by Ruth Ware
“Well, I’m not eating it,” Kitty said firmly. She pushed her plate away. “I saw Mum buying Hobnobs in Penzance today.”
• • •
THERE WAS NO DESSERT, BUT after dinner they made their way through to the drawing room, where a lukewarm pot of coffee stood on a table in front of the fire. Mitzi left the room and returned with three packets of biscuits, which she opened up and distributed. Her children fell on them like starving orphans. Hal picked out a chocolate digestive and dipped it into the cup of coffee Edward poured for her. The taste, as she put the crumbling corner in her mouth, was pure home, and for a moment she was transported back to her childhood, to Sunday mornings in her mother’s bed, surreptitiously dipping cookies into her mother’s morning coffee.
“Are you all right, Harriet?” Mitzi’s voice broke into her thoughts. “You looked very pensive there, for a moment.”
Hal swallowed her mouthful, then forced a smile.
“Yes, I’m fine. Sorry. I was just thinking.”
“I found out something about Hal today,” Ezra said unexpectedly, from the other side of the room. He picked up his coffee and sipped it, his eyes resting on Hal as he swallowed. “Something she’s been keeping rather quiet.”
Hal looked up, startled, and felt her heart speed up a little. She went back over the conversation in the car, the things she had said about her mother. Had she let something slip? Her hand, as she set the coffee cup down on its saucer, shook a little, so that the china rattled together with a tinkling sound.
“What’s that?” she managed at last.
“Oh . . . I think you know, Hal,” Ezra said. There was mischief in his smile. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell them.”
This is it, Hal thought. He knows. He’s found something out, and he is giving me a chance to confess before he tells them about my past.
“You’re right,” Hal said. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “There is—there is something I didn’t tell you. Uncle Harding—I—”
Ezra put something down on the coffee table between them.
It was a tin of Golden Virginia tobacco.
Hal felt the blood rush to her face as she realized her mistake, the huge blunder she had almost just made.
“Harriet is a tarot reader,” Ezra said. “Aren’t you, Hal?”
“Oh!” Mingled relief and anticlimax flooded through her. She felt a strong desire to laugh. “I didn’t realize that’s what you were going to— Yes. It’s true.”
“A tarot reader?” Mitzi exclaimed. She clapped her hands. “But how exotic! Harriet, whyever didn’t you tell us?”
“I don’t know,” Hal said truthfully. “I suppose . . . some people are a little bit odd about it.” She thought back to Mrs. Warren, the fury that had boiled up in her face when she saw the cards.
“You know,” Abel said, “you know . . . it’s funny. I would never have thought Maud’s daughter would end up doing something like that. She was terribly skeptical.”
Hal glanced up at him, but there was nothing combative in his tone or expression. His face was only a little sad, as if remembering back to happier times.
“She was . . . well, I’m sure you know this better than we do, but she was a very rational person,” he continued. “She had no time for what I think she would have called ‘bullshit.’ Sorry, Harriet,” he added hastily, patting her arm. “I don’t mean that to sound as rude as it probably comes across. I hope I haven’t offended you.”
“It’s okay,” Hal said. She smiled, almost in spite of herself. “I’m not offended. And actually . . . I don’t really believe in it myself.”
“Really?” Mitzi said, her voice slightly doubtful. “How does that work, then? Don’t you feel guilty taking people’s money if you think it’s all rubbish?”
Hal felt her cheeks flush. She rarely admitted this to people she didn’t know—certainly never to clients. It felt like a doctor admitting that he had no faith in conventional medicine, or a psychiatrist dissing Freud.
“That probably sounded more cynical than I meant it to—but . . . I’m not superstitious. I don’t believe in knocking on wood, or crossing fingers, or crystal gazing, or any of that. I don’t think the cards have any special occult power, though I’m not sure I’d say that outright to a client. But they do . . .” She found herself struggling to articulate something she rarely dissected, even to herself. “They do still have meaning—even if you know nothing about tarot, you can see the richness of the symbolism and the imagery. The ideas they represent . . . they’re universal forces that bear on all our lives. I suppose what I believe is not that the cards can tell you anything you don’t already know, or that they have magical answers to your questions, but that they give you . . . they give you the space to question . . . ? Does that make sense? Whether the statements I make in a reading are true or false, they give the sitter an opportunity to reflect on those forces, to analyze their instincts. I don’t know if I’m explaining this right.”
But Mitzi was nodding, a frown drawn between her neat brows.
“Yeees . . .” she said slowly. “Yes, I can see that.”
“So will you do one?” Kitty asked. She sat up, her eyes wide with anticipation. “Do me! Oh please, do me first!”
“Kitty,” Mitzi scolded. “Harriet is not at work.”
“Nonsense,” Ezra said. He grinned across at Hal. “She didn’t have to bring her cards, did she?”
Hal folded her arms, uncomfortably unsure what to say. After all, it was true. She had chosen to bring her cards, those cards in particular. But she didn’t want to give a reading, not here, not now, with these cards. For reading the cards was revealing—and not only for the client. Hal knew that she gave away almost as much about herself in the remarks she made as she found out about her clients.
But Kitty was looking at her pleadingly, her hands clasped with anticipation, and Hal didn’t have the heart to refuse, or the skill to do it gracefully, in this house where she was a guest.
“Okay,” she said at last. “I’ll do one for you, Kitty.”
“Awesome!” Kitty said excitedly. “What do you need? Do you need a special table or anything?”
Hal shook her head.
“No, an ordinary table is just fine. Sit opposite me.”
Kitty knelt on the rug opposite, and Hal opened the tin, and drew out her cards.
“Oooh . . .” Kitty breathed, as Hal spread them on the table. Her eyes darted from one card to another: the two of wands . . . the Hermit . . . the queen of cups . . . “What’s that one?” she asked, pointing at the Star.
“This one?” Hal picked it up. In her deck, the Star was a woman bathing in a forest pool at night, pouring water over herself beneath the light of the stars. It was a beautiful card, serene and tranquil. “It’s the Star,” Hal said. “It means . . . renewal of faith, peace, communing with yourself, serenity. Or reversed, it means the opposite—discouragement, dwelling on the bad things in life.”
“And what about this one?” Kitty pointed towards a card at the edge of the deck. It showed a girl crawling across a snowy landscape. Snowflakes fell from a dark sky, their tranquility a sharp contrast to the scene below, where the young woman was poised in her endless struggle. Her bloodied fingers had scored deep grooves in the snow as she dragged herself towards some unseen goal, and in her back were nine daggers, each of a different kind, some long, some short, some polished with finely wrought hilts, others no better than wooden stakes. The tenth, a piece of glass, or perhaps ice, was in her own hand.
“That’s the ten of swords,” Hal said. She knew the card off by heart, but now she picked it up, studying it afresh, before turning it so that Kitty could better see the image. It was one of the darkest cards in the pack, and it was one that always made Hal flinch a little when it came up in a reading. “It means . . . betrayal, backstabbing, ending . . . but it can also mean that an ordeal is coming to a close. That you’ll be given peace, though the price may not be one you want to pay.”
“On the card, yes,” Hal said. “But you shouldn’t take them literally. Now . . .” She picked up the cards, shuffled them together. “I’m going to spread the deck out facedown, and then ask you to choose ten cards. Don’t touch the cards—just show me with your finger.”
There was something comforting in the familiar ritual. Hal could do a Celtic Cross reading almost in her sleep, and as she laid the cards out and ran through the familiar commands and explanations she always used, she felt her own mind clear.
It was true what she had told Mitzi. She didn’t believe in anything mystical, but she did believe in the power of the cards to reveal something about the querent, both to the reader and to the sitter themselves.
She didn’t ask Kitty what her question was, but she knew from her bright, blushing face what it would be—something about a boy, no doubt. Or maybe a girl. There was no fear in Kitty’s face, no doubt or desperation, as there was when people were asking questions about life or death, about the safety of a child, or the health of a parent.
To Kitty, this was just a bit of fun. He loves me, he loves me not. And that was as it should be, at her age.
When they came to the final card of the reading, the “outcome” card, Hal turned it over, and saw that it was the Lovers, upright, a naked man and woman entwined, his hand upon her breast, bathed in sunlight. And she knew immediately, from the scarlet blush that mounted up Kitty’s neck and flushed her cheeks, that she had been right.
“This card,” Hal said, smiling in spite of herself, so infectious was Kitty’s embarrassed delight, “this card represents the outcome—it’s the overriding card of the whole reading, and it’s the closest that the cards come to a direct answer to your question. You have chosen the Lovers—a trump card, one of the strongest in the deck. And it means love. Love and union and relationships. What this card is saying, here, in this position, is there will be love and, yes, happiness in your future. I see a very important relationship, one that will be very dear to you, and bring you much joy. But,” something made her add, looking at Mitzi’s suddenly rather pursed mouth, “this card also means choice—the choice between right and wrong, the high road and the low. This card shows the balance between all the different forces in your life, and indicates the importance of choosing the right course—one that will keep all those forces in their proper proportions. Romantic love is just one element—and it won’t always lead you right. You must be careful not to let it dominate everything else in your life. Satisfaction from other sources—work, or family, for example—is just as important, and can bring you just as much happiness. And what this card is telling me is that you will always be loved—” She swallowed for a moment, thinking of Mitzi and Harding and the warm cocoon of security wrapped around their children. “You will always have someone there for you. You can strike out into the world, secure in that love, secure that love will find you.”
She stopped, and there was a short pause, and then a little round of applause from the others.
“What a lovely reading, Harriet,” Mitzi said. Kitty was pink and radiant, and Hal was suddenly pleased that she had agreed to do this.
“Anyone else?” she said, almost jokingly, and she was surprised when Abel grinned and put up his hand.
“Go on,” he said. “Do me.”
Hal looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was getting on for ten, and Kitty’s reading had taken longer than she had realized.
“Okay,” she said. “But I’ll do you a quicker version of the reading—the Celtic Cross takes rather a long time. This one is simpler, it’s called a three-card spread. You can use it in lots of different ways, to answer a question, or to feel your way through a dilemma, or even to explore your past lives, if you believe in that sort of thing, but for now let’s just do a past, present, future reading. That’s nice and simple—it’s a reading people often begin with when they’re starting out.”
She shuffled the cards, and again went through the familiar patter—asking Abel to think of a question, getting him to cut the cards and choose just three this time. Then she laid them out, facedown—past, present, future—and waited for a moment, gathering her thoughts, listening to the hush that had descended on the room, the crackle of the fire, the sound of the wind in the chimney, and the tick, tick of the clock on the mantel.
At last, when her thoughts were still and clear, Hal turned the first one, the past card. There was a moment when the watchers circled around, all crowded in to look—and then a ripple of laughter broke out, as they recognized the image from Kitty’s reading. It was the Lovers. Hal smiled, but she shook her head.
“I know what you’re thinking—that this is the same card that Kitty drew, and that I’ll say the same things, but this is inverse—you’ve drawn it upside down.”
“What does that mean?” Abel asked. Hal watched him looking at the card, trying to read his reaction. It was hard to decipher, but she thought there was something a little mocking about it. His mouth was serious, but compressed as if he were hiding a smile. Hal didn’t mind people who didn’t take the readings seriously—she didn’t like hostility, but amusement was fine. Now she frowned, looking at the image, trying to clarify her thoughts and crystallize them into words.
“You heard me talk to Kitty about the fact that the Lovers represent choice,” she began. “Well, this is a card full of stark opposites—male and female, sky and earth, the fire of the sun and water of the river behind them, the high road of the mountain and the low road of the valley. In the past you’ve had a choice—and a pretty stark one. It was a crossroads in your life—a decision where you . . .” She paused, seeing Abel’s hands tighten, his fingers going to a ring on the fourth finger of his right hand, heard the slight clearing of his throat showing she had touched on a nerve. He twisted the ring as she continued. “I think perhaps it was to do with . . . a relationship? You made your choice, and at the time it seemed like the right, the only decision . . . but now—”
She stopped, suddenly realizing the dangerous path this reading was leading her down.
Abel’s expression had lost its mocking amusement, and behind him, Hal saw Edward stir uneasily; she bit her lip, wondering if she had already said too much.
To cover the moment of confusion, Hal turned over the next card. It was the ten of swords, and Hal saw Abel push his chair back a little from the table, cross his legs defensively. Something was very wrong here—she could feel the tension emanating from him, and she knew she had to tread carefully, for she had stumbled on something she didn’t understand and it was in danger of blowing up in her face.
“This . . . this is the present,” she said slowly. “The problem you’re wrestling with at the moment. It concerns . . . a betrayal—”
She broke off. Abel had stood up and pushed past her, not waiting for the end of the reading.
“I’m sorry, Hal,” he flung over his shoulder, “but I don’t think I can do this.”
The drawing room door slammed shut behind him.
“Oh God.” It was Edward, his face white and anguished. He shot a look at Hal, something between anger and upset. “Thank you very much,” he said, and then yanked Abel’s chair out of the way and ran after his partner into the hallway. “Abel!” Hal heard from far down the corridor as his feet receded. “Abel, come back!”
Mitzi looked first at Ezra, then Harding, and blew out a long breath.
“Oh dear.”
“What?” Hal looked around the circle of faces, dismay rising in her. “What did I say?”
“You weren’t to know, Harriet,” Mitzi said. She got up, and picked up the chair that Edward had toppled in his haste to follow Abel. “Although quite why Abel reacted like that I don’t know. . . .”
“What Hal said was completely general,” Ezra said. “If Al hadn’t reacted like a hysterical teenager—”
“Go to bed, children,” Mitzi said firmly. There was a chorus of
protest from Richard, Kitty, and Freddie, which she quelled by adding, “Just this once, you can take your phones up with you. I’ll come to collect them at lights out. Go!”
She waited until the children had left the room, dragging their feet, and then shut the door behind them and turned to Hal.
“Harriet, I wouldn’t normally gossip about this, but I think at this point it’s better that you know. As far as I understand it, Abel proposed marriage to Edward last year, but then . . .”
She faltered and looked across at Harding, who threw up his hands as if to say Don’t look at me! You started this.
“But then it turned out Edward had been fucking some woman for about four years,” Ezra finished, rather brutally. “There. I’ve said it. That is what happened, isn’t it?”
Mitzi nodded, rather sadly.
“Yes, that’s my understanding too. I had a rather confused conversation with Edward about it last year when he was drunk, where he tried to represent it as some sort of wild oats, but really of course the time for all that is well past. It’s one thing to do that sort of thing as an eighteen-year-old, quite different when you’re a fortysomething man in a long-term relationship. Anyway, to cut a long story short, I think they went through a really very rocky time. I had thought it was all sorted out, but evidently this brought up some painful memories. You weren’t to know, Harriet.”
“Oh no,” Hal said wretchedly. She put her head in her hands. “I’m so sorry. I wish I hadn’t done this.”
“It was my fault,” Ezra said. He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have asked you to read. I’m sorry, Hal.”
“You keep calling her that,” Mitzi said lightly. Her effort to change the subject was a little forced and obvious, but Hal welcomed it nonetheless. She held out the tin, and Hal gathered the cards together and slipped them inside. “Is it a nickname?”
“Yes,” Hal said. “It—it’s what my mother used to call me.”
“You must miss her enormously,” Mitzi said. She put out a hand, and tucked a stray lock of hair behind Hal’s ear. To her horror, Hal felt tears welling up inside her. She turned away, pretending to search for a stray card, swallowing hard against the sudden lump in her throat and blinking away the swimming tears in her eyes.