Mystical Circles (11 page)

Would he fall for it? She felt small and weak, hiding behind a smart-tongued façade. After all, it had been a good question. And one she found difficult to answer honestly. Her focus had, until now, been solely on discovering what Zoe was up to, and getting her home again. Why should she feel bad about that?

Aloud, she said, “All right. Let’s suppose I want to be a very serene, loving being, in tune with the universe.”

Craig’s eyes regained their warmth. “I’d say you’ve come to the right place.”  He sat back again, in a relaxed pose.

“Ah-ha,” she said. “So that’s your end product.” Had she got the better of him, in this exchange? She hardly believed so.

“Maybe,” he replied. “But it’s by no means easily achieved. After all, we have ourselves and each other to contend with. One of the things I make clear to my new recruits is there’ll be a lot of hard work.”

“Hard work?”

“Oh yes.” He laughed. “My students work. And that doesn’t just mean window-cleaning, polishing and vacuuming – though they do all that. No, I mean psychological work, and spiritual work. I mean work to release negative emotions, rubbish that’s accumulated over the years.”

Juliet viewed him narrowly. This kind of talk made her glad
she
wasn’t a member of his group. To her it all sounded very risky. Where might such self-analysis and soul-searching lead?  For some it would bring release. For others it might cause breakdown. Who could tell? Of one thing she was absolutely sure. No way would she allow Craig to reach into her, and try to change
her
mental state.

“What about the past?” she said. “I’ve heard a number of confusing things about your attitude to that. Some say your aim is to blot it out.”

He shifted position in his chair once more. “A misunderstanding. Though I do encourage my students to
erase their personal history
.”

A small silence fell.

“Yet you keep souvenirs of your past in your desk drawer,” she remarked.

His face darkened.

“If that is indeed what they are,” she said.

He jumped up, startling her. “What…?”

She twisted round to look at him in alarm, as he paced across the kitchen away from her.

“Just take care, Juliet.” He spun to face her. He looked livid.

She too got up, confused and fearful. She still clutched the microphone. “What’s the matter, Craig?”

“I hear you’ve been asking Edgar if I help, or indeed join, James in his cross-dressing.”

“That’s right. Well, it looked like a woman’s headdress to me. In your drawer.”

The colour of his face swiftly changed, now deathly pale. “That’s none of your business, Juliet.”

“But I – ”  she began, then just as abruptly stopped. A few moments passed. Then she said, “And the burned timber. You never did say whether there’d been a fire.”

He lifted the kettle, and slammed it down with unexpected violence. She gasped. Her heart was racing.

He strode back over to her, and took her by both arms. His touch wasn’t gentle. “Just listen, Juliet. No, I don’t help James with cross- dressing. Or join him. Primitive. I don’t need it. I can change my appearance at will.”

She felt a jolt in her abdomen. “You mean suddenly look like a different person?”

He nodded, keeping her within his gaze. “Completely different. It’s all about having a fluid and flexible ego. The shamans have mastered it. Once you’ve learned the skill, it’s like a classic sorcery tale. Shapeshifting. Close friends will fail to recognise you.”

A creepy sensation travelled up her spine. He released her. She flexed her shoulders and arms for a few moments, trying to calm her breathing. She didn’t trust herself to pursue the subject further. “Shall we sit down again?” she suggested.

He did so. She settled into her chair once more then held the mike out close to his mouth. “We’ve mentioned the past. Your father Don is here with us right now. Let’s talk about him.”

Craig reacted with a gesture of light dismissal. But she could see through that. “I understand,” she said, “that he runs a property management company in Yorkshire. He’s a man of the world, rooted in practicalities.”

“True.”

“He must struggle to come to terms with what you’re doing here.” Did Craig find this line of questioning offensive? She couldn’t tell.

“Perhaps so,” he said coolly. “If by
practicalities
you mean
the worship of profit
, then naturally his values fly in the face of all that the community stands for.”

“But he was involved in the purchase of this property, wasn’t he? And he freely chose to join you here.”

His lips tightened. He said nothing. She’d hoped he might open up on the subject. But it didn’t look like he planned to provide her with any clues. They both remained silent for a few moments.

She rested her elbow on the table. “Let’s talk again about some of your teachings, Craig.”

“Go ahead.”

“Do you believe in reincarnation?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“You believe we’re perfecting ourselves through many lives? What evidence do you have? How do you account for the existence of evil?”

“I don’t waste too much time agonising about it, Juliet.” A cryptic gleam entered his eye. “Shall we say the destiny of an evil man is to come back as a slug?”

She could detect no sign that he was joking. She felt like slapping him. “Really? That seems a bit hard on the slugs. Are we to understand that they are what they are as a punishment for wrongs done in previous lives?”

“Yes. Tough, isn’t it?”

How she’d have loved to shake him! But that was out of the question. She sensed his hostility increase. Perhaps it was better to move on to the next subject: the fears for her sister that had brought her here in the first place. “I’m worried about Zoe.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“I still can’t see what effect your ideas might have on her. She’s looking for something to focus her life; but what sort of focus is this that you offer?”

He laughed. “Your worry is totally misplaced.”

“You think so?”

He gave her a long, steady look. “Would you turn your machine off?”

She obeyed, then regarded him again challengingly. “Zoe’s going through a very changeable stage. No wonder she was attracted to this Centre. She hasn’t stuck at anything at all since leaving university. Not, I admit, that that’s too big a deal. Many go through it. But the point is how can this be the right place for her to end up?”

“Who says she is to
end up
here?” He wore a frank, even innocent expression.

“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.”