Mystical Circles (20 page)

The powerful feeling of hurt that had overtaken her when Theo had first mentioned it had now diminished somewhat. But even so she resented feeling like that.

Pushing this observation away into a dark corner, she refocused on the curiously anachronistic figure of James. He looked as if he should be lolling back against the brass fender of a gentleman’s study, pipe in hand, at an Edwardian house party. From time to time, she noticed, he’d been on the receiving end of a quizzical glance from the clergyman. It was clear James wasn’t happy about this. However, for the moment, he seemed prepared to remain silent and attentive.

“Even if you are in trouble, Theo…”  Laura laid her hand on his, “you know you can always stay here with us.”

“Don’t go,” said Sam. “Who cares about the bloody bishop?”

Theo smiled. “Thanks, Sam, but I must go. There’s no getting out of it. My boss at the Golden Chalice is concerned too. I have to face the music. But I’ll be back, I hope. I’ve looked up train times, and there’s one I can catch from Cirencester in two hours.”

“I’ll give you a lift,” said Don.

“Thanks, Don; most appreciated.”

The Yorkshireman sat back, arms folded.

Zoe, eyes large and appealing in her oval face, gazed at Theo from the seat opposite. Juliet could hardly fail to notice. This level of concentration on him from her sister was beginning to give her serious qualms. It was Craig she loved, after all. Or so she supposed. And if not, what was going on?

Although she liked Theo, his penetrating questions, discernment and insight made her uneasy. And Zoe was a headstrong drifter. That was still how Juliet saw her, despite all Theo’s words during their walk. Certainly it felt like no time at all since she’d claimed to be in love with Craig. Indeed it was only just a week, she reflected. Surely she wasn’t cooling off from him? Was she starting to prefer Theo? Impossible. And yet… if she was, to do this so soon seemed feckless at the very least, not that Craig would have been any better a choice, of course.

She resolved to speak about it privately to her sister at the next opportunity.

However, as tea finished and the group gradually dispersed, Zoe slipped away before Juliet could intercept her. Suddenly Juliet’s path to the door was cut off by Don.

He stood four-square in front of her. “Glad I’ve got you alone.”

“Why’s that, Don?”

“Your sister. This new liking of hers. For our friend Theo. Can’t help but notice.”

“Neither can I,” she said in a tight voice.

“We’ll be off at six. He may be back tomorrow, of course. There again, may not. But meanwhile…”  He stopped.

“Yes?”

“While he’s gone… Might be a case of
out of sight, out of mind
. Zoe could set her sights back on Craig again.”

Juliet frowned. “What are you trying to tell me, Don?”

“When she first came…” he said, then stopped. He quickly continued. “Hung on his every word, she did.”

Juliet listened with quickening interest. It seemed undeniable that a new attraction to Theo might be drawing Zoe away from Craig.

“Does this worry you, Don?”

The colour of his face intensified. “It ought to worry both of us.”

“Why?” she asked, prickling with suspicion.

“Do you like him?”

She stiffened. Somewhere in the background she heard the library door open, but her focus was upon Don.

“Who?” she said. “Theo?”

“No. Craig.”

“What are you getting at, Don?”

“I’m sure you like him. And the feeling’s returned.” He broke off.

She sat upright in her chair. She’d need to stamp on this, fast. “Look, Don. Even if I weren’t here to do interviews… He’s charismatic. No one denies that. But if you’re suggesting…”   She looked up. Craig stood there. Her eyes met his. She could have kicked herself.

Craig moved to the armchair opposite, and occupied it.

She sat up straight. The honest approach was best. “You’ll have overheard our last few remarks, Craig. So perhaps you can put your father right on this?”

“No, Juliet, I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Why not?”

She struggled to settle her inner turmoil. But, instead, whilst groping towards some kind of exit from the fog gathering around her, she slipped further in. Now she felt a curious instability, as if she was on a jetliner that had flown into an air pocket. In the next moment she received the impression that Craig’s features had melted and realigned themselves.

Instead of looking at him, she believed she faced someone infinitely old and wizened, and Peruvian in appearance. The image of an ancient carved face on a rock in an Inca city, presented itself to her. It shifted again, and a new face emerged, that of a shabby, travel-stained New Age traveller.

With a desperate effort of the will, she regained her awareness of Don beside her. But he was set into a freeze-frame. His hand had risen, perhaps to admonish Craig, but had then been arrested in mid-air. He wore a glazed expression.

Craig smiled, and as he did so the spell, or whatever it was, lifted. All returned to normal. Don’s hand dropped to his side.

Juliet realised she’d held her breath for several moments. She gasped the air back into her lungs. Her heart was pounding. Craig had done it again. Changed appearance. What was it with him? How did he do it? It frightened her. Her eyes were fixed upon his face. She hardly cared if he thought her rude to stare at him.

Then Don spoke. “Well, Craig? What’s your answer?” It was as if nothing had happened. Hadn’t Don noticed? She was astounded.

Craig interlocked his fingers, and laid them lightly upon his knee. “I believe we must learn to live at a high level of uncertainty,” he said.

Juliet continued to search his face, but he offered no further explanation. Turning back again, she caught a glimpse of Don’s expression, a fine blend of expectancy and frustration.

Struggling to regain her composure, she took a slow deep breath. But her heart was still beating wildly. As she exhaled, her mind went into overdrive again. What lay behind Don’s words as Craig entered the room? Surely he didn’t want to throw her and Craig together. That was ridiculous! The very last thing she could ever possibly want to happen.

So thinking, she jumped up and headed for the door. Pausing in the open doorway, she caught the looks on both their faces: Don edgy, Craig calm and unruffled, yet still somehow mentally reaching out to her. Both men now were on their feet, moving forward, perhaps in an attempt to stop her.

“No, Don. And you, too, Craig. Get one thing clear. I will not be used by either of you.”

With these words, she fled the room.

Juliet hurried across the hallway, and unlatched and opened the sitting room door. As she entered the room and shut the door behind her, the thrilling sounds of a rich bass voice assailed her ears. She stopped short. She recognised this music. It was the final scene from Mozart’s opera
Don Giovanni
.

She knew this to be Rory’s taste in music. Was he in here? Yes. Those shiny shoes appeared over the end of the nearest sofa.

Her mouth went dry. Rory had assaulted Oleg. He was unpredictable. There was some kind of psychological problem with him, which Craig wouldn’t be open about. Capricious mood swings turned him to violence. He could be dangerous. Had she escaped the scene with Don and Craig, only to find herself at far greater risk, alone with Rory?

Not quite alone, she saw. Groucho, the parrot, sat on his perch, head on one side, listening intently. Rory had draped himself over the sofa, a crystal goblet of water on the occasional table beside him. His face wore a devout expression. She knew enough about him not to trust this. And somehow, from this angle, his legs looked longer than she’d ever seen them before. He was dressed in black from head to toe. He reminded her of a giant spider.

As she stood poised, wondering whether to flee the room, he saw her. Swinging his feet neatly down onto the carpet again, he sat up and patted the newly created space beside him. “Juliet, do join me.”

No way. But if he did try something, maybe Groucho would come to her aid? His sharp beak, surely, would provide some kind of defence. But all things considered, the possibility seemed thin.

Right now, it would hardly look good to run back out. She chose the armchair opposite, setting her carrying case containing her audio equipment down on the floor. “I’d sooner sit here. Thanks all the same.”

Since she’d arrived in the community, she’d found Rory nothing but courteous towards her. And yet Oleg’s tale rang warning bells in her mind. Not to mention his odd words out there in the forecourt, when he’d been raking the gravel. About knowing too much. And Craig being afraid he’d talk. Already her fingers had chilled, and were beginning to tremble.

He acknowledged her decision with a gracious wave. “The opera, as you’re no doubt aware, is rising to its magnificent climax. Don Giovanni is about to be dragged down into the fires and everlasting torment of hell, as a punishment for his sexual excesses.”

She didn’t like the way he said this. Anxiety stirred in her stomach. His eye lingered upon her in a curious manner. She fought to disguise her ill-ease. “When the music’s finished, may I ask you a few questions?”

“But of course.” He picked up the remote control from the arm of his chair, and immediately silence cut in.

“There was no need for that. You were perfectly free to listen till the end.”

“Not at all, not at all. I’ll save it for later, when I’m alone again.” He licked his lips, as his eyes slid across her.

All her senses were razor-sharp. She was ready for anything. But she’d got herself into this situation. She must calmly prepare to interview him. She set up her Nagra, plugged in the mike, and switched on. Then she held the mike close to his mouth.

“Rory, what did you hope for when you first came here?” she asked.

A secretive flicker passed across his face. “As you might expect, to try Craig out and see if I like what he offers,” he replied.

“And you’ve been here a year, so you must know more fully than anyone else what that entails.”

His eyes hardened. She mentally pulled up. Take care. Don’t provoke him. Ask any innocuous question. As long as it doesn’t offend him.

“You’re sure you’re not here to sit in judgement upon us?” said Rory.

Yes. Here it was. An abrupt switch to a hostile tone. Groucho rummaged in the nut bowl beside him, withdrew a pistachio, and began to crack it.  “Of course,” said Juliet. “I told you before, Rory. I mean to be fair and accurate.”

“Very well.” He fell to studying her once more. His pointed, elongated features accentuated his insect-like quality. He held his hands, palms uppermost, in a gesture of transparency.

“So, then, Juliet. What he offers, first of all, is work on breaking down our defences.”

“Your defence of yourself, against other people?”

“Yes.”

“That must be challenging for you. How does this affect the way you all get on together? Do Craig’s promises apply to your relationships with each other… you and Oleg for instance?”

She held her breath. Why did she say that? Fool. If she angered him, she was lost. And yet, what a perfect opportunity to perhaps win a few admissions from Craig’s most unstable follower.

He bristled, like a hunting dog about to spring. She watched him warily. He leaned forward and placed his hand over hers, with a light but menacing touch. “You’re treading on dangerous ground there, Juliet.”

She was well aware of that. She withdrew her hand quickly.  “I’m sorry. I was hoping you might be willing to tell me what happened from your own viewpoint.”

He scuttled his long fingers over the arm of the sofa, in a cockroach-like motion that made her shudder.

“Don’t do that, Rory,” she said.

“Don’t you like it?” he asked.

“No.” She saw and felt how tense he was. Perhaps she could defuse him. “I’m giving you the chance to justify your actions, if that’s what you’d like to do.”

Groucho flew off his perch, and back into his cage for a drink of water. Rory stared at her, his expression increasingly unfriendly.

She felt perspiration prickle her forehead. She’d miscalculated. Pull back. Now. Before it’s too late. “If you’d prefer not to, I quite understand,” she said. “Perhaps later instead. What about your plans for the future? You do seem to be looking to Craig for freedom and peace. Do you believe you’ll find it? Will he succeed in pulling out that thorn from your flesh?”

Oh God, no. She’d done it now. Even as the words left her lips, she knew it. She’d pushed her luck too far. But she still didn’t expect what followed.

After a fractional hesitation, he sprang from the sofa, knocking the mike from her hand. Groucho erupted into the air with a screech. In one bound, Rory was onto her, his hands around her throat.

She gagged. Tried to scream. Fell from the sofa. Rory on top of her. As he increased the pressure on her neck, she kicked out. He recoiled in pain. The Nagra fell to the floor and the microphone rolled across to the fireplace. But Rory held on.

Groucho circled the room, letting out a series of squawks. Rory increased his grip. Squeezing. Squeezing the life out of her. He was choking her. Panic clawed its way up from her stomach. He’d kill her. He was mad. She was going to die. Here in this beautiful room. Her hands flailed. Her legs were pinned to the floor by his weight.

Chaotic images followed. Body on the floor. Bulging eyes. Purple tongue.

Who’d find Juliet? Zoe. How would she react? What would she feel? And Craig... Juliet couldn’t bear to think of him. Too late now. Was her life flashing past her? When did she last say the Lord’s Prayer? No. No. No...

Suddenly Rory let go. He jerked back. She coughed violently, fighting to swallow. Then she scrambled to her feet.

Now he crouched in the far corner of the room, eyes glittering, his chest heaving. Something had broken into his mind. He’d decided to stop. If he hadn’t, she’d be dead. He’d tried to strangle her.

She flew to the door. Chest heaving. Exploring her burning throat with her fingers. Desperate for life and sanity. She pulled the door open and sprang through the doorway, into the arms of Craig.