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‘Felix, what’s really going on?’
‘I dunno. It’s like I’m being trailed, maybe by my conscience.’ He collapsed into a chair.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’m not sure. Gab, do you think that some people can be such strong personalities in life that they leave an after-image once they’re dead?’
Gabriel studied Felix; there was a new shadowing to his face, a vulnerability he’d never seen there before, and it disturbed him.
‘Maybe,’ he replied carefully. ‘Like when you discover a painting under a painting, when the outlines of the original work affect the painting on top and the artist isn’t even conscious of it.’
Irritated, Felix leapt to his feet again. ‘Christ! I’m not after some esoteric bullshit, I just want a rational explanation for what’s been happening to me!’
His mobile started ringing, making both men jump. Felix checked the number. ‘It’s okay, it’s only Chloe. I’ll ring her back later. The real question is, what exactly has this Latisha woman got on us?’
‘Just some vague idea that the yellow in the painting doesn’t match Hopper’s other works. She’d need a lot more than that to prove anything substantial, and I doubt she has either the education or expertise. Stop worrying. Everything will be locked away by the end of today – I promise you.’
‘You’re probably right. Anyway, for the time being we’re safe. She’s in the hospital in a diabetic coma. Hopefully she won’t wake up,’ Felix answered grimly. ‘I still can’t believe she was Maxine’s model.’
‘You know she started ringing me, in those last weeks before her suicide. I guess she found the number somewhere in your apartment.’
‘Gabriel, we were never lovers.’
‘I don’t even know why you bother lying to me, or whether I should be flattered or insulted by the fact.’
Felix put his hand reassuringly on Gabriel’s neck, caressing him lightly. ‘Listen, we have to stay strong, you and I; otherwise everything would start falling away – and then where would we be?’
Moving away, Gabriel stubbed his cigarette out and turned to the window; it was dusk and the neon signs of the Korean restaurants opposite blinked on. Spicy, Fortunate Love. Fortunate Spicy Love. Love. Fortune… The words ran like a montage through his brain. ‘Right back where we started,’ he murmured under his breath.
Chapter Nineteen
There was the murmur of voices. Somewhere a machine blipped regularly over muffled footsteps and a faint smell of disinfectant. Latisha’s mind came to slowly, like a reptile shaking itself awake in the hot sun. The nerves in her limbs began tingling and she became aware of a weight around the inside of her left arm, a tightness, and a throbbing. She opened her eyes, the whiteness of the hospital room glaringly bright. Somewhere at the edge of her vision the uniform of a nurse bobbed in and out of range. There was a drip hanging over the bed, the tube snaking its way into her arm.
‘Latisha?’ Susie’s face loomed over her. Latisha wanted to move but found she didn’t have the energy; her body felt thinner and smaller.
‘Oh Lord, how long have I been out?’
‘Ten days.’
‘Ten days!’
‘A diabetic coma – you missed your last insulin shot.’
‘I can’t afford this! I ain’t got insurance!’
Latisha struggled to sit up. Susie, wrapping her arms around the massive torso, helped pull her upright.
‘Don’t worry, I’m paying. You’re in a private room at Mount Sinai.’
‘If you expect me to thank you, you’re heading for a disappointment,’ Latisha growled, wanting nothing but to be left alone. ‘My nephew know I’m in here?’
‘I believe h
e does,’ Susie replied. ‘You want me to ring him for you?’
Instead of answering, Latisha turned to the wall, locking the young Englishwoman out.
Susie moved her chair closer, determined to break through the woman’s defences.
