Mystical Circles (14 page)

“How?” she enquired.

Craig wore an enigmatic expression. Opposite, Zoe threw her a sharp glance. “The answers will come,” said Craig, “as you float. The tank’s filled with a thick, warm saline solution. You climb in, close the lid, and you’re in total blackness.”

Juliet shuddered. “I should hate that.”

Craig gave a tolerant smile. “Many love it. They find bliss there. It all depends on your viewpoint.”

“Where is the tank?” she asked.

“In a cabin of its own. The former cart hovel. Halfway between the barn and the goose house.”

“Ah yes, I’ve seen it.”

Craig waited a few moments. “Some of my methods may appeal to you more than others.”

They regarded each other slowly. “I doubt it,” she said.

“Try them anyway, Juliet,” he responded, “otherwise you won’t be in a position to form an opinion, will you?” He lifted his voice. “Everyone agree with that?”

Not one voice of dissent could be heard.

“And that provides a perfect introduction to our guest speaker, Theo,” said Craig. The atmosphere lifted at once. “Theo Lucas in fact needs no introduction, except perhaps to you, Zoe, and you too of course, Juliet. His last visit was in February. He’s always welcome among us.”

“That’s because his boundaries are fluid and flexible,” whispered Llewellyn in Juliet’s ear.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

But before he could reply, a figure had appeared in the open doorway from the sitting room, to the left of
The Lady and the Unicorn
. Blond and neatly-bearded, in his early thirties, Theo looked smart in a black shirt and crisp dog collar. His grey, discerning eyes took them all in.

“Greetings, everyone.” His tone was pleasant and well-modulated. At his appearance, the group broke spontaneously into a round of applause.

“Welcome, Theo.” Craig gestured for him to come and join them, and occupy the space recently vacated by the Buddha at the end of the table. “I hope you’ve fully recovered from your journey?”

“I have, thank you, Craig. Thank you indeed.” As Theo seated himself, he let his glance travel around the table, encompassing everyone in its warmth. “How delightful to be here with you all, once again! I can hardly believe four months have passed since my last visit.”

“We’ve looked forward immensely to your return, Theo,” said Craig.

The young clergyman smiled at him. “Thank you. I was flattered to be invited a second time.”

Well, thought Juliet, Theo certainly seemed to have the gift of making himself agreeable.

“But there are some here I haven’t met before,” Theo went on.

“Of course.” Craig swept his arm out. “Seated beside Llewellyn, may I introduce Juliet?” He gave a brief account of who she was and why she was there.

“Fascinating,” said Theo. “I look forward to the opportunity to chat to you about that, Juliet. Used to be a freelance broadcaster myself.”

This information came as a surprise to her. “Is that so, Theo? What kind of work did you do?”

“Recorded a few video diaries for the BBC. Must be five or so years ago now. Sadly lost touch with the programme editor since then.”

She opened her mouth to question him further, but James broke in. “I’m sure you’ll catch up with Theo later, Juliet. But for now shall we let Craig get on with the introductions?”

She stared at him. Why had he interrupted like that? Did he know something about Theo he didn’t want aired publicly at the table?

“And sitting here, to my left, Theo,” said Craig hastily, “is Juliet’s sister Zoe, who’s come to try us out, and may possibly join us if she likes us enough.”

Juliet looked at Zoe, struck by the way Craig had introduced her. It certainly didn’t sound as if he regarded her as the love of his life.

Zoe turned from Craig to Theo, a slightly hurt expression still on her face.

Theo’s eyes met hers. “Pleased to meet you, Zoe,” he said.  

The look they shared lasted longer than Juliet would have considered appropriate. His manner was modesty and gentleness itself, but she sensed something lay beneath the surface, telling a very different story.

James started clumsily refilling his neighbours’ glasses, spilling wine on the table. What was going on?

Al raised his voice. “Say, Craig. How about some fizz to celebrate Theo’s arrival?”

For a moment, he became the centre of attention. James held the bottle aloft, frozen in mid-pour, his eyes holding a curious expression. “Champagne, you mean?”

“Sure.”

“Is that necessary?” James asked. “After all, we’ll be taking it up to the eastern ridge for sunrise tomorrow.”

“No reason why we shouldn’t have some now though,” said Craig. “Both to celebrate Theo’s arrival, and to begin the midsummer festival. An excellent idea, Al. Go and get a couple of bottles.”

The American instantly obliged. Laura leapt up to help.

Juliet continued to view James, speculating. He had stopped her enquiring about the break in Theo’s freelance broadcasting career, which she was intrigued by, especially in view of Rory’s words to her on her first evening about Theo
vanishing from the face of the earth
. She was engaged by Theo’s amiable smile and his gracious manner, and curious to know why he’d cut off that career, and what he did afterwards.

After a few moments, Al came back in with two bottles of
Dom Perignon
. Laura, behind him, carried a tray full of champagne flutes. She set this on the table. As Al began the process of opening the first bottle, Juliet noticed James concentrating all his attention on the removal of some minor mark from the sleeve of his velvet jacket, in a manner which was both fastidious and edgy. The cork popped, and everyone else cheered.

Al was now pouring champagne and handing the flutes down the table, which were accepted by everyone but Rory, who as always confined himself to water.

Juliet felt apprehensive as she looked at Rory. Violent, Oleg had said. When? How? Why? It couldn’t be the effect of drink. He never touched it, so far as she could see. Only water.

Craig stood up. “To Theo,” he said. “To Theo. Welcome,” chorused the group. All who had champagne took their first sip. Then Craig continued. “Let’s celebrate this midsummer festival.”

All eyes were upon him, and Craig began: “
These are the long days when the sun rides high above us; at this time of shortest night and longest day let us touch that vein of eternity in us all as we open our arms wide and say: Sister Death, we know you are coming and yet we greet you
.”

Suddenly she looked at Oleg. She saw new distress upon his face. Oh dear. What could possibly be the matter? Surely nothing in Craig’s words had struck the wrong note for Oleg?

Craig continued his recital. “
We are held in a life that beats for ever and a light that cannot end. Let us celebrate; let us touch eternity at this midsummer feast
.”

“Let us celebrate,” the group repeated in unison, and drank more champagne. The lids were removed from the dishes.

“Pass your plates,” said Al. “I’ll be mother.”

Theo reopened the conversation. “So how have you all been since I last saw you?”

“Continuing our journey of growth,” said Rory in an unctuous tone of voice, flicking his blond bouffant hairstyle back.

“But not healed yet, by a long way,” added Oleg darkly.

“Of course not,” murmured Theo. “These things can take a lifetime. I still struggle in every area possible.”

Craig moved swiftly on from this. “Are you still with the Golden Chalice Foundation, Theo?” he queried.

“Yes. They keep me busy travelling up and down the country. Guest spots at residential retreats, and so on. But no community gives me greater pleasure than this one. And that’s not simply due to its location, here in this lovely Cotswolds valley. Though I must admit I do have an affinity for priest holes and monks’ rooms.”

Laughter rippled around the table.

“But most of all, it’s because of you, every one of you here. Certainly there’s nowhere I feel more at home than in the Wheel of Love.”

Chuckles of appreciation travelled up and down the table. Laura gazed at him over her champagne flute with shining eyes.

Juliet watched James for his reaction to these words. His eyes were hooded. Was he jealous of Theo at all? She didn’t know enough, yet, to imagine a cause for this.

“Therefore, I’d like you to be first to hear my news. Not good, I’m afraid. I’m in trouble with my bishop. Or so I hear from stories that reached my ears early this morning.” Gasps of alarm escaped from the group: which members of it, Juliet couldn’t tell; but certainly not from James.

“How terrible.” Laura clutched the table for support.

“What have you done, Theo?” enquired James. “Professional misconduct?”

Patrick crossed himself. Rory gave James a chilly stare. But Theo went on, unruffled.

“I wrote and published a short book on Synchronicity; a subject which, as some of you may know, I’m very interested in. It is, of course, a term coined by Carl Jung. But I’m beginning to regret having published it now. It appears some of my colleagues think it’s heretical.” He stopped. The room had fallen silent.

“What does your bishop think?” said Zoe.

“I don’t know yet,” he admitted.

Don wore a wry expression. “When will you?”

“I expect a call later,” said Theo.

Craig spoke in a gracious tone of voice. “Theo, we accept you as you are. You need make no defence of yourself here.” He lifted his glass as he said this.

“Hear, hear,” said James; Juliet noticed a slight shiftiness in his manner.

“Thank you, Craig.” Theo put his champagne flute down, and was about to help himself to more potatoes when Rory burst out, across the table: “Theo, you remember Craig’s words about Sister Death?”

Theo nodded, and looked at him in faint surprise. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you may be able to help me. You see, I had a near-death experience last night,” said Rory.

“Ah. Intriguing. You must tell me all about it after dinner.”

Patrick sucked his breath in between his teeth. “Yes. Thank you for sparing us from it right now, Rory.”

“Oh, no. I don’t want to do that. I want to share it with you all,” said Rory in a determined manner.

“No,” said Craig. Rory looked at him. Their eyes held for a few moments, then Rory subsided.

Juliet liked Craig’s handling of this. She thought the reference to
Sister Death
a beautiful and strangely consoling phrase reminiscent of St Francis of Assisi, but even so she recognised that some of the more vulnerable people in the group might see it differently. And evidently Craig had reason to believe Rory’s experience was best kept to himself for the time being.

Clearly Craig did hold some kind of power over his community members. She’d seen that in Zoe, in Laura, in Beth, and now Rory. She’d make sure, though, that he never tried to claim the same kind of power over her. She was becoming quietly confident that if he had any such plan it would fail.

“Honey-braised carrots, Theo?” enquired Patrick.

“Oh. Yes please.”

As Patrick shovelled them onto his plate, though, Theo addressed Rory again. “Nevertheless, I should be happy to chat to you about this experience of yours later, Rory. I’ve had several such experiences myself in the past.”

While he said this, Juliet’s attention had been caught by Oleg again. He seemed to have gone rigid, gripped by some powerful emotion, held severely in check. What was the matter with him?

Patrick, meanwhile, was apparently choking, having swallowed too much champagne.  Sam anxiously patted him on the back.

A loud clatter of cutlery at Oleg’s place commanded everyone’s attention. The Slav had abandoned his meal, pushed his chair back, and leapt to his feet. Even Beth looked slightly startled. At last! An emotional reaction from her, thought Juliet.

“What is it, Oleg?” said Craig.

“I want you to release me,” cried Oleg. “I’ve seen the darkness. I need to leave this place at once.”

Juliet stared at him. What had brought this on? Was it Rory and his near-death experience? Oleg seemed oblivious even to Beth’s hand, which had crept out to stroke his arm, offering some comfort. At last! Some compassion for Oleg. But was it too late?

Meanwhile, perplexity reigned among the group. Oleg was now bending forward, almost double, his forehead upon the table. Edgar, on his left side, had placed a restraining hand upon his shoulder.

“Food poisoning?” asked Rory sympathetically.

Edgar glared at him.

“I feel so inadequate,” moaned Oleg, lifting his head.

“What makes you feel that, Oleg?” asked Theo.

Oleg shot upright again, shocking Juliet with the ferocity of his body language. Beth sprang back from him as if bitten by a spider. “I’m on the edge. Can’t cope with life any more. Sometimes I wake feeling as if my bed is suspended in space out from a sheer cliff face, and the nearest ground is a thousand metres below.”

“Interesting,” murmured Edgar, scratching something with his pen on one of his sheets of A4 paper.

Oleg ran for the door. James rose too, but with more dignity, hastening round the back of the diners on his side of the table to intercept him. Beth had begun to cry silently.

“Come and sit down again, Oleg.” James took his arm. “Finish your meal. We can talk about this. We usually do.”

“Talking never solves anything,” snarled Oleg. He shook James’s hand off, but remained in the room.

“Who started this?” asked Edgar.

Beth smothered her face in her napkin. Theo reached out to her gently, and squeezed her shoulder. She didn’t react.

Rory broke in. “Me. I’ll take the blame. Why not? I usually do.”

Patrick swiftly rose to the bait. “Yes! It was you and your near-death experience, Rory, that set him off.”

Before Rory could react, Craig interjected. “That’s enough, Patrick. Rory, calm down. You remember the exercises I gave you.”

What were they? Juliet wondered. As far as she could see, Rory was now hyperventilating, which she would have thought made matters worse. Beth sniffed loudly, and bowed her head almost to the table, her face still buried in the napkin. No one else said a thing. Instead they stared first at Rory, then at Oleg and James, who remained by the door, and then at Beth, and finally at each other with baffled expressions.