Mystical Circles (32 page)

He came to, and jumping up, walked to the front, where he stepped onto the dais, and swung to face the performance poet. She switched her microphone on again. “Thank you, Rory,” said Llewellyn. “You’re an inspiration to us all.” Then he addressed himself to the gathering. “I hope Rory’s example has shown you all how poetry, when it comes alive on the air, can be the answer for you, not dynamic meditation – nor any of the futile exercises Craig offers. Creativity, that’s the key. Things will be very different from now on. I promise you that. Trust me. Don’s waiting at the bar over there. Ask for whatever you want.”

Juliet turned to look in the direction he indicated. Don’s eyes met hers from his position behind a table at the south west corner of the meeting space, loaded with bottles and glasses. Had this little lot already been in Craig’s supply, or did Llewellyn buy them in specially for the occasion, on Craig’s account?

As Llewellyn placed his hand on Juliet’s arm, Theo materialised before them. “Ah, Llewellyn. A word with you, if I may.”

“Of course.” Glancing apologetically at Juliet, the poet released his hold on her arm and moved aside with the clergyman.

Juliet hurried across to Rory and removed his clip-mike so she could attach it to her own jacket, enabling her to move around freely, recording a number of conversations.

Al, wearing a magenta shirt unbuttoned almost to the waist,  and Laura – in a green smocked dress that looked as if it had come from the children’s section of an Oxfam shop – had just left the bar with their drinks and now made their way along to the massive oak table set against the west wall of the barn. The American, raising a glass of whisky, was saying something to her that made her giggle. Beyond those two, Juliet noticed Beth and Oleg, standing apart from everyone else, talking quietly together. She resolved to go and chat to them in a moment. But first she crossed to the bar. “A new role for you, Don?”

“Not so new,” he replied. “Pulled the Yorkshire Ruddles in my time, you know.”

“Excellent. Have you a Cinzano?”

“Yes.” He poured her a measure, dropped ice and lemon in, and handed it to her. She then made her way back along the north end of the barn to join Zoe beside the west staircase.

“What do you think of the poetry workshop idea, Juliet?” asked Zoe.

“Fine as far as it goes. But Llewellyn doesn’t run the place,” said Juliet. She surveyed Zoe, then flicked the switch once more on her machine. “What’s this about you encouraging him to make a big move towards me?”

“Come on Juliet. Lighten up.”

“All very well for you to say that. As for Llewellyn, he’s a good poet but shouldn’t be trying to grab the crown.”

“I agree,” said Zoe demurely. “But…”

Juliet broke in. “Why did you feed him that rubbish about my supposed
passions
, and then goad him to pounce on me?” She began to feel agitated, and drank her Cinzano too fast. She noticed her sister had the grace to look slightly shame-faced.

“Sorry,” said Zoe. “I shouldn’t have stirred Llewellyn up. He is trying to impress you, though. Surely you can see that.”

“Well, no, I can’t.”

“A desperate last resort to get your attention,” Zoe continued, undaunted. “He saw no other way, what with Craig about to swoop.”

“Zoe, stop at once. You make me angry.”

“You did turn your recording machine off, didn’t you?” her sister asked pointedly.

“Of course. Now listen. I have nil interest in Llewellyn. And the same goes for Craig.”

Zoe studied her pityingly. “You seem very on edge about
him
. What’s up?”

“Nothing.”  Juliet snatched a glance back across to the bar, where Don was busy serving drinks to Edgar, Sam, James and Patrick. Sweeping a look round the barn, she saw Craig was still absent. She turned once more to her sister. “Never mind me.
You
’re my main cause of worry.”

“Why waste your energy? I’m perfectly happy,” said Zoe.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about,” insisted Juliet. She was about to say more when she stopped. What was it Theo had suggested?
Tell her the truth. Your doubts and fears about me, I mean
. “You and Theo,” she continued. “Of course, I like him. And I can see how keen you both are on each other. But is he really your type?”

“Yes he is.”

“Zoe, you don’t share his faith.”

Her sister sighed. “All that matters is that we like each other. Lots.”

Juliet stared at her, nonplussed. “That may be good enough for now. But what about later?”

“I’m not thinking about later. I’m living in the present.”

Juliet bit back a sharp retort. Her heart pounding, she drained her glass. What also niggled her was the fact that Zoe and Theo did, to the casual observer, make a very compatible pair. She had no intention of saying so to Zoe, though.

Looking again at her sister’s face, she decided it would be best to go off and join Laura, Al and James beside the oak table. She made sure she was live again. Upon approach, she saw Al pivot on his heels, bronze medallion bouncing on his chest, and grab the fruit bowl from the table behind him. For a moment she thought he was going to throw it at her.

“Juliet, why don’t you go for a peach? One or two strawberries perhaps?” From the sound of his voice, he’d clearly already had more than a few drinks.

Juliet spoke lightly. “I’d be interested in some of those grapes.”

“I’ll throw a bunch across,” Laura giggled. “Here, catch.”

Juliet nearly ducked to avoid the missile. But it was unnecessary. James, in a ruffle-front silk shirt, had intercepted Laura’s serve, and passed the fruit to her.

“Thanks.” Juliet eyed Laura warily. It seemed she, also, had already taken too much advantage of the bar. Perhaps someone had held Don in an arm lock while the rest helped themselves. But then, Juliet guessed, Laura may well have started before she’d even entered the barn. At that moment, she twisted round to look at Don, and the mystery was solved. He’d abandoned his bar duties and gone over to join Theo and Llewellyn. Juliet ate the last grape.

“You downed that yet, Laura?” said Al. As she finished her drink, he took her glass and was about to head back to the bar for a refill. Before he could do so, however, Juliet stepped in front of him. “I think you’re being rather irresponsible, Al,” she said.

“Not at all. This is a special night,” he declared. “The Centre has been reborn as a literary salon.”

“Nonsense, Al,” protested Juliet. “I don’t think this coup of Llewellyn’s will last long.”

“Sorry, honey. I disagree. In any case, at least it’ll blow a little smoke up Craig’s butt.” And with that, he pushed past her.

Rory and Patrick added themselves to the group surrounding Laura. Rory was, as ever, clutching a glass of water. Considering he was the most violent person here, Juliet found it highly ironical. Certainly alcohol wasn’t the cause of his problems. Unless of course he had a secret supply back in his room. Juliet thought he seemed exceptionally smooth and relaxed, now he’d finished his performance. In fact, his manner reminded her of the one he’d adopted at dinner on the evening of her arrival, urbane and charming. She had no doubt at all it was a mask.

Patrick held two tumblers of whisky. Laura stretched out her hand and whipped one away from him; one, Juliet felt, she could well have done without. She sensed a new recklessness in the air, as if an unwritten rule had been breached and now all restraint was thrown aside.

Looking over to the west staircase, she saw Zoe chatting to Sam. Turning to her right she observed Oleg and Beth locked in earnest, alcohol-fuelled conversation with Edgar. She transferred her attention to Laura once more; she was downing the drink Al had brought back. “I feel like the scarlet woman of Babylon,” Laura announced.

“To be sure,” said Patrick, directing a pointed stare at her, “you’re no better than you should be. But that’s only to be expected. I put it all down to original sin.”

Rory intervened. “Most people put me down to that, too. Don’t you worry about it too much, Laura. I expect my sin’s more original than yours.”

But before Laura could reply to this, she collapsed onto the floor. Al immediately plunged down to her side.

“Can I help?” Juliet started forward.

“No, no, she’ll be fine,” muttered Al.

It didn’t look like it to Juliet. “I reckon she needs to be helped out of here, and off to bed,” she said. Then she regretted her words.

“I’m the man for that job,” declared Al, raising Laura into a sitting position. She lolled back in his arms, a glazed expression in her eyes. Though Juliet would have much preferred to distance herself from this little scenario, she had little choice but to remain focused on it. And to record the lot. For she couldn’t tell which aspect of tonight’s behaviour – if any of it – would make good radio or not, unless she kept the machine running.

Patrick chose this moment to continue his previous discussion with Rory. “Think your sin’s original, do you, Rory? Tell me: suppose one of those timber beams up above your head was to break off right now and fall on you. If you were to die tonight where would you spend eternity?”

The Irishman was being very provocative, Juliet thought. What made him so confident Rory wouldn’t just knock him senseless?

“Haven’t the faintest,” said Rory, “and I don’t suppose you do either.”

“Then you suppose wrongly.” Patrick declaimed this in ringing tones. He forged on. “Now then, how old are you?”

“That’s my secret,” said Rory.

“Whatever it is, I’ll wager you don’t think you’re going to die until you’re ninety-eight. But what makes you think it won’t be in two seconds?”

Juliet held her breath. Surely this was Rory’s cue. A well-timed blow and Patrick would be flat on the floor.

“Threatening me, are you, Patrick?” said Rory.

The Irishman threw his arms out, managing to swipe Al in the face just as he’d begun to lift Laura. Juliet watched all this with baited breath. Would the American turn on Patrick? But before he got the chance, Patrick issued a challenge to everyone within earshot. “Having spent so much time here in the Wheel of Love, does anyone actually believe in God?”

Al fell back, and startled by the unexpectedness of the question, let go of Laura and dropped her onto the floor. “What’s the deal with you, Patrick?” he demanded. “Believe in God? Course I do. Although …” he hesitated, “…since Llewellyn purloined the driver’s seat from Craig, perhaps it’s safer to opt for
Don’t Know
.”

“What does Craig have to do with it?” demanded Patrick.

Al ignored the Irishman as he became busy again, trying to coax Laura to her feet. “Come on, honey,” he beguiled her. Then he rushed over to the chairs, grabbed three, and dragged them back to her.

“Since when,” continued Patrick, “have matters of faith and doubt, life and death, been dependent upon what Craig tells us? It’s what
we
all think that matters.”

“Quite right,” said Edgar. “And I should know. I’ve been noting down what every one of us thinks since we’ve been here.”

“And what do we think?” enquired Patrick.

“Ah. Well, let me put it like this,” said Edgar. “We don’t yet have consensus. But never mind. Look at the mighty cosmos up there: the moon, the stars…” He swept his hand in the direction of the skylights that had been installed in the roof of the barn. Indeed, as Juliet had noticed earlier, the stars were unusually bright and it was easy to identify the constellations.

“I’m glad he’s talking of stars,” Rory said in her ear.

“Why?”

“Because I hope to be one soon. I feel released to a bright future by my performance tonight.”

She wasn’t prepared to discourage the newly-inspired poet. Instead, she sought to humour him. “That sounds positive, Rory. How do you see Llewellyn? As the new leader of the Wheel of Love?”

But before Rory could reply, Patrick pulled him aside, clearly intent on developing the theological discussion he’d just opened.

Meanwhile, Juliet’s attention was drawn once more by Laura’s predicament. She lay flat out across the three chairs which Al had thoughtfully placed there for her, while he kneeled near her head, and cradled it in his arms. Juliet went to join them. “Managing, Al? Need any help yet?”

It seemed not; for as she drew close, she realised they were busy quoting poetry at each other.

“
I was much too far out all my life and not waving but drowning
,” lamented Laura.

“Cool, baby. But try this,” said Al. “
I read beneath the innocence of morning flesh concealed, hinting of death she does not heed
.”

“Mmm. Powerful words. Who wrote them?”

“A fellow American. Weldon Kees. They think he jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge in 1955.”

“Oh Al, why do we need to be so depressing? Let’s go to bed instead,” mumbled Laura.

Juliet felt a light pressure on her shoulder. Turning, she saw Theo. He put his free arm around Zoe.

“Good night, Juliet,” said Zoe pointedly.

Juliet stepped forward, keen to delay them. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something, Theo,” she said.

“Yes?” he prompted her. What was the matter with him? His eyes, when they rested upon hers, were unsmiling. Had she offended him in some way?

“Enjoy the recital, Theo?” she asked.

He nodded. “Rory did very well.”

“Do you still feel Llewellyn was wrong to organise it?”

“Misguided,” he said. “If the group continues what he’s set in motion here tonight, it will fall apart.”

She stared at him, dismayed. “You think so?”

“Certainly. Craig needs to bring it all together again quickly. If not, Don’s worst fears will be proved true.”

She studied his calm face. “Theo?”

“Yes?”

“What did that visionary friend of yours do next?”

“Went away and discussed his ideas with close friends at his church,” said Theo. “But it wasn’t possible to take things any further. No money.”

She waited.

“I did tell you that before, Juliet,” he added softly.

Zoe stood looking from one to the other.

“Come on, Zoe,” Theo said. And they left.