“What’s your opinion on it?”
“I don’t really know. Never had to think about it until recently. Why would I? I have to say she might have hit upon something, though. I told you, I got the sense that whatever it is I’m experiencing is taking place in the past. And it’s so vivid. I can see things, smell them, hear them. It’s like I’m there.”
“Could it be your mind playing tricks? Maybe it’s a place you’ve been before.”
They arrived at a rubbish bin, leaning to one side in the sand. Paul dropped in the fish-and-chip paper and Calvin dropped in the empty bottle of wine and the two plastic cups.
“No, it isn’t anywhere I recognise. But I recognise you, even though it doesn’t look like you, and I recognise me, even though I’m a woman. I think Linda might be on the right track. I can’t think of any other explanation, and believe me, it’s been keeping me awake nights.” As they approached the car park, Paul took Calvin’s hand. “There’s also something else I think might be related to all this.”
Calvin squeezed his hand. “And what’s that?”
“When we first met, you asked if we’d met before. You were so certain we had, even though we hadn’t.”
“Yeah, but that could’ve been because I wanted to meet you so much. It was my mind playing tricks on me.”
Paul shook his head. “No. No, that’s not true. You were so determined to meet me because you were sure we knew each other. Remember?”
“Okay, I’ll give you that, although I think having the feeling you’ve met someone before is a lot more explainable than what you’re experiencing.”
“I don’t disagree,” said Paul, unlocking the passenger side door of his car. He walked around to the driver’s side. “I think they’re related, though. And I think both our experiences give weight to Linda’s theory.”
“All right. What are you going to do about it?”
“I was thinking of paying a visit to a psychic Linda recommended. Linda says she’s very good. Apparently her mother goes there.”
“They’re all charlatans,” said Calvin. “You’ll blow your money.”
“Linda says she’s actually not too expensive and besides, what else am I going to do? I want us to make love, just us, and not have these other weird experiences getting in the way.”
“When do you think you’ll go?” asked Calvin. “You want me to come?”
“Do you want to come?”
“Okay, why not?”
Paul laughed. “You’ve wanted to come all along, haven’t you? You can’t fool me.”
“Just to look after you.” Calvin grinned. “Just to make sure she doesn’t put you in a cauldron and boil you up.”
Paul shook his head. “She’s a psychic, not a witch. Tosser.”
Both of them shared a laugh.
“So where am I going? Your house or mine?”
Calvin squeezed Paul’s thigh. “Let’s go to yours,” he said, moving his hand to Paul’s crotch. “It’s closer and I want to take you back in time.”
Chapter 6
Paul made the appointment with the psychic for the following Saturday morning. He’d stayed at Calvin’s house the night before, so they left from there.
“Where does she live?” asked Calvin.
“Out in the hills,” said Paul. The hills bordered the eastern edge of the city. There, blocks of land were prized for their large size, for the acres of bushland they encompassed, and for their views of the city and the ocean beyond. “I hope I don’t get lost. It looks like it’s out in the middle of nowhere. I Googled the address, so I have a rough idea of where I’m going.”
“At least if you get lost and we’re late, Madam Zara will know all about it.”
Paul laughed. “Her name’s Alison, and she sounds like a perfectly nice lady.”
“Just teasing.”
Due to the thick bushland, most houses were out of sight from the roads that snaked through the hills. It struck Paul as being a private and tranquil place to live. The perfect setting for a psychic. Fortunately, there were mailboxes with numbers, which let him know whether he was getting nearer or further away from his destination.
Forty-five minutes after leaving Calvin’s home, they turned into the gravel driveway of Lot 121, Burramba Road. A pair of golden retrievers burst through the front flyscreen door to greet them, followed by a surprisingly stylishly dressed woman.
“Sasha! Binka! Come back here,” she shouted before whistling shrilly.
The dogs were, fortunately, friendly.
“Hello, boy,” said Paul as he got out of the car.
“Sorry about that,” said the woman. “They won’t hurt you. They really love visitors.”
“You must be Alison,” said Paul.
They shook hands while Sasha and Binka sniffed around them, their tails wagging like crazed metronomes.
“Yes, I am,” she said. “And this is Sasha and Binka.”
“And this is Calvin,” said Paul. “Do you mind if he sits in?”
Alison smiled. “It’s your money. If it’s okay with you, then it’s okay with me. I do ask that you sit very still, Calvin, and don’t make a sound.” She turned towards the house. “Follow me and we’ll go in. Would you like a glass of water before we start?”
She stood at the door, holding it open for Paul and Calvin.
“Thank you,” said Paul. “That would be great.”
The interior of the house was just as normal as Alison. Paul, while not having the flights of fantasy about psychics Calvin had, nevertheless expected something a little more exotic. They entered directly into the lounge room, where painted bush scenes hung on the walls and a tall vase of pampas grass flowers stood on the floor in the far corner. The general décor was rural, slightly rustic, and there was no doubting that Alison was a fan of crafts.
They walked through to the kitchen, separated from the small dining area by saloon doors.
“You don’t see many of these anymore,” said Paul. He glanced over his shoulder and winked at Calvin.
Alison laughed. “My husband used to ride in rodeos, so you’ll detect a bit of a theme running through the house.” She opened the fridge and took out a jug of cold water. “He wanted to hang a wagon-wheel chandelier in the dining room, but the damned thing was larger than the dining table, so I told him absolutely not.”
After pouring water into two glasses for them, she had a quick sip herself, refilled the jug from the tap on a large water purifier, and put the jug back in the fridge.
“Now, before we start, do you need the toilet? Need to blow your nose? Anything like that?”
Paul shook his head. “Nope. All good here.”
Alison smiled. “Good, then come through to the sanctuary and we’ll get started.”
The sanctuary was a dimly lit room. Large posters of green forests had been stuck on the walls. In the centre of the room was a padded recliner, and beside it, a simple wooden chair with a cushion tied onto the seat.
“There’s another chair over there in the corner,” said Alison, pointing.
Calvin walked over and sat down.
The recliner faced a small table upon which sat a single candle that had already been lit.
“Make yourself comfortable,” said Alison, her voice calm and soothing. “You can take your shoes off if you’d like.”
Paul liked. He settled into the recliner, unsure of what to expect.
Alison took a seat beside him. “I want you to stare into the candle flame, Paul. I want you to concentrate on the gentle sway of the flame as it burns. Watch how it slowly dances on the wick.” Her voice was getting more mellow. Almost ethereal. “Stare into the flame, at its white heart, Paul. And feel yourself growing sleepier and sleepier as the flame slowly dances and weaves. Your eyelids are growing heavy. You’re finding it more and more impossible to keep them open.”
And he was. Despite the mesmerising influence of the candle flame, he struggled to keep his eyes open and focused. Soon, the candle flame be
came a blur and Alison’s voice was sounding further and further away. Somehow he could still understand what she was saying, although he wondered how that was possible.
He was being instructed to walk down a flight of stairs. Darkness surrounded him but he could see where he was going. He began to feel as though his physical body was dissolving into the darkness as he continued down the stairs. Finally, he was no more than pure consciousness. His corporeal form and his personality had simply evaporated. He was thought, belonging to nobody and seeing everything.
He came to a door. He heard a distant voice tell him to open it. He reached out and suddenly it was swinging open in front of him.
“Enter the room and tell me what you see,” said Alison.
Paul stepped into the room, only he knew he was no longer Paul. His name was…Miranda.
“Tell me what you see.”
Paul didn’t speak immediately. He was taking in his surroundings, adjusting to the new situation in which he found himself.
“I’m on a train,” he said eventually. “It’s an old train. I can hear the engine. If I look out the window, I can see a thick streak of black smoke. And beautiful green countryside. There are sheep dotting the fields and groves of trees in the distance, but it’s mostly green fields.”
He paused.
“I’m going home. I don’t know where…I-I’ve been staying with Aunt Florence in London after returning from a holiday on the continent. Branford Hall. That’s where I’m going. Branford Hall.”
“What’s your name?” asked Alison.
“Miranda. Miranda Ponsonby-Jones.”
“And what are you wearing, Miranda?”
“I’m wearing my new dress and the string of pearls Mummy gave me for my twenty-first birthday. I also have on white gloves and a hat.”
“Okay, Miranda. I want you to tell me about the first time you met your sweetheart.”
Paul scrunched his face in intense concentration. He shifted ever so slightly in the recliner before his face muscles relaxed.
“Later that day. He’s working on one of Daddy’s cars to one side of the manor, where the garages are. I see him as Taylor drives up to the house. It’s odd that Taylor’s driving. He’s one of the footmen, not the chauffeur. I wonder where Albert is?”
“What’s the name of your sweetheart, Miranda? Albert?”
“No. No. Albert’s the chauffeur. My sweetheart’s name is Charlie. His name’s Charlie. Oh, he’s handsome. Rugged and handsome. He has a pencil-thin grey moustache. His shirt sleeves are tight on his arms. I can see the outline of his muscles.” Paul laughed. “Daddy catches me looking at him. He doesn’t appear to be very happy.
“I go into the sitting room and say hello to Mummy. She’s reading something. One of her romance novels, I suspect. I stay and talk to her a while, but I can hardly concentrate. My only thoughts are of Charlie, working on Daddy’s car outside. And then, while Mummy is twittering on about a garden party or something, I start thinking of excuses to go outside to talk to him. I hit upon the idea of going to gather some flowers for my room. I start to fidget and Mummy asks me the reason for my distracted state. I tell her I’m just so excited to be back home. I sit there for as long as I can bear before excusing myself.
“‘Mummy, I want to go and change out of these clothes. I’ve been in them all day. Then perhaps I’ll go outside and pick some flowers to brighten my room.’
“Mummy nods. ‘Of course, darling. Go up and change. Margaret will help you.’”
“Who’s Margaret?” asked Alison.
“My mother’s lady’s maid.”
“Miranda, tell me about how you got to know Charlie.”
Every time Alison spoke it was in a soft, gentle tone, unobtrusive.
“Charlie and I kiss on our second meeting. I instigate it. After that first day, talking to him for well over an hour as he works away, I ask him if we can meet again. He’s hesitant. He doesn’t want to risk being dismissed from Daddy’s employ. But I beg to see him again. I beg with every fibre of my being.
“It’s a passionate kiss, our first kiss. He’s holding me in his strong, masculine arms. I can feel power and strength in every part of him—his broad, hairy chest, his massive arms, and the thick stalk of his erect cock pressing into me. He’s like no other boy I’ve been with because he isn’t a boy. He’s a man. I can smell the oil and grease from the car on him, which arouses me immensely.”
Paul became aroused as he recounted his—or rather, Miranda’s—tale.
“We meet several times after that. It’s easier at first because he’s working on Daddy’s cars. Servicing them. Albert, our chauffeur, used to do the job, but Daddy had to let him go, as well as half a dozen other staff, due to some financial bother. Apparently, many of the wealthier families in the area are experiencing similar difficulties. With the modern age, there are modern problems. And already life is beginning to change at a dizzying rate.”
“Let’s get back to Charlie,” interrupted Alison. “Tell me more about your relationship with him.”
“We fall in love. It’s as simple as that. We cannot bear to be apart, and every time we are able to come together its…why, it’s simply fantastic. We usually meet in the woods on the outskirts of the estate. I have Challenger saddled and ride out to meet him. Charlie drives. I spread a blanket and we remove our clothing. We are like babes in the wood, naked and innocent.” Paul laughed. “Although, I suppose we aren’t so innocent.
“I look forward to seeing him. When I’m not with him, all I can think about is our next meeting. But I’m also starting to realise we are bound to be discovered. Sooner or later our luck is going to run out, and then what will happen? Daddy will forbid me to see him. I can’t bear the thought of not seeing my darling, sweet Charlie again. I’ll kill myself if that ever happens. I will.”
Chapter 7
“So tell me,” said Alison, “does your father ever find out?”
Paul remained silent.
“Miranda? Did you hear me?”
Paul nodded.
“How did he find out?”
Paul stayed silent a while longer before he replied. “Grimes, the gamekeeper. One of the people who survived Daddy’s cutbacks. I don’t know why. I would hardly have thought a gamekeeper was a necessary member of staff.
“Regardless, Daddy calls me into the study. He’s in quite a rage.” Paul suddenly became agitated. “He’s lighting his pipe by the fireplace. Daddy likes to empty his pipe into the coal tray.
“‘I cannot believe it, Miranda. The mechanic?’ he growls.
“He doesn’t even turn to face me. He’s frightening me.” Paul shifted in the recliner. “‘But I love him, Daddy,’ I tell him. ‘I love him more than I love anything else in the world.’ He turns and gives me a disapproving look. So I hasten to add, ‘Anything else except you, Daddy.’ My voice is filled with desperation and despair.
“He’s shaking his head. He turns to face me and he’s frowning. His voice is a growl once again. ‘Why, the thought of it. A mechanic? A man who works with dirty, greasy engines? A townie? Of course, you don’t love him. You want him simply because I’ve forbidden you to see him.’
“I drop onto a nearby sofa, sobbing. I put my face in my hands and shake my head from side to side. Hot tears drip from the spaces between my fingers. He may as well have plunged a knife through my heart. It would feel no less painful. No. More than that, he has cut my heart out and is stomping on it with his cruel words.
“He is heartless, and now, in quite a different way, so am I.
“I hear him clear his throat. There’s more to come. He begins. ‘There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, my darling girl,’ he says, adopting a more civilised tone. ‘Can’t you see I’m protecting you? What will everyone think? My daughter running around with a mechanic from god-knows-where. And where would you live? Here? While you are always welcome, he’d be allowed no further than the mud room.’ I can’t stop sobbing. Even so, he continues to wound me.
‘You’ve been raised with every privilege, and for what? So you can throw it all away on the first man who professes his love for you? A man who cannot properly provide for you? Oh, yes, my darling. If you were to run off with him, there’d be no more comforts. No more voyages to Europe and the United States. You could kiss your fancy gowns goodbye.’
“I feel an explosion welling in the pit of my stomach. The more Daddy continues to speak, the more I feel as though I’m going to erupt. His voice drones on and on. If I don’t explode, I’m going to go mad. ‘Don’t you see!’ I scream. I leap up from the sofa like a wildcat. ‘I don’t care about any of those things. I love him, Daddy, and I want to be with him infinitely more than I want any of those things!’
“But Daddy is not to be dissuaded. I can tell by the look on his face he thinks he has already won this battle. ‘Nevertheless, my girl,’ he says, ‘I will not have you throwing your life away on some ne’er-do-well and there’s an end to it!’ He turns his back to me once again. I know this means he’s finished speaking. His mind has been made up.
“I stand for a moment in stunned disbelief. He doesn’t realise I’m not a child anymore and I can do whatever I please. I flee, run upstairs to my room. I slam the door behind me and hurl myself onto my bed. Then someone enters. I think it’s Daddy, so I don’t look up. I cannot bear to make eye contact with him at the moment.
“I hear a woman’s voice. ‘Is there anything I can do for you, ma’am?’ she asks. I look up and discover it’s Margaret, humbly clasping her hands in front of her. Her head is slightly bowed. ‘Get my travelling bags,’ I tell her. ‘And hurry.’ She runs from the room and an idea forms in my head.
“She soon returns, carrying two leather valises, and I instruct her to pack as many of my clothes as she can. While she is folding my clothes, I take my largest handbag and fill it with my jewellery and perfumes. I throw in brushes and mirrors, clearing the top of my dressing table completely. ‘Hurry, Margaret. Hurry,’ I tell her. Finally, she has finished the task. The wardrobe is all but bare. ‘I can’t fit no more in,’ says Margaret with a small curtsey. ‘I’m sure you’ve packed enough,’ I tell her. ‘Now help me down the stairs, Margaret. Take these bags.’ I thrust the valises into her hands. ‘You go first and check that no one’s about.’
Paranormal Lovers Box Set Page 5