Mystical Circles (7 page)

“No, Toby.”

“This documentary should be good stuff. I’ve every confidence in you. Catch up with you again tomorrow.” And he was gone.

With this conversation still preying on her mind, she headed towards the staircase. She was developing a different agenda to the one Toby had set. Was she up to it? And how would all this affect her sister? She needed to find Zoe, and try to put things right.

To her delight she got her chance almost immediately, down in the entrance hall, when her sister appeared before her.

“Zoe!” Juliet cried. “Sorry about this morning.”

Zoe looked relieved. “That’s all right. Been thinking about it too. Difficult for you to understand. But it’s still great you’re here. And hey, I know the others have been working on you. Laura told me all about what happened at lunch.”

Juliet said nothing. What had Laura’s slant been on that conversation? She dreaded to think.

“You won’t believe what Craig can do for you,” Zoe rushed on. “Just trust him, Juliet. Wait and see what he’s like this evening.”

Pointless to tell Zoe her forebodings about Craig. Yes, thought Juliet ruefully. See what the evening held. That was all she could do.

The buzz of conversation from the other side of the inner door increased. Juliet knew the group were already taking their seats at the dining table, ready to start the meal. She glanced through the doorway, entranced by the many candle flames. How sensuous the room looked in this light; the gleaming timbers held even greater depth and richness. And the fragrance of the roses and apple logs in the fireplace seemed more intense.

At that moment, Craig appeared before her, hand outstretched, a smile of greeting on his face. She stopped short, disconcerted by a tingling sensation in her stomach. If not for the evidence of her eyes, she could have sworn she’d just brushed against a lightly charged electric fence.

“Welcome to your first evening meal with us, Juliet.”

“Thank you.”

“Come in, come in,” he said robustly. He took her arm. “Do sit here, close to me.”

Juliet was still recovering from her initial reaction to his appearance. She wondered whether her being invited to sit near Craig would upset Zoe. But not at all. Instead, her sister touched her shoulder. “I’ll slip in, opposite you.”

“Sure,” said Juliet. She looked for Don. Perhaps pinpointing his location would ease her mind and her nerves. Then she saw the Yorkshireman, near the top of the table. Zoe was already seating herself.

Juliet followed Craig past
The Lady and the Unicorn
. Craig moved with a fluid grace. For her part, she hoped her manner gave no clue to the insecurity she felt. This would be her first official introduction to the group. As she glanced around those sitting at the table, it suddenly occurred to her that the only non-speaker was the large, hand-carved wooden Buddha which sat in the chair opposite where she stood. How bizarre, she thought.

Now she sensed a change in the atmosphere. All eyes were upon her. Juliet almost expected everyone to push back their chairs and rise to their feet. Yet nobody did.

The table was laid with blue-and-white china and silver cutlery, together with ivory church candles set in wrought-iron candlesticks. At each place appeared a large wine goblet. Interspersed between three bowls of roses, she counted at least seven bottles of red and white wine.

Craig showed her to her chair, and waited until she was in her seat before taking his. Then he raised his voice. “May I officially introduce our new arrival to you all?”

Everyone fell silent.

“A few of you,” Craig went on, “had the good fortune to meet our visitor earlier: Juliet, Zoe’s sister. You’ll remember from my explanation last night, Juliet’s a freelance journalist, and has asked my permission to come and make recordings for a radio documentary. She hopes the BBC will take it up eventually. I speak for us all, Juliet, when I say we’re happy to have you. We’ll be only too pleased to answer any questions you may put to us.”

Juliet squeezed her hands together under the table. From the lack of reaction to this preamble, she didn’t feel at all confident that her presence met with one hundred percent approval. But all she could do was courteously accept his words.

“Thank you.” She faced everyone. “I’m delighted I have your consent to make these recordings.” She might as well play her professional role for all it was worth. “There’ll be nothing underhand about it. You’ll know what I’m doing, because you’ll see this.” She lifted her recorder and microphone, which she’d brought with her. “Also, may I set your minds at rest; I aim to be as fair and accurate as possible. And if any of you are worried in any way, I can show you my guidelines on consent.”

She sat back in her chair. To her right, she glimpsed an ironic expression on Don’s face. He was clearly amused at her performance.

After a mixed chorus of murmurs which couldn’t be interpreted as agreement or otherwise, Craig said, “I’ve a suggestion so Juliet feels welcome. Why don’t those of us she hasn’t yet met, introduce ourselves in turn?”

A current of approval rippled up and down the table. Over the other side of the Beaujolais, next to Zoe, a smartly-turned-out man in his forties banged on the table with his spoon. “Well said, Craig.”

“Thank you, James. Why don’t you start the introductions?”

James! Juliet could barely believe it. He was so different from the vagrant at the lunch table, she would never have identified him as one and the same.

From his neatly combed hair, distinguished features and elegant bearing, to the shiny brass buttons of his navy blazer, he looked like the sort of person who might command respect anywhere.

She quickly recovered from this slightly troubling reflection. “I met your alter ego at lunch, didn’t I, James?”

“Indeed you did, Juliet.”

She glanced at the dark smear from his collar up to his cheekbone. He evidently hadn’t washed all traces of his disguise off.

She wondered when he got his Equity card. Presumably he’d fitted his drama training in prior to acting as Craig’s PhD supervisor.

Craig began again in a smooth, urbane manner. “Zoe, of course, needs no introduction,” he said, smiling. Then he inclined his head toward his left-hand neighbour. “Sam you’ll remember from lunchtime.”

Sam failed to make eye contact with her. She could see his lips were shaking. Poor boy, she thought.

The diner on Sam’s other side hastened to his rescue. “Fear not, Sam,” he said in a strong Irish accent. “You’re not obliged to speak. I’ll introduce myself, shall I? Patrick O’Shaughnessy. From Limerick. Delighted to meet you, Juliet, I’m sure.”  

 Craig spoke. “Thanks, Patrick. Why not tell Juliet a little more about yourself?”

“Willingly. I’m the coordinator here. I order new supplies. In house or garden, if you have any practical problems, you come to me. I keep track of the toilet rolls, change blown light bulbs, you name it. The only thing I don’t do is guarantee the destiny of your immortal soul.”

Without giving Patrick the chance to qualify this, Craig went on, “And Al?”

“Had the pleasure of meeting the lady earlier,” said Al heartily. He motioned to the seat at his left-hand side. “Sorry, this happy-smiley Buddha here gives me the creeps. And I’ve been here… how long?” he appealed to Laura.

Craig turned to Juliet and spoke before Laura could supply the information. “I thought it would be an amusing touch for the Buddha to join us tonight and over this weekend. At the beginning of next week he’ll be superseded. I’ll explain later.”

He lifted his gaze above the candles and wine bottles to the two seats at the opposite end of the table. “Oleg and Llewellyn will be sitting there, when they’ve served our meal. And Edgar?”

Juliet leaned forward to greet that keen researcher of religious experience. He still looked as if he should be wearing a habit, and leading a Gregorian chant. The candlelight heightened the effect. Edgar’s lips curled. His glance was edged with steel. “Juliet and I chatted this afternoon, too. I have her questionnaire ready to fill in, just as soon as she has a few moments to spare.”

“But…” began Juliet.

Craig interrupted her in a low tone. “Probably best to humour him.”

She gazed at him, astonished. He made no further explanation.

Then Craig lifted his voice again. “Juliet wants to draw up a schedule of interviews. See her afterwards in the library to make an appointment. I’ll shift any other commitments you have to make way for this.”

“I’ll be first,” said Edgar. “And you can start by filling in my questionnaire.” A light wave of chuckles ran up and down the table.

There was a small pause. Oh dear. Juliet was about to speak, then thought better of it. Turning back to face down the table, she met Don’s eye. It held a strangely knowing expression. But he resisted any urge to comment. For the moment, so did Edgar.

Juliet exchanged a wave of acknowledgement with Laura, seated opposite the American, before turning her attention to the next diner, beside Laura.

This was a sharp-faced young woman with dark hair pulled tightly back in a French plait, which emphasised the severity of her expression. She gave Juliet a frosty stare. “I’m Beth. Beth Owen,” she snapped. “I prefer not to say anything else about myself.”

Well, thought Juliet, Beth wasn’t very friendly. How had Juliet managed to earn her hostility so soon? Beth continued to look tense and suspicious. Perhaps she misunderstood what Juliet was trying to do. But if she didn’t say anything, Juliet couldn’t put her mind at rest.

Then Juliet’s glance was drawn on to the next diner. He for his part gave her a watery smile. His pink shirt was teamed with a blue-and-white polka-dot bow tie. Even though seated, he was head and shoulders above his neighbours. How, she wondered, did he manage with all the low ceilings in this farmhouse? She tried to recall the date she’d seen engraved above the front door. Ah yes – 1532. Certainly they must have been shorter in those days.

“Rory. Anstruther-Jones,” he said.

Ah-ha. The one she had to handle with caution. “Good to meet you, Rory,” she replied.

Tall as he was, Rory presumably managed somehow. She observed too that he’d blow-dried his blond hair. He leaned forward, across Don, extending long, slender fingers to clasp her hand. She registered the slippery quality of his touch. She was also struck by the curious unreality of his porcelain complexion.

He drew back into his seat. “I suffer from a
thorn in the flesh
. Won’t tell you what it is right now. You can guess as you get to know me a bit better. Do I suffer from migraines? Am I epileptic? Or gay, perhaps? I don’t have one leg shorter than the other. You can see I’m not a dwarf. So, each time we meet, you might get a little closer to guessing my problem.”

“Well, Rory, what can I say to that?” murmured Juliet. She was unsure how she felt about his remarks; certainly, she didn’t trust him. But there again, neither did she trust anyone else. With the sole exception, she realised, of Don, the terse Yorkshireman. Meanwhile it was important to listen carefully and miss nothing. There was much to learn, not least everyone’s names and personal quirks.

Before Juliet could speculate further, Craig broke in. “Read much of the brochure yet, Juliet?”

“Yes, I have. A lot to take on board. I shall go through it again very carefully a few times, I expect.”

“And your feelings so far?”

“Mixed. You make big promises.”

Before he could respond, the door swung open behind Patrick and two figures emerged, each bearing a covered silver dish. Juliet was reminded of a Greek myth in which a character served the head of his enemy’s son to him at dinner in revenge for some wrong done to him. Pushing this image aside, she studied the two chefs. Llewellyn she recognised immediately; he looked cheerful, but his shorter, fair-haired companion seemed jittery. Her curiosity was aroused. She wondered what lay behind his mood. As the dishes were placed on the table, everyone applauded.

“Ah, Llewellyn and Oleg,” said Craig. “Well done, friends. Soon the feast will begin.”

Oleg evidently didn’t share his positive frame of mind. He wore a taut expression. “Burned the rice.”

Llewellyn squeezed his arm. “No need to tell them, Oleg. The next lot we cooked was fine.”

The Slav looked unconvinced. “This always happens to me.”

“Nobody minds,” insisted the Welshman.

Craig intervened. “We’ll happily accept whatever you give us, Oleg. You’ve cooked it, and that’s all that matters. Dish it out.”

“Do community members take it in turn to prepare meals?” Juliet enquired.

“Yes,” said Craig. “They also serve on a rota of other practical tasks around the house and garden. Each day everyone does two hours’ work.”

“So you aim to make the community as self-sufficient as possible?”

“Indeed.”

Juliet had a hunch that whatever Craig asked, his followers carried out without question.

While the food was being served, James raised a bottle in the air. “Red, Juliet?”

“Yes, thank you.”

As he poured, Craig said, “Surprised we have such a high standard of living?”

“Surprised but very pleased,” she replied.

“I see it as all part of my group therapy,” he went on. “Remember, any questions, ask me. I’m here to help and guide you. Use me. I want to be used.”

She gazed at him. Use him in what way?

“That word makes you feel anxious, doesn’t it?” he said.

He picked up on her emotional state with an almost feminine intuition. This in itself gave her pause for thought.

She still didn’t trust him. And what worried her was the fact that Zoe clearly did. Her attention had barely swerved from Craig during the past ten minutes.

Craig clapped his hands. Silence fell once more, and all eyes turned to him. In those faces she noted a quality of warm engagement. This was true of the men as well as the women.

“Before we begin, I’d like to make an announcement: one I feel sure will delight you all. On Monday evening, we’ll have Theo Lucas with us again. He’s agreed to come and be our guest speaker for the week.”