“It is blooming life-like.” She said. “I nearly had a heart attack.”
“You mean it’s not real?” Maxwell had taken up a place, the other side of Ffion who although obviously distraught, still bore the slightly startled look of the recently botoxed as he patted her shoulder. I chuckled again,
“Well, of course it’s not real, what kind of a joint do you think this is?” I looked at Bella and Ophie and they obligingly chuckled too.
“But,” Max unobligingly put his finger firmly on the flaw in the argument, “It can’t do your business any good, can it, if this sort of thing is going on, when you’re just starting up – with guests and all.” Karl had swung the lens around to me for my response and I resisted the urge to smack it and him away.
“Oh, trust me,” I said firmly, “This is the last you’ll see of Roland’s sense of humour. I expect it slipped his mind we had you coming today. Look, why don’t you take yourselves into the library, you can chat to Mimi in there and we’ll get Elizabeth to bring some coffee, Devorah, would you mind organising that?” As they trooped out, Charley gave me a reproachful glare over the shoulder of the still sobbing Ffion and the sad little body hit the window hard again – as if it was knocking to come in.
The cat had no obvious injuries and apparently didn’t belong to anyone at the house, goodness knows where it had come from, but one thing was for sure, its appearance wasn’t designed to spread happiness and good cheer. The Talent certainly hadn’t taken it well – I suppose we were lucky she hadn’t departed forthwith and scuppered the whole ruddy deal. A tight-lipped Alfred, summoned from the garden where he was doing something useful with secateurs, had used a ladder to detach the cat from the rope and had then wrapped it gently in an old cloth. I had no idea how he was going to dispose of it and didn’t ask, sometimes delegation seems the best bet.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
“And they believed you?” Etty had been in her bedroom when I tracked her down, and apparently hadn’t heard the screaming. I hadn’t been in that room before, and dearly wanted to look around, but she’d fixed the green glint on me, as I recounted the sorry tale of the dead cat, so I couldn’t take in my surroundings half as much as I’d have liked.
It was a much larger room than some of the others and surprisingly uncluttered, don’t know what I’d been expecting, maybe a cauldron on the go and a selection of unidentified sinister objects hanging from the ceiling, I subdued a grin. She’d been sitting writing at an old-fashioned, roll-top desk when I knocked. There was a chair at the side of the desk and I flopped into it without being asked. The surge of adrenaline that had flooded my body with the cat fright, seemed to have beaten a retreat and I felt knocked out.
“Yes, they believed me.” I said. “It was a truly daft story, but no crazier than somebody actually stringing up a dead cat, anyway it was the best I could do at short notice.”
“Are you all right?” She asked, looking at me slumped in the chair. This was possibly the first time she’d spoken to me as if I was a person rather than a problem, and it took me aback.
“Bit shaken up. It was just…” I paused, my Mother’s histrionics had pushed me to pragmatism all my life, “…a bit unpleasant.” The solid, dull, thwump of the limp, black-furred body hitting the window came back to me and I swallowed hard before continuing. “And I don’t suppose anyone’s had time to tell you about our other little set-to, with one of those chaps who are watching Bella?”
Etty slowly screwed the cap onto the fountain pen she’d been using, but didn’t put it down, holding it absently between her fingers and rolling it gently as I summarised the Cyril incident. The skin on the back of her hands was tissue-paper creped, roped with veins standing clear, but her fingers were still elegantly slim and as familiar to me as my own, because they echoed Ophelia’s – I’d always admired my Mother’s hands, especially as I’d inherited my Father’s far stubbier digits.
“What do you plan to do?” She said, she’d reverted to her usual clipped tone.
“Do?”
“Well, action’s got to be taken, things are escalating and you’ve brought this to our door, you must have a view.” I sat up indignantly,
“Hang on one minute. Not me – Ophelia, she’s the one who hauled me down here.” Etty dismissed my Mother with a wave of her hand – something I’d often wished I could do so easily.
“Ophelia made her own decisions many years ago.” Etty said. “She always wanted to pick and choose. She wanted none of the family obligations, only to use whatever suited her. She made her choices and she’s lived with them very happily and successfully all this time. She’s one of those people who are somewhat self-centred, and thus live life in a far more relaxed manner than the rest of us.” I laughed, couldn’t help myself,
“Tell me something I don’t know.” I muttered, before remembering this was no laughing matter.
“Look,” I said. “I don’t know how I can make myself much clearer on this. Until a few days ago, I didn’t even know this family existed. When I did find out, I didn’t want anything to do with you all, and now I know a whole lot more, I can see how right I was.”
“But there are issues you can’t avoid.” She pointed out.
“My only issue.” I retorted, “Is getting Ophelia back home to sort things out with my Father.”
“But that’s not strictly true, is it?”
“You think?”
“Indeed. You have a conscience, which is precisely why you couldn’t leave well alone and leave right away, as you thought you wanted to. Because of that, you’ve muddied the waters and drawn us to the attention of quite the wrong people.
“Yes, I know that.” I said impatiently. “You’ve already said, and they’re behind all the dodgy stuff, right?” She inclined her head in silent assent. “But don’t you think you might be making a bit of a mountain out of molehill?” I said, then I thought of the scissors at Bella’s throat and the dead cat and regretted the molehill, I continued anyway, “Surely the solution couldn’t be simpler. All we need do is let them know we’re not up to any funny business, none of this ridiculous gathering or whatever it was you called it. All I want to do is get the hotel bringing in some money, and then get the hell out.” She barked a laugh, but it wasn’t of amusement.
“My dear,” she said, and that wasn’t an endearment either. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with do you? What do you have in mind? A cosy chat over a cup of tea? Posting a letter? Sending an email? Making a phone call? Where and how exactly do you imagine you’re going to get such a message across?” I stood abruptly, so I was looking down at her – it felt better.
“Well,” I said briskly, “We’ll just have to come up with something, won’t we? But if you think that’s going to involve getting me into the woods to dance starkers round a fire with the rest of the coven – you can bloody well, think again! I turned to leave the room and she laughed, this time with genuine amusement, a surprisingly warm sound.
“Honestly Sandra, I really don’t know where you get your ideas – they’re a tad antiquated, apart from which, they’re really rather insulting.” She leaned back in her chair, hands on its carved arms, her eyes briefly hooded. She raised a hand and gestured me back to the chair. I paused before I came back reluctantly.
She was silent for a moment, then,
“Through the years, there are those of us who have owned the knowledge and many more who, for one reason or another wanted to think they did. That’s where your ‘covens’ came from, women who wanted, needed to believe they were something they weren’t. And it was those women who sadly, but most usually, ran into the deepest and nastiest trouble. We, who know what we are, have always hidden in plain sight, Ophelia mastered that perfectly didn’t she?” I nodded despite myself, because it was so patently true. She acknowledged my agreement,
“Think about it girl, hearsay an
d heresy, two words with only a couple of letters difference between them, yet what a dreadful and dangerous difference.” She paused again, but I didn’t move or say anything. I both did and didn’t want to hear what she was saying – talk about a dilemma. She looked up at me then with full green intensity.
“Understand this. We’re not a coven. We’re a family, that’s how it’s always been, how it will always be. It’s never about strangers coming together, how could it be? It’s about blood, shared DNA, complete connection. And you can’t run away from that. It’s who you are, wherever you are. You may choose not to use it in any way, that’s entirely your decision, but you can’t deny where you came from.”
“OK,” I said slowly. “Supposing I accept what you say – and I’m not necessarily saying I do – what is it exactly these others, the ones who are giving us grief, are afraid of?” She tutted impatiently,
“Power, how can you not see that? We all have varying degrees of power on our own, but together we are stronger.” I sighed, this was turning silly again.
“So what’re we going to do? Take over the world, turn lots of people into toads?” She didn’t move, but suddenly the chair on which I was sitting did. I completely lost my sense of balance as it heaved, bucked and surged beneath me.
“Toads?” She said, “Toads? This isn’t Hans Christian Andersen, you stupid child. This is about the ability to control and manipulate both reality and perception. I told you before, there is a strong but delicate power balance that exists. Always has done, always will. Various families run a lot of things in this country, indeed worldwide, some of them manage things with good intent and succeed much of the time, others with not such good intent and they succeed much of the time too. I, we, have chosen not to be involved in any of that. Don’t like it, don’t want it. But that’s not necessarily how it appears now.” As she spoke, my chair was gradually regaining stability, I wished I could say the same of my stomach. I pulled my arms in, I’d flung them out to catch hold of the desk next to me, to try and prevent myself falling, now I folded them defensively over my chest. She raised an eyebrow at my discomfiture, then continued in an even tone, as if nothing in the least bit untoward had happened,
“We’re manipulators, highly skilled manipulators, playing with people’s minds, other times altering a small part of reality. You know this to be true, don’t pretend you don’t.” And she was right. I was hearing all this ridiculous, unbelievable, impossible stuff yet somewhere, deep in my gut, I knew it to be irrefutably true. I was being dragged, kicking and screaming away from my ostrich philosophy. I felt very sick.
“Get your head down, between your knees.” She leaned forward, put her hand on the back of my neck and forced it down. I knew my neck and the back of my head were drenched with sweat, but she didn’t pull away. “Better?” She released her grip on me, although I stayed where I was for a minute, resting my forearms along my thighs and noting the shaking of both. I hoped the nausea would pass, I really didn’t want to compound embarrassment by throwing up, over what looked like a very expensive rug. “Here.” She handed me a glass of water. “You might want to think of what we can do,” she said, “As being in possession of a knife. A sharpened blade can do miraculous things in the hands of a good surgeon, dreadful damage in the hands of the ill-intentioned.” I reluctantly raised my head, it hadn’t stopped spinning but I couldn’t stay down there indefinitely.
“So,” I said. “All these things going on now, how do we put a stop to them?”
“Any way we have to.” She said.
“And if I want no involvement?” I asked, Etty shrugged.
“I really don’t think, at this point you have a choice.”
“Well, I don’t agree. I’ll do what I think best to do, and I’ll do things my own way. Quite apart from which,” I added, with some satisfaction, “I don’t know anything, don’t have anything to use – all my Mother’s ever passed on down to me is a ton of aggravation.” Etty was already turning back to her desk and her interrupted writing, but over her shoulder, as I rose to leave, she said quietly,
“Most of us are taught, but there are also those who act purely instinctively, without that instruction.”
“And?”
“And you probably won’t ever know which you are, unless or until you’re in a situation where it’s a straight choice, between your principles or your life.”
As I left the room, I closed the door unnecessarily sharply, not exactly a slam but not far off – if there’s one thing I can’t bear it’s someone who has to have the last word.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
“You feeling all right? You look dreadful.” I’d huffed out of Etty’s room and stomped downstairs with a lot going on in my head. Consequently, I’d descended into a reception area milling with people before I’d had a chance to rearrange my face into managerial mode, and the less than flattering assessment on my appearance had come from the tall, skinny solicitor. I couldn’t for the moment recall his name, although I did remember he took milk and sugar in his tea and that I hadn’t taken to him either the first or the second time we’d met, the third didn’t seem to be going too well either. He was waiting at the foot of the stairs, with a briefcase anchored between his feet.
“What the hell’s going on?” I muttered, more to myself than to him, but he obviously thought we were having a conversation, because he started to explain.
Apparently, he was here for an appointment with Etty, and Elizabeth was going to pop up and let her know he was here, as soon as she’d finished dealing with this lot. He inclined his head to where Elizabeth was manfully, and probably for the first time in the hotel’s history, dealing with a queue at the reception desk.
A second glance helped resolve things a little more and I could separate the crowd into various groupings. Near the front doors, Bella was ushering what I presumed to be her latest victim/client, on their way to the annexe. In the middle of the reception area was the media contingent, with Charley apparently doubling as the make-up department and powder-dabbing Ffion’s nose, which presumably hadn’t fully recovered from being blown a lot in the aftermath of the feline fatality.
While this was going on, the attention of Max and Karl was on a third man and I could see he was being filmed, although with all the hub-bub, I couldn’t imagine how they’d hear a word he was saying. His back was to me until Karl moved him into a slightly better angle for the light and I was disconcerted to see it was our local friendly hack – Jonathan Harper. He caught my eye and raised his hand in a wave, before brushing back that unnecessary lock of floppy hair, I hoped he had the sense to keep well away from anyone with a pair of scissors and a proactive attitude. I had no idea why he’d turned up now nor, more uncomfortably, could I guess what his recall of the other night’s little adventure might be.
The couple talking to Elizabeth at the desk, had a formidable pile of luggage by their side although I didn’t think we had anyone else booking in, and they looked like they might be arriving for the long haul. Then Elizabeth looked up and from the acidity of her glare, I deduced it must be the people from The Psychic Society, come to set up, and that wasn’t luggage it was equipment. I gulped and wondered, as had been happening more and more frequently recently, whether I’d thought this through sufficiently. It was one thing pulling the wool over the eyes of J. Harper, especially when he’d retreated as far from the action as he could when things got dicey, it was another matter altogether to subject anything I might put in place, to scientific scrutiny.
“Look, I don’t want to be a nuisance,” said Whatshisface, the solicitor from behind me, although he obviously wasn’t much bothered whether he was or wasn’t. “But as Elizabeth is tied up, perhaps you’d be kind enough to let Mrs Goodkind know I’m here, she’s rather hot on timeliness.” I sighed ungraciously, and had just turned and started up the stairs again, when there was a shrill cooee from the doorway. Another
new arrival – God help us – who for some reason was waving enthusiastically at me.
“Therenithima, hellooo!” She yodelled. I shut my eyes for a second and shook my head slightly. Surely not. I was imagining things, must be the stress. There was a touch on my arm, that ruddy solicitor again,
“I think,” he said, helpfully indicating with his head, “There’s someone over there trying to catch your attention.” Two familiar figures had now appeared behind Sasha. Murray, looking as disgruntled as I’d ever seen him and my Father, pausing as he always did for a few seconds, framed in the doorway, allowing himself to be seen recognised and acknowledged. Sure enough, Karl’s camera swung that way as if magnetised.
“Serenissima,” my Father had spotted me standing on the stairs, and the mellifluous tone which hit the back of any auditorium with ease, had no problem reaching across the reception area. He swept towards me, people automatically parting to let him through as he advanced, like Moses tackling the Red Sea.
“My darling, darling girl.” He boomed, enfolding me in his arms, as if we hadn’t seen each other for years, rather than just last week. “You’ve no possible idea how much I’ve missed you.” And he swung me round slightly so he could get a better view of the audience reaction – they were rapt. They were even more rapt when Sasha joined the fray, putting her arms round both me and my Father in a kind of awkward group hug and beginning to cry.
“If you only knew,” she declared, “How much I’ve always wanted a daughter of my own to love and now, dearetht Therenithima, I have you.” I debated whether I should point out I was, in fact, several years older than her, and then I wondered if perhaps this wasn’t really happening, maybe I was befuddled or befazed or whatever it was they called it, or maybe Etty was simply getting her own back because of my overt scepticism. And then, over the top of Sasha’s blonde curls, currently buried in my bosom, I caught the jaundiced eye of Murray. He shook his head morosely. It was a small gesture that yet conveyed so much, and I knew this was no hallucination and the only thing that could possibly make it worse was if Ophelia were to pitch up.
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