I Am Gold (22 page)

‘Naomi – what problems?' Shale said.

‘Anyone can see how it might happen.'

‘How what might?'

‘Quite. I'm sure your eyes are open to that. You're no sucker, Manse, that's plain. The ways of the world? You know them.'

‘In which respect?' Shale said.

‘It's probably a comfort for Naomi to be able to get out to an obscure town like this for a while,' Lionel Garth said. ‘The provinces. That rectory is an oasis. In the old days, religious houses could act as sanctuaries, couldn't they? People fled to them when pursued and took refuge. Perhaps she sees something of that quality in your current home, no longer a religious house, it's true, but with a comforting godly history behind it. The pressure is lowered. But, obviously, this is only temporary. People of that kidney won't rest.'

‘Which kidney? Which people?' Shale thought it bad for this kind of dark, hint-hint conversation to take place among trees and leaves. It seemed damned inappropriate. He considered Glaythorn Fields as a place to relax and enjoy the openness, and totally genuine Nature, though within a built-up city. This was a plus to what was known as the environment.

‘I might be able to help you fight them off, would be proud to, in fact,' Lionel-Garth said.

‘Which?'

‘Oh, yes, I'd have their measure,' Lionel-Gath said.

‘Whose?'

‘A very fine park this,' Lionel-Garth replied, gazing.

‘Brilliant.' Manse certainly did not like
all
aspects of Nature, though. Even before that stuff re global warning, he used to look at the sea and wonder whether the bastard would one day break out from where it was supposed to be and get up over the cliffs and promenades, swamping everything, houses, discos, snooker halls, factories, TV masts, the lot. Them tsunamis might be only the start of it. He hated the way waves came in and banged down on beaches like they wanted to conquer this bit of land and then all other bits. Manse carried an organ donor card, but what use would that be to anyone if the sea got every-where? Nature had real, worrying power. But he thought the Glaythorn Fields fairly OK, not at all savage. Sybil and Manse used to come here and walk years ago, when she seemed more content – loud and bolshy even back then when younger, yet also loving towards him and the children, unrancid, full of vim, and able to name the breed of all dogs being walked by their owners, including Samoyeds. The Fields was not a spot for rotten news, or half-news, like this stuff from Lionel-Garth now. Manse thought of decline again. He saw that everywhere.

Lionel-Garth said: ‘How it often is with these celebrity papers, isn't it, Mansel? Typical. Sadly typical.'

‘How what is?'

‘They look harmless enough, even trivial, and
are
trivial in some respects. Just a fringe part of the London scene. So, where's the danger? But most probably I don't have to ask. You'll see it. Or perhaps she's spoken of it.'

‘What fucking danger?'

‘There's frequently – almost routinely – a naughty link between the celebrity folk, the show-biz crew, plus, say, soccer people and media people, yes, a link between them on the one side and the more sinister areas, isn't there? Overlap.'

‘Which more sinister areas?'

‘Oh, yes, some of these sinister areas are very shady indeed. Hard, unscrupulous.' ‘Criminal?'

‘Many an example. Those kinds of links may look harmless, and frequently
are
harmless between the celebrity side and the lawless side. Although they might be risky, louche, worldly, raunchy, thrilling and stoked of course by A1 substances, it's nothing worse. Fun, of a sort. Not everyone approves or would seek it out, yet ultimately harmless –except, possibly, to those taking part. Matters can go beyond that, however, can't they, Manse? We've all heard of times when situations have turned nasty because of sex and jealousies, or alleged disrespect, or unpaid snort accounts, or money generally – all the customary ingredients. Yes, money in the main. The sums some of the people are concerned with can be huge, can't they? Big box-office takings involved, sponsorship deals for sports stars, product endorsements and so on. Sinatra and the Mafia involvement is the most glaring case, isn't it, Manse? And think how this developed – Sinatra, at the request of that arch crook Joseph Kenndy, getting the Mafia to help with the election to President of that clean-limbed, idealistic contender, Joseph's son, J.F.K. This was very big deal, yes, but there are many other instances, not quite as striking and financially massive, but to do with significant loot all the same. Now, nobody can run a celebrity paper and not have significant contact with these rather free-wheeling TV, film, football, press, advertising and PR people, and therefore, in some instances, with the extremely dicey underside of London, and perhaps the underside of New York, LA, Moscow, Colombia. It's easy – perhaps inescapable – for someone influential in the publicity field like Naomi to get pulled into this kind of shady social group. It can bring perils, Mansel.'

‘I don't believe Naomi is touched by anything like that. Where does all this come from – your information, if it
is
information? More like rumour and fucking London prattle.'

‘Mansel, Mansel. I can appreciate that you don't want to believe she could have bad trouble.'

Shale hated it when someone used his name twice. It nearly always meant something super-shitty was on the way.

Lionel-Garth said: ‘Naomi would have regular, welcome access to all sorts of glam people needing publicity, including some known to have a habit and the earnings to fund it, and who have friends who have a habit and the earnings to fund it, and who lay on very well-funded parties for those with a habit. Suppliers of stuff are bound to see someone like Naomi as a very useful facilitator in reaching such loaded potential customers. Very useful facilitators qualify for very considerable commission.

‘But they may also qualify for very considerable enmity from the commodity suppliers she is
not
associated with, because, as they see it, she's helping the opposition, boosting their competitors. This is not always a gentlemanly trade, Mansel. Well, you've had years running a firm, so I'm not breaking any news to you. I admit I didn't know this London commercial setting until my routine curiosity about you and your operations here brought in Naomi, and then, naturally I did a little inquiring among the celebrity press as well. I know Naomi has sold her share in the paper, but her connection remains, doesn't it, through her consultancy?'

‘Are you telling me she's a mega-pusher?'

‘Probably not, Mansel. She puts people in touch with people. As I say, a facilitator, perhaps. An intermediary. That may be all. Puts the
right
people in contact with the
right
people. This is a major, rare skill and deserves and gets major rewards, as I understand things.'

‘It's all fucking imagination and guess. You got no evidence.'

‘I'll concede Naomi is very wary,' Lionel-Garth said. ‘Not naive. Determined, capable, but discreet. I'm sure she wouldn't get brash and ostentatious with any wealth that might have come from off-colour sources. For instance, Manse, I understand you've got quite a collection of Pre-Raph originals in your property, including an Arthur Hughes and a Prentis. More than one Prentis? I forget. Denz mentioned how you really loved your paintings of this school.

‘Although a safe with the armament and ammo in lies behind one of them, that doesn't taint or take away any of the beauty, does it? Indeed not. The guns stay absolutely hidden, and the fact they are hidden by a lovely work of art in no sense diminishes the loveliness of that work of art. Now, for you, Mansel Shale, businessman, owning such pictures is absolutely OK, above board, even commendable. You've decided this is how you will invest profits from a successful enterprise, or series of enterprises if we bring in the haulage and scrap yard, and why not? Yes, why not? Who can question or object to your devotion to art and the wish to bring together in your home wonderful, original examples of this art? Many entirely respectable commercial figureheads have done the same. I'd mention the advertising tycoon, Saatchi of Saatchi and Saatchi, naturally. But someone like Naomi Gage could most probably never risk flaunting her riches in that way. Why? Because her funds may have been piled up by what we'll refer to as very roundabout methods. I gather she, like you, is fond of the Pre-Raphs. This might have helped bring you together. Grand. A fine basis for a relationship. ‘

‘Have you got some sodding spy called Geoffrey, who takes his wife and swine-kids along on jobs for cover?'

‘But the difference for Naomi is, she'd never shell out for the actual paintings, despite admiring them so much, and despite being able to afford them, most likely,' Lionel-Garth said. ‘People might start wondering
how
she could afford these works, and I don't mean just the authorities wondering – not only the police, that is. No, folk more hazardous than that, members of those sinister areas we spoke of could show an interest. They'd get curious about which of their rivals, competitors, enemies she was in cahoots with – very profitable cahoots. This could be perilous for your lady. There'd be folk who wanted her out of the way, so as to damage their rivals, their enemies. Again, some members of that sinister world who know something of art, and know also where and how to sell stolen, high-value paintings, would perhaps visit her flat and turn rough if she tried to stop them lifting the target items. Naomi Gage might buy Pre-Raph
prints
or
posters
to brighten her place at Ealing, but never, never, never original works, and possibly not even good forgeries, in case career robbers got a dud tip from, say, a window cleaner doing some observation, leading to a break-in just the same, and that potential violence.'

‘Someone gumshoed me to my lawyer and then that gallery? You had a stooge, stooges, behind me from the after-funeral do? God, but this is so dirty and totally disrespectful to the memory of Denzil – using the occasion that way.' Manse experienced very true rage.

‘I know you're bound to feel like that about Denz –someone who had been so close to you, and whom you prized. I'm sorry. But, Mansel, I had to think of the practicalities. I needed information about someone I might soon be working with at an important though provincial level as colleague. It may seem distasteful to you momentarily, but I think you will come to recognize that this kind of preparatory move was essential to the interests of yourself as well as me. I'll admit I wasn't familiar with the London celebrity–villain interplay – not its scale – but I'm able to talk to acquaintances there who can fill me in with the details. Well, they already have on the basics. Some owe me a service. Repayment's a matter of honour in our community. As an outsider, this is the kind of material you would never be able to access for yourself, I'm afraid. The London nexus is a very tight and exclusive one. It will look after its own, and only its own. Luckily, so far that includes me and a few of my mates.

‘Because you are brave and honourable, Mansel, you will want to protect Naomi Gage, who has brought new joy and order into your life and home. Sybil is gone, almost certainly for keeps this time. She and her present partner have had quite extensive work done on the North Wales house, including installation of a jacuzzi and construction of an octagonal conservatory. This would suggest long-term, settled thinking, don't you agree? And then, on your side, I take it the trips to the lawyer have much to do with a permanent break. Divorce. Crossman, Fenton and Stuckey are known as a very efficient firm in that kind of work, and especially Joan Fenton.

‘I'm sure you were never able to find full contentment with Patricia, Lowri and Carmel. These were excellent rotating friends, nobody fair-minded would gainsay it. But Naomi – Naomi Gage – something of a different proposition I feel. You want this connection properly, lastingly established. Oh, yes. It will be a privilege to help you ensure her safety, Mansel. Without wishing to romanticize or overstate, I feel the irresistible pull of Destiny here. I expect, with your influence hereabouts, Mansel, you'll be able to have a word with the school about admitting, without the usual delay, children of one of your vouched-for colleagues.'

This talk – the talk about Destiny – really angered Manse. It was the kind of talk you might get from someone like Lionel-Garth, smarmy, on the make, without decent feelings about his dead cousin, Denzil. All right, Denzil had been a two-timing sod, no question, but he hadn't been two-timing Lionel-Garth, only Manse. Surely there ought to be an amount of decency, even affection, towards somebody linked to Lionel-Garth by blood, and he had spoken of that blood hisself. Lionel-Garth was saying, wasn't he, that this pull or push by Destiny meant he had to move in on Manse's operation and on things between Manse and Naomi. Like he didn't have no option. Fate had stuck the responsibility on him and he could not resist. Well, Lionel-Garth better tell Destiny and Fate to fuck off. Manse would tell Lionel-Garth to fuck off also.

And then that unforgivable stuff about helping his kids queue-jump into Bracken Collegiate. Manse loathed any dodging of fairness and equality, unless it was really necessary. Well, it wouldn't be necessary for Lionel-Garth's children. It wouldn't be necessary for two reasons. One, they would not be coming here, anyway. And, two, even if they was coming here, Manse would not do anything so shifty as pulling wires for them at the school. ‘No, I don't think I'll be needing you in any capacity, thanks, Lionel-Garth,' he said. ‘Your car awaits.
My
car has to get going to somewhere else, with just me in it.'

Chapter Twenty-Five

2009

Harpur, running towards the charity shop behind Iles, heard what had to be a shot. It came from inside the building. Iles must have heard it, too, and seemed to up his speed. Although other sounds could sometimes mimic shooting, Harpur felt sure it was a pistol. Iles obviously thought the same. In this current siege, the gentle, well-tried gospel of wait-and-talk had nosedived. For once, at least, attrition didn't work. Harpur's instincts had done a better prophecy job. He'd suspected Iles would make a dash, and had considered making a dash himself. And now, here they both were, strung out like a hue and cry on the road, making a dash. Suddenly, dashes were the thing, because it looked as if ‘John' in the shop had opted out of Rockmain's forecast and fired.