and radiotherapy, and made a complete recovery.’
‘He certainly looked fine, and he really tucked into his food.’
He’s in very good nick for someone pushing eighty.’ Stephen sighed, almost with satisfaction. ‘No, I don’t see the Martins being a potential problem as inlaws. They’ll keep a low profile. All the skeletons will stay firmly in the closet.’
Which, Carole thought, was rather an odd thing for her son to say.
Gaby had rung Stephen from her mobile on some pretext, but with the real purpose of ensuring that he and his mother had left High Tor before the taxi from Fethering Station brought her to Woodside Cottage.
Gita had gone for her first outside trip alone since her arrival. Jude had carefully shown her the way to the beach, naming cafes where she could stop if she felt exhausted, saying it’d be no problem if she returned while Gaby was still there. In fact, she had fussed so uncharacteristically that Gita, with a wry smile, had eventually said, ‘It’s all right, Jude. I’m not about to walk into the sea with my pockets full of stones.’
‘I know. I didn’t mean—’
‘Yes, you did. And I know exactly why you did. But don’t worry. From my recollection of Fethering Beach, I’d have to walk about a mile before the water got up to my knees.’ An exaggeration, but not a huge one. An even less efficient way of topping myself than the last one.’
It was said with bravado. Increasingly over the last few days, Gita had been mentioning her suicide attempt, daring herself to bring it out into the open. But the words still made Jude wince.
‘I’ll be all right. I’ve got to start being on my own sometime.’
‘I know. But this girl’ll only be here till about twelve. And it’s not a problem if you’re back earlier than that. You can just—’
‘Jude, I will not be back earlier than that. In fact I won’t come back.’
‘What?’
Gita smiled at the ill-disguised anxiety in her friend’s voice. ‘You come and join me. I’ll buy you lunch in that pub – the Crown and Sceptre, is it?’
‘Anchor.’
‘Right. See you there twelve-thirtyish.’
So only Jude was there to greet Gaby. Her back was clearly bad. The girl’s body was skewed, and she walked gingerly, uncertain which footfall was about to trigger another explosion of pain.
Jude had prepared the sitting room, stripping the throws off what looked like just another shapeless sofa to reveal the hard flat couch underneath. This she raised by a hydraulic mechanism to about three feet above the floor. On a small table she set out a row of bottles of oil. She lit two scented candles, and smiled inwardly at the image of Carole’s reaction if she’d walked into Woodside Cottage at that moment.
There was nothing magical about Jude’s preparations. Their aim was simply to induce calm and relaxation in her client.
She asked Gaby whether she’d be more comfortable standing or sitting while she asked a few questions, and the girl opted to stand. Quickly, Jude ran through the details of Gaby’s medical history, scribbling notes on a file card. She started with her date of birth. Twenty-fifth of March 1974.
The girl’s general health had always been remarkably good. Her eyesight was poor but was aided by strong contact lenses, and everything else worked as it should. Three years previously, she had had some stomach trouble and been worried that it might be bowel cancer. But extensive tests had ruled out the possibility and diagnosed Irritable Bowel Syndrome. A slight adjustment to her diet – the total exclusion of onions – had solved the problem almost completely. She had had very rare recurrences of the symptoms.
‘Pity, though,’ Gaby concluded, ‘because I really like onions. Still, small price to pay.’
Jude agreed. Then she asked Gaby to remove her top, trousers and shoes, and manoeuvred her on to the bed. ‘See if you can lie on your front.’ With fierce intakes of breath as the pain stabbed at her, Gaby managed to achieve this.
‘Do you want me to show you where it’s hurting?’
‘No, I think I can see that,’ Jude replied.
‘See? Is it inflamed?’
‘No. I can see from the way your body’s moving, the movements you’re trying to avoid.’
‘Ah.’
Now could you just do a couple of movements for me? Stop as soon as it hurts. Can you point ahead of you with your right hand?’ Gaby couldn’t. The pain stopped her dead. ‘Try the left hand. OK. Thank you. Now can you just try bringing your heels together?’ The mere attempt brought a whimper of pain. ‘OK. Stop it. Don’t push yourself.’
Jude moved closer to the couch, and placed both her plump hands on the dent in the flesh at the bottom of Gaby’s spine. ‘That’s where the pain’s coming from, isn’t it?’
‘Well, I’m feeling it all along my arms and legs.’
‘Yes. But this is where it’s coming from.’
‘Do you think I’ve slipped a disc, or trapped a nerve or . . .?’
‘No.’ Jude’s fingertips ran lightly over the girl’s lower back, as if reading some Braille message from the hurt within. ‘No, it’s not an injury in that way. It’s just tension, and the tension is throwing you out of balance, so the way you sit and stand puts pressure on your spine.’
‘Do you think it’s something to do with the chair I have at the office? Because I spend most of my day on the phone.’
‘Yes, Carole said you were a theatrical agent.’
‘That’s right.’
‘I used to be an actress myself.’
‘Did you, Jude?’
‘You can tell how long ago it was, though, from the fact that I say “actress”. All of today’s young women in the theatre call themselves “actors”.’
‘Which I have to say I think is pretty silly. I mean, if a director’s casting something, he knows whether he wants an actor or an actress for the part.’
‘Of course he does.’
‘And in Spotlight – that’s the professional directory for actors—’
‘I know.’
‘Well, there they still have categories for “Actors” and “Actresses”. If they didn’t, nobody would be able to find their way around.’
‘No, that’s true.’
Gaby wasn’t aware of the magic that was being worked on her. Jude had the same effect on everyone she met, and nobody was ever aware of what was happening. People just found it easy to talk to her. Her presence
