All the Rage by Spencer Coleman

or an innocent, damaged woman in genuine need of comfort and support. Naturally, he preferred to think of her in the latter terms. He wanted to be there for her, even if his reasoning was less than convincing.
    Recollecting the events of their time together, he decided that the accumulation of pills and alcohol had contributed to her downfall. Clearly depressed, she had self-inflicted a heady cocktail which would have probably downed a bull elephant. It was her way of dealing with the pain and sorrow, he deduced. It was clearly the wrong way. A thumping headache would surely testify to this when she finally awoke.
    But still he pondered. Although he could not put his finger on it, little things began to aggravate him and make him feel uneasy. Her anger was suppressed and raw and her temper quick to surface. She spoke of spite and vengeance and, more disturbingly, retribution. Yet she displayed outward signs of tenderness and compassion. When he analysed all of this, he pictured Lauren O’Neill as a volcano waiting to erupt.
    And what of Julius Gray?
    Where was he now living and with whom? Who was this mysterious seductress that he had run off with? Who had last seen him alive? Lauren had indeed spoken of him in the past tense: surely a slip of the tongue. Yet, it was evident from the set-up in the studio that the artist had left quickly. Had this Julius simply ran off with his mistress without a care or need for his work which he had carelessly left behind? Maybe, just maybe, Julius was forced to leave, forced to…to…he searched frantically for the right word…to escape. Many questions remained unanswered.
    Putting all this aside, Michael tried to refocus on his failing business and failing marriage. But it was proving to be a hopeless task. Lauren was in his head, all consuming.
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    ***
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    On the Monday morning, he called Kara into his office for their regular weekly meeting. They discussed the weekend events, or rather, lack of weekend events, and agreed between them that certain preferential clients needed jolting into action. Often it would be a case of following up several prospective customers’ requirements and gently trying to coax them to part with their hard-earned money. Something had to happen and fast. Business was grim. All the retailers throughout the West End were bemoaning the lack of trade. It was bleak for everyone, the hotels, restaurants and the theatre. Two leading shows had already announced their immediate closure. With the continual threat of terrorist attacks in the city, London had become a jittery place in which to live and work.
    Michael started the proceedings, without his normal enthusiasm for the task. ‘What about Mrs Dunning, from Hampstead? ’ he asked.
    â€˜Ah, yes,’ Kara said, mulling things over. ‘She was keen on the John Hibbit still life. Thinking back, it was all to do with the cost of the redecoration of her dining room,’ Kararemembered. ‘With her, I would think the price was the stumbling block. I’ll chase it up. She’s definitely worth a try. ’
    â€˜Hmm,’ Michael pondered, jotting some figures down on a pad, ‘give her a call. Go in at £9,500, that’s just over ten per cent discount. Tell her she can have the painting on approval for a few days. ’ He hesitated. ‘What about the commission at the new hotel on Connaught Street? ’
    â€˜Delayed, I’m afraid. Apparently there are structural problems and they will not commit to us until they know the wall space available, which now could be smaller than they first envisaged. ’
    Michael shrugged. ‘OK, it will come good – eventually. In the meantime, contact Mr Pointing in Jersey and ask when he is coming over next. Could he be tempted with the new Nicky Jennings? What do you think? ’
    â€˜A strong possibility; I think he will buy, as he’s an avid collector. How about we crate it over to him on approval for