The one unarguably genuine ailment that Jonny Virgo suffered from was a bad back. Her practice had taught Jude that a lot of bad backs were more in the head than in the muscles, but Jonny’s was the real thing. It had been caused, he admitted, by a lifetime of piano playing, both practising by himself and teaching. All those long hours of sitting on a stool with no back support had taken their toll. Jude could tell from the tightness of his muscles, particularly in the lower back area, how much concentration he put into his work at the keyboard, channelling the works of the world’s great composers. She knew that the only prospect of a cure for his pain was for him to give up playing, but she also knew that that was the one solution she could not suggest. Playing the piano was what defined Jonny Virgo to himself. It was not only the work that had always been at the centre of his life; it was also his favoured means of release. Playing piano relaxed him.
And he needed some form of relaxation. Jude had gathered, in previous sessions, that caring for his elderly mother was very stressful. Though he didn’t mention the word, the old lady was clearly on the slide towards dementia. ‘She can’t remember what she said two minutes ago, but she still loves hearing me play the piano,’ he kept saying. ‘She says hearing me play makes her very peaceful. I can’t stop playing because of Mother, apart from anything else. It wouldn’t be fair on her.’
So, Jude recognized that she could never cure his pain, only offer him ways to manage it.
Jonny knew the routine. He took off his jacket and shoes, removed the cravat from around his neck and lay face down on the treatment bed which Jude had put up in her sitting room. On first moving into Woodside Cottage, she had contemplated having a dedicated area for her healing work, but decided – rightly, as it turned out – that her clients would be more relaxed in the charming disorder of her living space. Jude’s style of décor reflected the clothes she wore. Just as a variety of floaty garments blurred the exact outline of her plumpness, so a range of rugs, throws and floppy cushions disguised the contours of her furniture. Carole had never actually vocalized her views on the organized chaos in which her neighbour lived, but Jude knew full well what she thought. She gloried in the contrast between the soft confusion of Woodside Cottage and the sharp edges of High Tor’s immaculate interior.
The interest in crime-solving that she and Carole shared had occasionally presented Jude with ethical dilemmas in relation to her work. More than once it had happened that a client had been deeply involved in an investigation, either as a research source, a witness or, on occasion, a perpetrator. Jude tried not to use her confidential healer role as a means of eliciting information, but sometimes the strain told. And, after what Carole had reported from Leonard Mallett’s wake, the temptation to pick Jonny Virgo’s brains was strong.
She needn’t have worried, though. As she moved her hands slowly up and down, a few inches above his body, focusing her concentration on its messages, with absolutely no prompting the organist went straight to the subject that interested her.
‘Very strange,’ he confided. ‘Obviously I’ve done a lot of funerals in my time, and I’m not sure that they’re occasions when you necessarily see the best of human behaviour, particularly after everyone’s had a few drinks, but what happened today was completely unprecedented.’
‘Oh?’ said Jude, as if just making conversation.
‘The deceased was a Fethering resident called Leonard Mallett … don’t know if you knew him?’
‘I’ve heard the name,’ she replied with complete honesty.
‘Lived in one of those big houses over on the Shorelands Estate.’
‘Ah. Did you know him?’
‘Not really. His wife – widow I have to say now – sings in the church choir. I’d seen him once or twice coming to pick her up, that’s all. She’s a soprano,’ he added randomly.
‘Oh.’
‘And one strange thing that happened today was that, during the service, rather than sitting with the congregation, she sat in the choir stalls and sang along with the rest of them.’
‘Well, I suppose that was her choice,’ said Jude, wondering if there was going to come a point when Jonny added more to the narrative than she’d already heard from Carole.
‘Oh yes, yes. And I was very happy about it. Quite honestly, we’re so pushed for numbers in the choir that I worry about anyone’s absence – even if they’ve got the excuse of it being their husband’s funeral. Some of the more traditional members of the All Saints congregation might have seen it as a little lacking in respect, but as you say, it was her choice. And she’s got a strong voice, so she bolsters the choir’s volume.
‘Not sure how the vicar felt, though. From the little I’ve seen of him, I’d say Bob’s a traditionalist, but he’s very worried about keeping up numbers – so many churches are having to give up their choirs from lack of support. Perhaps he’d have welcomed Heather’s decision. I’m not sure what he felt about the cremation, though.’
‘What about the cremation?’
‘Well, it happened straight after the service. The hearse took the coffin straight to the crematorium.’
‘That’s not unusual, is it?’
‘I’d have thought it was unusual for the widow not to attend the cremation.’
‘Happens quite often, I think,’ said Jude. She had a friend who worked as a funeral celebrant and they had discussed such matters. ‘You know, if she feels her duty is to be at the wake, to greet and talk to the guests, some of whom may have come a very long way to the funeral.’
‘Maybe. Not sure how Bob would have felt about that. Maybe he would have welcomed it too. I don’t know him well enough to be sure of his views. But I’m certain he didn’t welcome the scene at the wake, though.’
‘“Scene”?’
‘There was a terrible set-to between Heather and her daughter.’
‘Oh?’
‘Well, I say “daughter”. Stepdaughter, actually. Alice. You haven’t … er …?’
‘As I said, I haven’t met any of them.’
‘Anyway, the girl must have been drinking heavily. I can’t understand how young people manage to drink so much. How anyone does, come to that. With me, alcohol wreaks absolute havoc with my IBS.’
Jude was reminded that, along with worries about his blood-sugar levels, Jonny Virgo was also troubled by Irritable Bowel Syndrome. And a few other Syndromes, too. In fact, she sometimes suspected that he only had to read the name of a Syndrome to develop it.
‘But, apart from that,’ he went on, ‘I can never understand why people enjoy drinking too much. I’ve been on foreign trips with a choir I used to play for, and some of them … the amount they put away … it was frankly disgusting. The basses were always the worst, they were constantly having to be pulled out of bars. And other behaviour was pretty appalling too. You know, extramarital affairs going on. And none of them seemed to feel any guilt about it. They’d just giggle and say: “What happens on tour stays on tour.” Which I don’t think is a very responsible attitude.’ There was quite a prudish side to Jonny Virgo.
‘Could you just turn over?’ asked Jude.
Jonny did as instructed and allowed her to start her ministrations to the front of his body. Still her hands didn’t touch, just outlining his contours, feeling the tensions, easing the knots. He continued his narrative. ‘So far as I could gather, there weren’t meant to be any speeches in the church hall. Everything appropriate had been said in the church. But if that was the intention … well, Alice Mallett clearly hadn’t got the message.’