling in on his girlfriend’s business, just as he had with his mother’s. If that were the case, Chervil didn’t seem to resent the intrusion.
‘I’ll talk to Gale Mostyn,’ he continued.
‘Fine,’ said Chervil.
‘Sorry, who’s she?’ asked Jude. ‘Gale Mostyn.’
‘It’s not a she,’ replied Giles. ‘It’s a PR company.’
‘One of the best in the country,’ said Chervil. ‘Mum and Dad have used them for yonks.’
‘And are they organizing the launch on Saturday?’
‘Giles and I are actually organizing it, but Gale Mostyn will have quite a lot of input. A couple of their people will be attending.’
‘Ah,’ said Jude, and then went on. ‘I couldn’t help noticing, Giles, as I went past the Cornelian Gallery, that the Denzil Willoughby artwork was no longer on display.’
‘No,’ he agreed airily. ‘I’m afraid there was – as so often happens in the art world – a slight difference of opinion between artist and gallery-owner. Denzil had a bit of a row with my mother, I’m afraid, and so he decided to withdraw from the exhibition.’
That wasn’t the way things had happened according to what Bonita had told Carole, but Jude didn’t argue with the facts. ‘And have you had a row with her too?’
Giles looked at Jude in puzzlement. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I heard you’d moved out of her flat.’
He grimaced. ‘Not much escapes the gossips of Fethering, does it? There was a social network here long before Facebook and Twitter were invented. Anyway, with regard to my moving, that was always part of the plan. I was only camping with Mother on a temporary basis . . . until I moved in with Chervil.’
‘Which he has now done,’ said the girlfriend with considerable satisfaction. ‘We’re sharing one of the guest flats at Butterwyke House.’
‘Not one of the yurts at Walden?’
Chervil grinned. ‘No, I think there’s a strong argument for us not living over the shop.’ She spoke as if the glamping site was already an established business, and one in which she and Giles were equal partners. ‘Besides,’ she continued bullishly, ‘we’re hoping to have all the yurts full of paying customers. I’ve a feeling we’re going to get a lot of coverage for the launch on Saturday. Gale Mostyn are bloody good at securing column inches. They’ll see to it that Walden gets maximum publicity.’
‘But presumably,’ suggested Jude, ‘only the right sort of publicity.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘I’m sorry, but I can’t help observing that you haven’t mentioned your sister.’