Mystical Circles

by S. C. Skillman

  “Zoe herself says so.” Juliet made every effort to withstand his look. How dare he not take this seriously? “She got the idea from you, Craig.”

  There was a small silence. “Coffee?” he said.

  “Oh. Yes. Thanks.”

  He got up, and took two pottery mugs down from shiny brass hooks. Then he moved across the kitchen to the kettle. As he did so, he said, “You underestimate Zoe’s intelligence, Juliet. She knows what she’s looking for. She’s far more likely to find it here than anywhere else outside.”

  This remark incensed her. “No, Craig, I don’t see that at all. I don’t think she does know what she’s looking for.” Before he could reply, she went on. “And there’s someone else I want to ask you about. Laura.”

  “Laura? What of her?”

  “You say I misinterpreted her message. So why did she feel the need to strip off and dance naked in Dynamic Meditation?”

  “Why?” He smiled. “She likes it.”

  “Well, leaving aside the mystery of your failure to react, what about all the other men here?”

  Craig threw his head back in mirth. “What kind of question’s that? Does Laura’s nudity worry you? It doesn’t worry me.”

  “Craig, you make me angry.”

  “So I see.” He eyed her in a tolerant manner. “Juliet, I know what’s going on for all these people. You’re here to observe and listen, not worry yourself about it.”

  “I’m not,” she said in a tight voice. Yes, she was. And really, she’d have liked to throw one of the copper kettles at him.

  “Good,” he said. “And remember, you’re here on my terms.”

  His words silenced her for a moment. Although they infuriated her, something warned her not to challenge him. “Very well, Craig,” she said instead. “If I agree to abide by your terms, then I expect you, at the very least, to answer my questions fairly.”

  “I’m doing my best, Juliet, depending on the nature of the questions being asked.”

  “They’re not that difficult,” she said coolly.

  He raised his eyebrows. “I make up the rules,” he said.

  “But you call this group a wheel of love!” she cried.

  “And so it is,” he replied.

  “That’s not love. That’s dictatorship.”

  “Dictatorship?” His next words were delivered with an air of knife-edge finality. “Let’s call it quits for the time being, Juliet. We’ve both said enough.”

  But his eyes flashed as he put a mug of coffee in front of her. And she felt once again a shock as if she’d brushed against an electric fence.

  Laura, wearing pink gardening gloves and a canvas apron over her flimsy cotton voile dress, was kneeling on a cushion beside the flower bed, weeding. Juliet watched her for a while, as she tossed weeds into a trug beside her. She still couldn’t relate the prim little figure to the whirling dervish in the barn last night.

  Still, it was rather nice right now to think that she didn’t have to do two hours of household or gardening duties. She preferred her own work.

  She’d already replayed her interview with Craig, using her headset. Her laptop open before her on the cane table, she studied the sound waves on screen. It would have been even more pleasant sitting out here beneath the blue cedars, near the perimeter of the sunken garden enjoying a warm light breeze, if only she wasn’t still feeling furious with Craig for his slippery answers to her questions.

  She’d now escaped the highly charged aura surrounding him, but she felt like gritting her teeth at the memory of his arrogant manner.

  After a few moments she removed the headset, lifted her cup, and took a long refreshing sip. She cast her mind back over the events of the last few hours.

  Some of Craig’s sharp rejoinders had at least refocused her on her own primary motivation in coming to the community. For what was that other than to check up on Zoe, and try to reorganise her sister’s life? OK, certainly it was also a perfect opportunity to do interviews. Especially as Toby had sounded really keen. But in every conversation she had so far had with Toby, she had underplayed her feelings about Zoe. Otherwise he wouldn’t believe in her ability to remain objective.

  But looked at from another angle, it did seem to her ironic that she’d now reached a turning point in her career entirely through the rash, impulsive actions of Zoe. This was something she could never have anticipated.

  Back to the problem of Craig himself again. She’d need to quiz every one of the group about their views of him as their leader. But she felt certain that if he guessed she was inviting criticism of him, he’d turn her out at once. Then there’d be nil chance of rescuing Zoe from this place.

  And yet the farmhouse and its surroundings were enchanting. Here she was, out in the garden enjoying a mild, balmy atmosphere and a radiant blue sky, taking afternoon tea at a white cane table. And just beyond the hedge was the soft weathered honey-and-cream stone of the house. She lifted her eyes to the slate tiles on the roof and then allowed her glance to dip just below to the dormer window with its diamond leadlights and golden sandstone mullions, behind which lay her bedroom in the eaves.

  Who could wish for anything better, in the heart of the Cotswolds? The comfort of the house, the perfection of its setting, and the generous supply of good food and wine were like a foretaste of heaven. It was just Craig who worried her.

  She sighed. As she did so Laura got to her feet, collected her trug, and moved further along the border, away from her and out of sight behind the trees.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  She looked up. Don stood there, silver hair gleaming in the sunlight. His eyes rested on her.

  “Feel free,” she said. The way her thoughts were tending, she felt glad of his company.

  He pulled another cane chair closer to hers, and sat in it. Then the mood unexpectedly changed. “I hear you’ve been stirring things up,” he shot at her, eyes fixed on her face. He indicated the audio recorder and laptop.

  She felt stung. “Yes. That’s what I’m here for.”

  “I’ve never seen Craig so edgy,” Don said.

  “Oh?” She pretended to be cool, but was sure her heartbeat had increased. “That’s his choice.”

  “No it’s not. It’s yours. What are you up to, Juliet?”

  She felt goaded to self-defence. “Investigating, that’s all.”

  He laughed. Then quickly the warmth left his eyes. “Don’t probe him on family matters, Juliet. Just don’t. It’s fatal.”

  “Why?” she protested. “I’m interested. I want to know.”

  “I forbid it,” he snapped.

  She came back strongly. “Surely not you too, Don? Come on. I’m onto a story here. I want to light up dark corners. What else d’you expect of me?”

  “Not this dark corner. No chance.” Suddenly he caught hold of both her hands. “Promise, Juliet. You’ll stay out of family stuff.”

  “No,” she cried.

  His jaw tightened.

  “Relax, Don,” she said. “Hey –” She tried to lighten things up. “I’ll bet you pester them with enough questions – about the finances.”

  She succeeded. He released her with a chuckle. “I try. But they’re all on guard against me. Scared stiff I’ll come round with a collecting box. Ask them to cough up for a support fund. Something Craig ought to have organised at the start.”

  “A support fund?”

  “Yes. Donations – for those who can’t really afford to be here.”

  She shot him a curious glance.

  “In other words,” he said crisply, “hangers-on with empty pockets.”

  She thought this rather an unkind way to describe them. Though she knew what he meant. “Are there many of those?” she asked.

  “More than a few. Booked up, paid, then stayed on. My generous son. Generosity at my expense, might I add.”

  “But Craig’s well able to deal with malingerers, I’d say.”

  “Ha. You’d have thought so, yes.”


  They sat for a while without speaking.

  “Why wasn’t it set up properly?” she asked.

  He snorted. “Long story. If he’d listened to my advice in the first place… But no, went his own way.”

  She waited. Had he forgotten his ban on family stuff? But he offered no more information.

  OK. Play it low-key. She’d try and gain his confidence later. Meanwhile, better move on to another subject. “You should have been on the Dream Yoga walk, Don. You’d have loved walking backwards.”

  He gave a guffaw. “Sure I would,” he said.

  She rubbed her finger across the smooth surface of her laptop. “Well, I’m trying hard to see the benefit in being forced to experience the world upside down, and even inside out for a bit.”

  He nodded, and would have spoken again but for the musical Welsh lilt of a third voice to be heard behind him.

  “When the world’s turned right way up again, it’ll make sense.”

  “Llewellyn,” said Don, twisting to face him. “Here. Take a seat.”

  “Thanks.” The Welshman bounced into the chair Don offered, his thick hair rising before flopping down once more across his forehead. “What do you make of lucid dreams, Juliet?” he asked.

  “Never had one,” she confessed. “What of you? Do you think death could be a breeze?”

  “I’m a poet,” he declared. “It’s my business to consider every option.” Moments passed, during which he held Juliet in his gaze.

  He was attractive. She had to give him that. Warm brown eyes – why couldn’t Zoe go for him instead? No, she shouldn’t think in this way. But at least it was testimony to the positive light in which she saw this Welshman. “You know, Llewellyn,” she said, “I’m surprised you’re content to join a group like this, and follow in the footsteps of Craig.”

  He held his hands wide. “Why not? Time for everything, isn’t there?”

  “I suppose so, if you see it like that.” But she still felt curious.

  He considered her. “Tell you what, Juliet. Come to my room later, nine o’clock, say, and I’ll explain further. If you’re willing, I’ll show you some poems.”

  She gave him a sharp look. “No etchings?”

  “Absolutely none.”

  They both burst out laughing; in glancing sideways, she noticed a rather jaundiced expression on Don’s face.

  “Then I might just join you as you suggest,” she said.

  Don cleared his throat.

  Juliet leaned forward and touched him on the arm. “I hope you don’t mind us making these arrangements in front of you, Don.”

  “Not at all. You go right ahead.”

  “If it’s any comfort to you, Don,” said Llewellyn, “I’m in no doubt at all that she’ll bring her recording equipment with her.”

  “That remark leaves me with a perfect excuse to make no comment,” said Don.

  But Juliet remained mystified by the look he wore. Was he labouring under the burden of some strong emotion?

  “This is a safe environment,” said Llewellyn. “Craig keeps telling us that. A safe environment in which to do whatever you want and not to be misunderstood.”

  Don was quick to come back at him on that one. “Safe for whom?”

  “For each one of us, to be true to ourselves without fear of judgement.”

  Don chewed his lip for a few moments. “True to yourself? If I was that, I’d tell you to keep your hands off this girl. And double your payment to Craig.”

  The Welshman was about to reply, but Juliet broke in. “Really, Don, I’m sure Llewellyn has no intention of getting his hands on me,” she said. “Of course, I can’t comment on your second remark.” This stopped conversation for a few moments.

  Llewellyn’s expression remained neutral. He said nothing.

  Very wise, thought Juliet. Then she said, “I know this isn’t really my business. But even so, Don, whatever it was that went wrong between you and Craig when you set this place up, I do hope you two can put it right soon.”

  “Remember what I said.” Don looked warningly at her. Then he seemed to relent. His gaze softened, became more reflective. “You can hope, any road,” he said. “We can all hope. No harm in that.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  Llewellyn, too, was scrutinising the Yorkshireman with an ironical eye.

  Juliet turned. A fourth person had joined them. “Zoe!” Juliet said.

  Zoe’s hair appeared tangled and unbrushed, not to her disadvantage, for she always looked pretty. She wore jeans and a T-shirt with a big blue heart on it. Her face was much paler than normal. What was up? Had she and Craig had a disagreement?

  “Come and sit here, Zoe,” said Juliet.

  “Oh, no, I won’t, thanks.” An awkward pause followed. Zoe stared at Don, then at Llewellyn, then at Juliet, in a searching way.

  Juliet realised she’d left her laptop on, and closed it down.

  Don got to his feet. “Want me to go?”

  “Thanks,” said Zoe, startling Juliet.

  Don jerked his head at Llewellyn. “Come on.”

  The poet seemed hesitant. Don put his hand on his arm. The two men stood up, and headed off back through the garden toward the house.

  “What is it?” asked Juliet.

  Zoe still refused to sit, but stood in front of Juliet, hands on hips. Her eyes were bright with accusation. “I’ve just been with Craig.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Don’t give me that, Juliet,” Zoe flashed. She ran her fingers through her hair, and went on. “You’ve been stirring Craig up. What d’you mean by it?”

  “Me? Stir him up? I didn’t mean to.” Juliet took Zoe’s hand, and her sister snatched it away.

  The breeze tugged at Zoe’s hair as she grasped the lowest cedar branch, and bent it back. Then she spun. Juliet looked at her in alarm. “Craig’s sold on you,” Zoe stated.

  “Get real, Zoe.” Silence fell. Juliet felt herself trembling – her arms, her fingers. This was the last thing she wanted, the very last. She hastily spoke again. “You’re way off course.” She took a grip on herself, and switched to a cooler tone of voice. “He was very high-handed with me, actually,” she said.

  “That doesn’t mean a thing.”

  Juliet stared incredulously as her sister snapped a stick off the branch, and began stabbing it repeatedly into the grass underfoot. “I’ve just been talking to him about you,” said Zoe fiercely. “And trust me, you’ve already got under his skin.”

  “Shut up, Zoe!”

  Zoe studied her with growing distrust, then looked away again. Both fell quiet for several moments. Then Juliet tried again, in a softer voice. “Listen, Zoe. I’m here because I care about you.”

  “You’re here because Craig liked the sound of you on the phone. When he saw you, he was even keener. And now...”

  “Cut it out, Zoe. His manner towards me at best has been one of cool courtesy. At worst he’s been either detached or slightly patronising.”

  Juliet hoisted the strap of the carrying case over her shoulder. She bit her lip. She felt hot all over and was not going to play into Zoe’s hands by betraying it to her.

  Zoe slapped the palm of her hand against the side of her head in exasperation. “Cool and detached?” she scoffed. “Just an act.”

  “You’re fantasising.”

  “All right. Refuse to see the obvious. At least I can recognise it when it’s staring me in the face.”

  “Zoe, stop this.” Juliet spoke angrily, almost afraid of her own reaction.

  “No. You wise up. If you do fall for him and let him have his way with you, you’ll find yourself in big trouble.”

  Juliet’s mouth fell open at this. Had Zoe gone crazy? “What do you mean?” she cried.

  But it was too late. Her sister had turned and hurried away, leaving Juliet mystified and worried.

  7

  Signs of Mutiny

  Dust motes floated in the beam of morning sunlight from the east
-facing window. A Gothic clock on a wall bracket near Juliet, which she noticed had the phases of the moon on its dial, struck the hour of ten. Again she felt the dreamy, serene atmosphere in the house, at odds with the inner lives of the residents. And yet no house of this age would have long escaped political intrigue, fear and betrayal in the past. The same emotional turbulence within these walls prevailed right now – only the immediate causes were different.

  She paused as she arrived at the bottom of the narrow staircase leading down from the attic. The many feet that had passed over them had worn the timber treads smooth and slippery. As she placed hers on the silken surface of the oak she needed to balance carefully. She placed her hand on the structural post to her right, which was helping to support the floor above. She wondered what the fissures in the timber were. Maybe a few Roundheads had tested the point of their swords as they searched the house for hidden priests or monks?

  Some of the current residents would probably like to be armed with those same swords, despite this being a wheel of love. After Zoe’s explosion yesterday afternoon, there’d been a tense atmosphere between the two sisters at dinner. But Craig had said nothing to Juliet about any subsequent conversation with Zoe. So Juliet could only speculate that Zoe had kept any further thoughts to herself. Or had she completely misread the situation?

  And then there’d been last night’s meeting with Llewellyn in his room. She’d been pleasantly surprised by the Welshman’s restrained behaviour. They’d spent an enjoyable time discussing and looking at poetry, both his and those of his favourite writers; she could find no fault in his manner towards her at all.

  Now she stood on the first-floor landing, the Nagra slung over her shoulder in its carrying case. This was, she knew, a free morning for the group, but all seemed especially quiet today.

  Floorboards creaked at the far end of the passageway. She slipped back behind the timber post, which served well as a hiding place. James was making his way towards her, looking faintly displeased. His pastel- pink shirt, however, perfectly complemented the mauve cravat. Both in turn harmonised with his smartly pressed cream trousers. She was in no doubt most of his wardrobe originated from a bespoke tailor. Despite her interest in his dual personality, some instinct told her not to accost him. His manner was restless. She remained hidden from view.