All the Rage (9 page)

‘Oh. '

‘Is there a problem? '

‘I was rather hoping for the day off, giving me an extended weekend break. '

He frowned. ‘Sorry, not possible. ' Michael saw the disappointment wash across her features. ‘Tell you what,' he ventured, leaning forward, ‘help me on this one and the following week take the Monday and Tuesday off and travel up to Scotland. It'll do you good to get away for several days; my treat. Take Marcus.'

‘Scotland? Did you say Scotland? '

‘Yes, well, Glasgow to be precise. '

She frowned. ‘Glasgow? In the freezing winter? Are you insane?'

‘It'll be marvellous,' he said enthusiastically. ‘It will be a chance for you both to escape from London and really get to know each other.'

‘Hang on,' Kara said, her eyes narrowing. ‘Get to know each other, or, get to know about
someone
else? I can hazard a guess…'

She knew him pretty well, he was amused to note. ‘Well, whilst up there, you could do me a little favour, as you
are
in the vicinity,' he said.

‘Damn, what a crappy underhand ploy. ' The other diners in the café were suddenly deafened into silence, but Kara was in full flow. ‘I cannot believe what I am hearing. You expect Marcus and me to travel up to Scotland, on the pretext of a romantic break for two, probably catch shitty pneumonia, no doubt stay in a grotty all-expenses paid bed and breakfast…'

‘Er, two-star luxury hotel,' he interrupted, none too convincingly.

Kara was livid. ‘And, the cheek of it, no doubt you would like us to enquire into the whereabouts – the disappearance of a certain Julius Gray? '

Michael looked around cagily, keeping his voice down. ‘Never actually crossed my mind,' he murmured. ‘Still, now you come to mention it. '

Kara stood up urgently, clattering the crockery on the table as she did so. All eyes turned in her direction.

‘My God, I'm so pissed with you,' she shouted, discarding her dirty napkin into his lap. ‘How can you think of such a low-down thing? Talk about manipulation. What do you take me for, someone who can so easily be bought? ' She moved indignantly and with great purpose to the exit door, all eyes in the café following her every movement. Turning once more in his direction, she announced with theatrical aplomb, ‘Make it a four-star hotel, with Jacuzzi, and you're on. '

‘Now that's what I call fucking style,' a cockney voice shouted from the rear of the café.

 

***

 

Finding Julius Gray and discovering why his relationship with Lauren had catastrophically collapsed was a necessary diversion, Michael deduced. It would enable him to make sense of his own crazy liaison with Lauren, one that had veered between the quite spectacular and somewhere way beyond.

Attempting to cope with so many “bad situations” in his somewhat troubled life, Michael struggled to find a plausible reason as to why
she
was so important to his sanity. Certainly, in the strange balance of things, she was a destabilising influence at a crucial time in his life, a time when an anchor was what he should be searching for. At odds with himself, he craved her, like a gambler searching for the next bet. He reminded himself of the intense passion of their lovemaking. It was addictive. He was also aware of the potential damage she could cause, yet the thrill of the chase always overpowered the need for order and sensibility. A sort of chaos prevailed.

Taking each piece of the puzzle, and beginning the process of fitting them together, enabled Michael to see sense in his own delicate world. Looking back over his marriage, his emotional and sexual connection to Adele was, at best, a fumbling in the dark, and at worst, a protracted business arrangement. They had reached a natural end to their union. With Lauren, however, the relationship had propelled itself into another dimension, sucking him into a vortex of no escape. She possessed him, just as she had once owned her errant husband.

And what had become of Julius? He was forced to ask himself this question yet again.

Michael needed to know, not just for his own peace of mind, but also to gauge the strength of his ongoing connection with Lauren. On a more practical level he needed to authenticate all the paintings belonging to Julius and substantiate ownership of the Patrick Porter originals. This was imperative before he could sell them on. Legally, he needed permission to do this. It begged the question: who did they legally belong to?

After returning to the gallery, he sat alone in his office and turned over the many events which muddled his mind. There were certain things he knew. Julius had vanished, leaving his studio intact. Question: was his current work of no concern to him? Equally baffling, why had Lauren left the paintings untouched and gathering dust? She had made it clear that he was not returning to her house. It made sense, therefore, that he would surely request that all his valuable belongings, especially his paintings, should be sent to a forwarding address. Question: he also had to ask himself why she had not purged the house of all Julius's possessions? It would be natural for her to rid herself of such painful memories. But Michael was learning fast that there was little indeed that was natural in Lauren's house.

There were some things he recognised in the studio which did not make sense: for instance, the dried paint on Julius's discarded palette was rock solid, as were countless tubes of paint where the screw tops had been left off. Michael also counted several expensive brushes which had been carelessly left unwashed when a bottle of white spirit was available to use. These were basic tasks that a professional artist would do without thinking. So, what was the obvious conclusion? Julius had gone, for sure, but in a damned hurry. All that remained was a shrine of sorts. And there was
something
else.

At first, he had overlooked it. But it festered in his mind. Something else wasn't quite right, but until now he had failed to identify it. In the abandoned studio was a pile of exhibition brochures and supporting newspaper articles. Julius was a minor celebrity in the art world. He had gained decent critical acclaim from art critics and the public alike, especially in Scotland. The Oberon Gallery in Glasgow accorded him a one-man show every two years, beginning as far back as 1986: ten good years. And there was the problem.

Searching his memory, Michael was perplexed as to how all the publicity cuttings, stacked neatly in date order, suddenly and inexplicably stopped in the year 1996. Nothing, it seemed, shone a light on his career since then. It must have been at this point that he and Lauren had separated. Whatever happened, the parting was terrible and permanent. Michael had heard
her
side of the story. Now he would pursue Julius's version of the events; if it were indeed possible. And what of the mysterious girl who came between them? She would have to be found, and unearthing vital evidence to this end was paramount to the true picture emerging. Gradually, he was asking the right questions. Now he needed the answers.

So many tantalising clues! There were certain things Michael feared beyond all else: confined spaces, drowning, the dark, wasps and…the irrational abhorrence of faces hidden behind Venetian masks. It was this that dwelt most heavily on his troubled mind. Whichever way he turned, confusion reigned, but, piece by piece, it was the misshapen images from the Italian lagoon that began to haunt him. They lured him, and yet he had almost missed their significance. Like a lightning bolt from the sky, Michael was convinced in a flash that it was here, in Venice, where he would find them both. The lovers: Julius and the girl named Antonia. Just putting their names together made his heart thump in his chest.

It was during his investigation of Julius's studio that he had discovered two paintings that were markedly different from all of the others. These were personal oil studies in a more representational manner, entitled ‘Lunch with Antonia' and ‘Antonia's Lagoon'. They had been tucked behind a pile of old dusty frames. Lauren had apparently failed to find them. Michael was now convinced they had been deliberately hidden from her. In each canvas, Antonia was depicted as she was: a ravishing beauty, with sleek black hair tumbling down across her slender shoulders. She was young, perhaps only eighteen, with a full glossy mouth and dark eyes. Julius had captured her as a true masterpiece:
His
lover. Disturbingly, Michael was now aware that he had seen her before…displayed in his gallery window.

A bigger picture was beginning to emerge as to the tangled lives of these people. One thing was transparent, however. In order to discover the fate of the artist and his lover, the truth had to be found somewhere amongst the chaos of the abandoned studio. This would be his starting point. Against his better judgment, he decided to accept Lauren's proposal to value the contents of Laburnum Farm.

Coupled with this decision, his avid imagination transported him back to a distant idyll, reached across land and sea.
La Serenissima.
The magic of
Venice: a place of sunlight and shadows. A beguiling jewel of shifting islands and tidal waters, of echoing passageways, crumbling stonework and sun-reflected canals. A world apart, inhabited over the centuries by those in search of these very shadows in which to hide. Michael was convinced that it was here, among the labyrinth of lagoons, where he would find Julius and Antonia. He was faced with a dilemma: just how would he find this information out? The answer came quickly. A simple ploy was all that was required.

In need of fresh air, Michael ambled along the streets of his neighbourhood, taking time to think things through. He bought a newspaper, ordered coffee at Carlo's, and eventually found himself in Duke Street; staring idly at Asian artefacts in a gallery window opposite the St. James Hotel. He enjoyed this walk, often stopping to chat with his contemporaries, but on this day he kept his own counsel, withdrawing into his troubled thoughts and the extra protection of his heavy brown overcoat. The snow flurries had arrived again.

Eventually, he took shelter in a doorway and dialled on his mobile. The ploy was in operation. His head pounded.

‘Lauren? Hi. '

‘You were right about the weather,' she responded. ‘Where are you? '

‘In Mayfair, near the gallery. Actually, I'm walking in this blizzard. '

‘Are you mad? I can't see to the bottom of the garden. There must be two inches of snow on the ground. '

Michael retreated still further into the porch and peered up to the grey slate sky. ‘It won't settle, never does in London. I was thinking…'

‘Always a dangerous move,' she interjected, catching his mood.

‘Listen. I've decided to help you with the valuation of paintings in Julius's studio. I can combine this with the marketing of the Patrick Porters at the same time. '

He caught the elation in her voice. ‘Michael, this is wonderful news. You've lifted a huge burden from my shoulders. When can we start? '

‘Soon, very soon. First, I need a break.
We
desperately need a break. How do you feel about coming away with me? '

‘Sounds divine. When? '

‘Oh,' he said, thinking. Then, more triumphantly, he shouted, ‘Next week! Tomorrow! How about right this minute? '

‘Right now? ' she laughed. ‘This very minute? Do I have time to get my toothbrush? '

Someone pushed past him in the doorway, cursing impatiently under their breath. He moved out into the street and immediately felt the icy flakes fall beneath his collar and down his neck. ‘Well, next week would be perfect for me. '

‘Problem, I'm afraid. '

‘Oh? '

Lauren hesitated. ‘I meant to tell you. I'm going away by myself for a few days. '

‘I see. ' He knew that his tone betrayed him.

‘Just a weekend. '

He detected a shuddering full stop in the conversation. Eventually, he said, ‘Where are you going? '

She remained silent for a few seconds longer. ‘Ireland. I'm going home to see my sister in Limerick. Maggie needs me over there. '

‘This weekend? '

‘Yes. I'm flying to Shannon on Friday night. '

‘When will you be back? '

‘Sunday night. Look, I know you are disappointed, but it doesn't have to change our plans. '

‘No, no, of course not. It's just that I was hoping to view the Patrick Porters at some stage. This weekend would have been the ideal opportunity. ' He tried to mask his growing dissatisfaction. ‘Still, we can arrange something another time. '

‘Michael, what's the problem here? '

‘No problem. I was just planning your weekend without even asking you. ' Then he tried the jealousy card. ‘I'll just have to console myself in the Blue Bar tonight, with my secretary. '

‘Not a good idea, on both accounts,' she said, her voice hardened. Then she softened. ‘Look, I have to go to see Maggie, OK? When I return you can whisk me off to anywhere you fancy. '

‘I've chosen, actually. '