said she thought she'd seen Lindy going through to the Dead Sea Mud Bath area.
So Mrs Pargeter went down to the Brotherton Hall basement, but was denied entrance by an officious teenager with the obligatory perfect body. 'Only guests who've actually booked baths are allowed through,' she announced in less than perfect vowels.
There was nothing else for it. Mrs Pargeter returned to Reception and booked herself a Dead Sea Mud Bath for ten o'clock.
Beneath Brotherton Hall was a considerable network of cellars. Part of this had been developed into a well-appointed basement area, which had been through many incarnations since the building's consecration to the religion of health.
Following the passing fads of fitness regimes, it had housed Steam Baths, Ice Baths, Traditional Turkish Baths, Hose Baths, Needle-Sharp Showers, and Electro-Tingle Pools. (These last were introduced for a treatment whereby very mild electric currents were passed through a guest's bathwater. The facility never proved popular and after a couple of rather nasty electrocutions had been replaced by Stagnant Water Tubs, another failure.)
The basement's current incarnation was certainly its messiest and, Mrs Pargeter surmised, wrinkling her nose as she entered the bath area, probably its most malodorous. Maybe the Dead Sea did smell like that, but she couldn't remove from her mind the image of Stan the Stapler and his shovel. A fetid flavour of pondwater hung in the air.
The Dead Sea Mud Bath treatment was, like many such regimes, based on a book. In common with all such fitness books, the argument of New Life From Dead Sea Mud could be expressed in one sentence – in this case 'Dead Sea Mud is good for you.'
But, also in common with all such fitness books, this simple thought was backed up by all kinds of pseudo-scientific research and lots of charts and graphs. Dead Sea Mud, it was asserted, contained unrivalled concentrations of natural chemicals. Filtered and purified through the varied strata of clay, marl, soft chalk, sand, and gypsum, were abundant deposits of sulphide, potassium, magnesium, bromine, chlorine, and sodium chloride. The fact that the Dead Sea was, at four hundred metres below sea level, the lowest terrestrial area of water, meant that it was closer to the health-giving radiances and healing magnetism of the Earth's core. The mud's anti-corruptive powers had been proved historically because the Dead Sea was reputed to have engulfed the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. Its mystical significance could be judged from the fact that it was fed by the sacred River Jordan, as well as streams running through the wadis of al-Uzaymi, Zarqa'Ma'in, al-Mawjib, and al-Hasa.
And, needless to say, the book contained some stuff about ley lines.
All of this material had been assembled by a publisher secure in the knowledge that New Life from Dead Sea Mud was not the kind of book that anyone would actually read.
Its tiny thesis, supported by some really arty photographs and a couple of meaningless graphs of mineral analysis or weight/body-fat ratios, would be just the right size to fill a colour supplement serialization, which would recoup most of the production costs.
Then the book itself (published in the run-up to Christmas) would be bought by faddists, friends of faddists, husbands trying gently to hint that their wives were letting their appearance go a bit, and women determined to change their lives completely after the breakdown of relationships.
There were sufficient such purchasers about to ensure reasonable sales figures, or even, with a bit of serendipitous publicity – like, say, a chat-show host showing what a good sport he was by getting into a Dead Sea Mud Bath – an entry into the bestsellers lists.
The fact that none of the purchasers or recipients of the book would read more than a couple of pages did not give the publishers a moment's unease. They felt absolutely confident that they had produced a product with enough confusing
So Mrs Pargeter went down to the Brotherton Hall basement, but was denied entrance by an officious teenager with the obligatory perfect body. 'Only guests who've actually booked baths are allowed through,' she announced in less than perfect vowels.
There was nothing else for it. Mrs Pargeter returned to Reception and booked herself a Dead Sea Mud Bath for ten o'clock.
Beneath Brotherton Hall was a considerable network of cellars. Part of this had been developed into a well-appointed basement area, which had been through many incarnations since the building's consecration to the religion of health.
Following the passing fads of fitness regimes, it had housed Steam Baths, Ice Baths, Traditional Turkish Baths, Hose Baths, Needle-Sharp Showers, and Electro-Tingle Pools. (These last were introduced for a treatment whereby very mild electric currents were passed through a guest's bathwater. The facility never proved popular and after a couple of rather nasty electrocutions had been replaced by Stagnant Water Tubs, another failure.)
The basement's current incarnation was certainly its messiest and, Mrs Pargeter surmised, wrinkling her nose as she entered the bath area, probably its most malodorous. Maybe the Dead Sea did smell like that, but she couldn't remove from her mind the image of Stan the Stapler and his shovel. A fetid flavour of pondwater hung in the air.
The Dead Sea Mud Bath treatment was, like many such regimes, based on a book. In common with all such fitness books, the argument of New Life From Dead Sea Mud could be expressed in one sentence – in this case 'Dead Sea Mud is good for you.'
But, also in common with all such fitness books, this simple thought was backed up by all kinds of pseudo-scientific research and lots of charts and graphs. Dead Sea Mud, it was asserted, contained unrivalled concentrations of natural chemicals. Filtered and purified through the varied strata of clay, marl, soft chalk, sand, and gypsum, were abundant deposits of sulphide, potassium, magnesium, bromine, chlorine, and sodium chloride. The fact that the Dead Sea was, at four hundred metres below sea level, the lowest terrestrial area of water, meant that it was closer to the health-giving radiances and healing magnetism of the Earth's core. The mud's anti-corruptive powers had been proved historically because the Dead Sea was reputed to have engulfed the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. Its mystical significance could be judged from the fact that it was fed by the sacred River Jordan, as well as streams running through the wadis of al-Uzaymi, Zarqa'Ma'in, al-Mawjib, and al-Hasa.
And, needless to say, the book contained some stuff about ley lines.
All of this material had been assembled by a publisher secure in the knowledge that New Life from Dead Sea Mud was not the kind of book that anyone would actually read.
Its tiny thesis, supported by some really arty photographs and a couple of meaningless graphs of mineral analysis or weight/body-fat ratios, would be just the right size to fill a colour supplement serialization, which would recoup most of the production costs.
Then the book itself (published in the run-up to Christmas) would be bought by faddists, friends of faddists, husbands trying gently to hint that their wives were letting their appearance go a bit, and women determined to change their lives completely after the breakdown of relationships.
There were sufficient such purchasers about to ensure reasonable sales figures, or even, with a bit of serendipitous publicity – like, say, a chat-show host showing what a good sport he was by getting into a Dead Sea Mud Bath – an entry into the bestsellers lists.
The fact that none of the purchasers or recipients of the book would read more than a couple of pages did not give the publishers a moment's unease. They felt absolutely confident that they had produced a product with enough confusing
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