“As does she,” snapped Juliet. “And you, Llewellyn, so don’t try and distract me.”
He threw her a quizzical glance. Then he reached for the balalaika again. “Let me play you some music.” He began to pluck at the strings. Groucho made a low soft purring sound.
“Are you serenading me, Llewellyn?” she asked.
He laughed. “Well, I certainly have your full attention.”
“And Groucho’s.”
“Oh yes. He loves music.” The Welshman continued to play. “Follow your instincts, Juliet. That’s where true wisdom manifests itself. That’s what I’m doing.”
“I don’t think you are, Llewellyn,” she insisted, “I think you’re following an impulse that comes from somewhere else. And it’s not the right one either.”
Llewellyn stopped playing. Groucho hopped out of his cage and onto his perch. The poet got up, and went to stroke the macaw’s feathers. Then he turned again. “May I show you a book, Juliet?”
“Of course,” she said.
“One of my favourites.” He picked the volume up from the armchair he’d been sitting in.
“Is that from Craig’s library?” Juliet asked.
“No. My own,” said Llewellyn.
“A Welsh poet?”
“You guessed. Listen to this.” And he began to read:
The white waves of the breath of peace
On the mountains,
And the light striding
In the distances of the sea.
He kept the book open, and looked at her. She could hear Groucho shuffling on his perch. Was it safe to return Llewellyn’s gaze? Or would he believe he’d succeeded in tempting her beyond her professional boundaries again? Not for the first time, she noticed the intelligent, appraising quality in his eyes. Yet the folly of what he was doing seemed to give the lie to that.
“Beautiful,” she said. “And of course there’s not much peace in this community, but you’re unlikely to change that.”
“I disagree, Juliet. Just consider the scene at dinner last night. Al knows all about bears that come into houses, in the foothills of western Massachusetts. Last night, a bear came into this house.”
“And rampaged round the dining room, in the guise of Rory,” she said. “But I still don’t see how you’re going to improve things.”
With a soft laugh, he picked up the balalaika and began to brush his fingers across the strings once more. “Perhaps you’ll feel more confident about it all if you join me in the barn later, at nine thirty.”
“Why? Is Craig going to announce the results of the vote? And if it’s you, what can we expect to happen next?”
“Ah. Something very new. I can’t tell you the details now. But please do come, Juliet. You’ll have a far clearer picture of what will be going on here from now. I’d love to know what you think.”
Exasperation took hold. “You already know what I think, Llewellyn. The question is whether you’ll give me any good reason to change my mind.”
“Precisely,” smiled the poet. “And perhaps you will change your mind when I tell you I first got the idea from Don.”
The door burst open. Llewellyn turned. Craig stood framed in the doorway.
“Very dangerous, Llewellyn. I wouldn’t advise that at all.”
17
Pretender to the Throne
Lunchtime provided Juliet with her first opportunity to start Theo’s book. She’d persuaded Patrick to pass it on to her rather than burn it. She was anxious to know what a dodgy book written by a clergyman might be like; especially one that had a conservative evangelical bishop breathing fire, but an archbishop asking for signed copies. Also she wanted to know what Don had said, to give Llewellyn his idea for takeover. Had he set him up for this? Was it all part of a devious plan to separate Craig from this community? She must confront him about it the very next time she saw him.
But meanwhile she concentrated on Theo’s book. It was compulsive reading. Synchronicity, it was called: Chance, Coincidence – or the Will of God? She couldn’t understand why the bishop had been so upset. There was a lot about Carl Jung, certainly, and the collective unconscious, and universal archetypes. But this was hardly heresy… Theo just questioned everything, like she did. But perhaps they didn’t yet come to the same conclusions.
Despite this, she found his style racy and engaging, with lots of amusing anecdotes. Even with her prior ignorance on the subject, she loved the book. She hadn’t expected to feel like that about it. Theo had produced a good read. Did this alter how she saw him? Yes, she supposed it did in some respects; but not enough, perhaps, to change how she felt about him adoring her sister.
Even so, she could hardly tear herself away from the book after lunch. Slipping a bookmark in, however, she set off for a walk with her Nagra. She needed to find someone to tell her about Llewellyn’s plans, and how much of a threat they posed to Craig. She left the house, crossed the forecourt and on an impulse unlatched the gate into the vegetable garden.
The sight of all those precise boundaries and regimented vegetable plots, well tended by the group members according to their rota under the supervision of Patrick, would be exactly the thing to marshal her thoughts. Patrick maintained a strict regime here, she’d noticed, in sharp contrast to the emotional anarchy breaking out elsewhere in the community.
One hand on the strap of her Nagra, the other holding the mike, she set off past the runner beans, paying attention to the rhythm of her own footsteps. Somehow, the repetitive movement helped her to process the situation.
Passing the frames, she swung left and took the east-facing pathway. As she reached the south-eastern corner of the vegetable garden, and turned to face north, she saw Rory on his hands and knees weeding under the hedges. She stopped short. Her heart pounded. She and Rory were alone together. Should she turn and flee?
Juliet felt a pang of annoyance at herself. How long was she going to be afraid of him? As long as she remembered his skinny fingers round her neck; and at least until she found out why he behaved as he did.
He’d seen her. She couldn’t escape without looking cowardly. She turned her mike on and held it up. “Ah, Rory,” she said in a tone which belied how she felt.
She noticed, to her concern, that his face was highly coloured and his eyes held a wildness that reminded her of last Wednesday afternoon in the sitting room. She took a deep breath. It was OK. She had an escape route if necessary. Even so, she drew back, wary and alert. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt your work duty. Shall I leave you to it?”
He scrambled to his feet, and snatched her hand. She jerked violently away from him, holding on tight to the mike. “Don’t touch me, Rory.”
“OK, OK.” He managed to look slightly offended. How dare he? She now stood a couple of metres away from him, but still holding the mike out.
“Juliet,” Rory said. “You heard Llewellyn’s announcement?”
“Last night? Of course I did,” she replied.
“And?”
“And what? It didn’t make sense at all.”
“No? Then I’ll explain,” said Rory. “A big change is about to take place here.”
“Which is?” she asked.
“Craig’s no longer top dog. Llewellyn’s in charge.”
“Llewellyn?” Juliet stared at him. How did Rory know? The result of the votes hadn’t been announced yet. She decided to keep her questioning non-controversial.
“What does he offer that’s an improvement on Craig?” she queried.
“Poetry Therapy for a start,” declared Rory. “He plans to scrap Craig’s Dynamic Meditation sessions.”
“Oh really? I thought you all enjoyed them.”
“Not at all. They disgust me. And most of us have voted to overrule Craig.”
So that was the result. The group members had made their choice. Llewellyn over Craig. How disloyal. For a few moments she was speechless.
“I think this will work much better. Craig’s methods were a disaster.
And…” here Rory allowed a pregnant pause, “I’ve begun work. Epic saga. Llewellyn will love it.”
“Indeed?” Juliet withheld comment. What was she to make of such a turn of events? A direct challenge to Craig. He’d fight, of course.
“I’ve told Llewellyn I’ll perform tonight in the barn,” continued Rory. “You’ll come, won’t you, Juliet? My debut reading. You can’t miss it. Celebratory drinks will follow.”
“Well, Rory, I don’t know what to say…”
“Don will man the bar,” added Rory.
Whilst still digesting this, Juliet took the opportunity to question him further. “You truly feel Llewellyn’s methods will work better than Craig’s?”
It sounded outrageous. He was a good poet, certainly, but she’d seen no evidence to suggest he could trump Craig on the healing and wholeness stakes.
“Of course,” said Rory. “This is quite out of Craig’s league.” And with that, he plunged to his knees again to continue weeding.
Juliet turned her mike off and quickly walked on. What had inspired Llewellyn to such disloyalty? Don? She couldn’t believe he’d encouraged him to stage a coup. And what did this say about Craig’s leadership skills? It was bad news. A power struggle between Llewellyn and Craig would split the group.
Then she spotted Theo ahead of her. He was following the path along the eastern boundary, head down, hands clasped behind his back, deep in thought. She raised her voice. “I need your help, Theo.”
The cleric stopped and looked round, his expression neutral. Juliet studied him. Had he heard the news? It was time to switch her mike on again and hold it up between them.
His greeting was amiable enough. “Hello there, Juliet. Fine day for a walk.”
“Yes. Theo…” She willed herself to draw back. Best to speak calmly about Rory’s news. Ah yes. She knew the best subject to start on. “I’ve just been reading your book.”
“That’s kind of you.”
“Theo, it’s great,” she said.
He couldn’t avoid the light of pleasure showing clearly in his eyes. “Thank you.”
“It’s a real page-turner.”
“I did try to make it accessible,” he murmured.
“You succeeded,” Juliet said. “But Theo, there’s something I’m worried about.”
“In my book?”
“No. Here in this community.”
“And what’s that?” he enquired. “Craig?”
“Well, of course. It’s Craig all right. He clams up when I ask him about the past.”
“That’s not surprising.”
“Okay, Theo, so you’re not going to be drawn either. But he in turn can’t be surprised that I want to know.”
“Or rather,” said Theo, “that you long to know. For it’s not just journalistic curiosity on your part, is it?”
She felt angry. She waited for a moment, taking a deep breath. It was her turn to change the subject, before she exploded in front of the clergyman. “All right Theo. I have another worry. This new turn of events. The vote. Llewellyn’s takeover bid.”
The cleric’s lips curved. “Yes.”
“What do you make of it all?” she asked.
“I admire Llewellyn’s poetry.” Theo inspected the sweet peas for a few moments. “And in ancient Celtic communities, of course, the bard held the highest position in the social structure…”
“Oh, come on, Theo, this isn’t an ancient Celtic community,” she broke in, exasperated.
“No it isn’t, is it.”
“But did you encourage him?”
“No,” said Theo, “I simply had a short chat with Don. Llewellyn must have overheard. I mentioned it would be good to spend some evenings reciting poems, singing songs and telling stories.”
“Sounds lovely. But it isn’t what Llewellyn’s done. He’s staged a coup instead.”
“Not a good idea,” agreed Theo.
“What do you think will happen next?” she asked.
“Can’t say. I stand by consistent leadership. So I’ve thrown my personal support on Craig’s side.”
Juliet started. The group was splitting into opposing camps. Seeing her expression, Theo put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “What would you have me do? Remain neutral?”
“But…” she began, then stopped. No, she wasn’t going to say it.
“You don’t expect me to encourage mutiny, do you?” the clergyman asked.
“No.” She threw a quizzical glance at him. “It must be difficult for you to avoid giving advice, Theo.”
“True,” he said, his manner serene.
She fell in step with him as he turned left and strolled along the west-facing path beside the cucumber frames. The microphone was still live. “Especially now, when Craig needs it more than ever,” she observed.
“Yes,” Theo said. “But even so, he has to find his own way through this.”
Suddenly she said, “You know that colleague of yours who came to the farmhouse before Craig owned it?”
“Yes.”
“Are you still in touch with him?” She wasn’t quite sure why she asked this.
“I am.” A long pause followed.
“You said he had plenty of ideas for how this place could thrive.”
“Yes,” said Theo. “Additional accommodation and dining room, new uses for the barn and outhouses.”
“How did he get these ideas?” Juliet asked.
“He had a vision,” Theo replied. “He saw the farmhouse from above. He saw a courtyard with a central sculpture. And the barn was different. Its huge access doorway was a window with a Celtic cross etched in the glass. It was a place of worship.”
“But that’s extraordinary,” said Juliet.
“Yes, isn’t it?”
A sudden anxiety took hold of her. “Theo, you wouldn’t ever suggest to Craig he should sell this property, would you?”
“No, of course not. I have no such right. And if you’re thinking of this colleague of mine with all his bright ideas, well, let me assure you there’s no chance of that. He has not the slightest prospect of ever affording it.”
She felt she needed space to reflect. She turned the microphone off. When she spoke again, she could only change the subject – and store the mike away for the time being. “Theo, how long will you stay here? Have you agreed to lead that retreat for the Golden Chalice?”
“The answer to your first question is I don’t know. And to your second – not yet.”
“What does Zoe think?”
“Why not ask her yourself?” said Theo.
Juliet weighed up this reply, trying to work out whether it was evasive or not. Theo it seemed was in no mood either for further chat about his future prospects. He coolly appraised her. “Juliet, you cannot force Zoe’s hand.”
She flushed.
“Just as you cannot force Craig to tell you about his past,” continued Theo.
She said nothing. But she felt mortified.
He allowed a few moments to pass before saying, “Back to you and Zoe. I’ve watched you both together now on a few occasions. It’s not a good idea to confuse your hopes and dreams for yourself, with those for your sister.”
“But I’m not doing that,” she cried.
Silence fell. A magpie landed on top of a glass frame nearby, and a lively breeze sprang up. She tried to slow her breathing down, by the use of steady inhalations and exhalations. It would never do to have an emotional outburst with Theo, thus giving him yet further scope for his ever-ready counselling skills.
“What do you think would be the best thing to do?” she asked. She braced herself for him to recommend she leave Zoe alone, and go back to London straight away.
“I can’t speak for Zoe.” Theo laid his hand on hers. “But why don’t you just tell her the truth? I mean, your fears and doubts about me. Then wait. And respect whatever choice she makes.” And with that, he set off again, walking briskly up the path past the tomatoes, until he was out of sight.
18
Innocence of Morning Flesh
In the great empty space of the barn, Juliet unexpectedly found some peace, despite all that she’d witnessed in it since she’d first arrived at the Centre over a week ago. She needed to collect her thoughts. And for several moments it seemed the quietness of the barn was helping her to do that.
Then she remembered. She’d seen Zoe heading this way and meant to intercept her. They must talk. Leaving the barn again through the great access doorway, Juliet paused inside the buttresses which flanked the arch. Then she saw her sister. Zoe was now making for the house. Breaking into a run, Juliet caught up with her. “Zoe, stop.”
Zoe turned and glanced at her. “What’s up?”
“Theo. I must have a word with you about him.” She couldn’t fail to notice Zoe’s sigh. Or the wariness that sprang into her eye. It made her sick at heart to recognise Zoe’s mistrust. But she pressed relentlessly on. “I had a chat with Theo earlier,” she said.
“Oh? You did?” Zoe’s tone held a cautious edge.
“And we spoke about you.”
“Before you say more, Juliet, listen. There’s no way I’ll change what I think or feel about Theo to suit you.”
“Why do you think I’d want you to do that anyway?” asked Juliet.
“Everything you’ve said and done in the last few days. Look Juliet, don’t think I haven’t noticed what’s going on between you and Craig.”
Folding her arms tightly, Juliet threw a warning glance at her sister. “Craig? What are you…?”
“Still in denial?” said Zoe, tossing her head. “I don’t need to suggest what everyone can see. He’s crazy about you.”
“Crazy about me?” shouted Juliet, before she had a moment to think. “But he won’t even…” She stopped, her face burning.
Zoe was watching her intently. “Won’t even... what?”
Juliet was silent.
“Now, what advice did you want to give me about Theo?” Zoe asked breezily.
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