Mystical Circles (21 page)

“Juliet! What’s happening?” He held her for several moments, steadying her, then released her, his eyes on her throat. “Have you upset Rory?”

“Craig!” she burst out before she had time to process this extraordinary remark. She could barely speak, but mustered what was left of her energy. “Thank God,” she croaked. “Call the police. Rory tried to kill me.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” His eyes had widened. He spoke the words as if he thought her reaction over-the-top.

Patrick appeared from the library, Edgar close behind him. Both men stopped short, and gaped at her.

“Holy Mary and Jesus! Have you been provoking Rory?” asked Patrick, delicately touching her neck. She flinched. Her heart was pounding.

His words appalled her. She turned to indicate the sitting room. “Rory’s still in there,” she gasped. “He’s lethal.”

Craig moved closer again, and gently inspected the raised weals on her throat. Meanwhile, the Irishman scuttled back into the library – to collect, she was to learn in a few moments, the first-aid box. Edgar, left behind, became absorbed in scribbling something on a sheet of paper on his clipboard.

“I’m very sorry, Juliet,” said Craig. “This is quite inexcusable. I shall have words with Rory about it.”

Juliet’s mouth had fallen open. Was that all he meant to do? “Words, Craig? Nothing else?”

Patrick emerged from the library with the first-aid box. Setting it upon the hall table, he opened it up and produced a tube of Savlon. Seeing this, Juliet’s sense of unreality increased. They had a homicidal maniac in the sitting room, and all they could do was produce antiseptic cream and pathetic remarks.

“Now, calm down, Juliet. Let’s think clearly about what’s happened.” Craig laid his hand on her arm as he said this.

“But, Craig,” she whispered. “He needs to be locked up.”

“Juliet, please be patient. I do care about what’s happened to you. But I’ve learned that when Rory’s done something like this, it’s best to leave him alone for a while to calm down.”

“You’re protecting him. Why?”

Patrick dabbed Savlon on her injured throat. “There. That’ll help.”

“I can’t explain right now,” continued Craig. “Just believe me. In most cases he’s perfectly harmless.”

“
Most cases
? What does that mean?”

Patrick interjected before Craig could answer. “Juliet, we all have to protect Rory. I agree, he can be too physical; but that makes him no more guilty than you or I, for, as the Good Book says,
what a man thinks in his heart
…”

Craig silenced him with a severe look.

“Have I heard you right, Craig?” asked Juliet. “You mean – all he’ll get from you is a tongue-lashing? Shall I call the police myself?”

Craig regarded her sympathetically. “Do you really think that would be a good idea?”

As she held his gaze, she felt a change. Her breathing calmed. Her mind cleared. She started to relax again.

“You don’t want to jeopardise your documentary,” he said softly. He took her hand.

“No,” she agreed hesitantly.

“That’s right,” Craig said. “Now listen. I told you a few days ago, didn’t I, that nothing here is what it seems? Well, that’s probably truer of Rory than of anybody else. I’m very sorry this happened. I’ll go straight in there to speak to him.” He squeezed Juliet’s hand lightly, and released it.

She looked at him. He turned, and went towards the sitting room door. She couldn’t bear to wait and watch or listen. Instead she went up the staircase, intending to retreat to her bedroom.

For a few moments she studied herself in the mirror, fighting back tears at the sight of her neck. It looked terrible. Fiery. Red. Soon to be swollen and bruised. How dare Rory? How dare Craig? She felt like screaming.

But no sooner had she sunk onto her bed than there came a knock on her door. Not Craig again so soon, surely. “Who’s that?”

“Don.” She felt enormously relieved. “What timing.” She opened the door.

He entered. “Just a quick word before I drive Theo to the station…”  He stopped, and studied her throat in horror.

“Your neck. What happened to it?”

“Rory tried to throttle me.”

“What?” he exclaimed, his face flooding with colour.

“He did it in the sitting room a few minutes ago. I got away from him, and met Craig just outside in the hall. But I couldn’t believe his reaction. He said he’d
speak to
Rory about it. That was all he planned to do.”

Don was dumbfounded.

“How many times has he done this before?” she asked. “Craig mentioned something about
in most cases
– what did that mean?”

Raising his hand to stop her questions, Don moved forward, and examined her throat. “Looks nasty. Patrick has the first-aid box.”

“I know that,” she said. “I’ve already had the benefit of it.”

Don nodded. “He’s well-trained. Small comfort to you, of course.  What happened?”

“I was interviewing Rory. Asked him about his thorn in the flesh.”

Don tutted. “No good. No good at all,” he said. “Did you record the attack?”

“God, I had no time to think about that. Possibly.”

“Good. Evidence,” he said.

“Well, yes, but what use would I make of it? Craig advised me against calling the police. And, I hate to say, I came round to his way of thinking. I realised it could backfire on me. Wreck my documentary for a start.”

Don sank heavily into the chair by the window. “A mess, isn’t it,” he said.

She didn’t reply.

“You even keener now to rescue your sister?” he asked.

For the first time since the attack, she laughed, though her neck still burned ferociously. “Yes.”

A few moments passed. “How do you feel about Craig now?” asked Don.

“Angry. I know I should really leave at once. Grab Zoe and go.”

“No point. Forget about sorting Zoe out. That’s my advice,” he said.

“Why?” She felt a flame of fury at his interference. She couldn’t believe he’d spoken those last words. How hypocritical of him. Was he criticising her now for her attitude to Zoe? Wasn’t he at least equally guilty himself of trying to organise someone else’s life for them: Craig’s?

“Goodbye, Don.” She couldn’t trust herself to continue with the subject.

He got up, touched her shoulder, and walked out of the room.

She sat for a few moments, breathing deeply, unsure what to do next. Then, on inspiration, she jumped to her feet. Go and find Zoe. That was it. She’d be shocked at what had happened to Juliet. She might want to leave straight away. But first, Juliet pulled a blue Liberty scarf out of her drawer, and loosely knotted it around her sore neck. Somehow the gentle warmth it created was comforting. It would also cover the redness and the bruises she expected to appear soon. Hurrying out of her room, she nearly collided with Theo heading down the passageway, travelbag slung over his shoulder.

Instinctively she put her hand to her throat, but the silk covered the evidence of Rory’s aggression. She felt she’d had quite enough conversations about that subject for the time being. She surveyed Theo. She could understand the initial attraction between him and Zoe. Her sister was pretty and charming; and Theo gentle, considerate, caring – and not at all bad-looking himself, in a neat, blond kind of way.

But, clearly, from what she had heard so far about him, Theo had suffered in the past. It seemed to her, too, that he might be in the wrong job. Surely he was no better a choice for Zoe than Craig had been.

And yet, studying the young clergyman, she did feel sorry for him. Nearly as sorry as she felt for her injured self.

“You look out of spirits, Theo. This must be so difficult for you. This disciplinary review tomorrow morning won’t be much fun, will it?”

A warm, appreciative light came into his eyes. “Thanks. But it’s no more than what I’ve been asking for, ever since I was ordained. I’m sure I shall just be ordinary Mr Lucas again, after the bishop has chewed me up and spat me out tomorrow.”

She reached up to finger the folds of soft material round her neck. “You know, Theo, I’ve an odd feeling that isn’t going to happen.” She didn’t know why she’d said this; she certainly hadn’t planned to.

Their gaze held. He sighed. “I hope you’re right. But it’s only a faint hope.”

“Why?”

“With a past like mine… well, perhaps I’m in the right place after all, here in Craig’s group.”

“What an odd thing to say.”

He smiled faintly. “I’ve just spoken to Rory, by the way.”

She started. Then she swallowed. Her hands dropped to her sides. Theo’s expression told her he knew all about the attack. “Is Rory behaving like a human being again?” she asked.

“I had a short but rational conversation with him,” said Theo. “Yes, I know what he did to you. I’m so sorry, Juliet. Craig assured me that he’ll deal with it in his own way. Rory even plans to apologise to you. I did lend him a book I thought might make a small difference.”

Her jaw dropped. A book? Did Theo reckon that Rory’s difficulties might be resolved by reading a book? He must be deluded. She decided not to pursue the issue. Not right now, just as he was about to leave. And yet, something else he’d said nagged at her. “What happened to you in the past, Theo,” she asked, “that makes this community the right place to be? You don’t have anything in common with someone like Rory, surely?”

He gave a small chuckle. “I’d like to share the truth with you, Juliet, but not right now.”

“Is it a long story?”

“Yes, you could say so. Instead, let me share another tale, from the last time I was in the Middle East, four years ago. I climbed the fence of the Garden of Gethsemane – against the rules, I might add, as it’s now closed to visitors to stop them stealing bits of the trees as holy relics. I did it because I wanted to record an audio diary about how it felt being in the very place where Jesus thought about packing it all in.”

She considered this. “And did you finish your recording?”

“Yes. I was all alone in there. Been recording for about ten minutes, when suddenly I realised several machine guns were trained on me. Clearly the soldiers thought I was up to no good, and were taking no chances.”

“Scary. How did you get out?”

“I convinced them I thought I was the Son of God, and they let me go free. There are plenty of people around with Jerusalem Syndrome.”

“That must have been a relief,” said Juliet.

“It was. But still a very close thing.” His eyes rested upon her.

“So why did you tell me that?” she asked.

“Only because of the fact that sometimes being mad can get you out of a tight spot.”

“But you’re not mad, Theo,” she said.

“No?” He shook his head. “You can’t be sure of anything here, Juliet. Remember what you’ve heard. Nothing is meant to be taken at face value.”

She frowned, looking at him. Mild-mannered Theo? Mad? Impossible. He was teasing her.

“Including,” he added unexpectedly, “any ideas you may have about what truly
is
in your sister’s heart.”

She started. What an unexpected thing to say. Had he read her thoughts earlier? About him and Zoe? The two of them had certainly been close enough in recent hours for her favourite perfume, one Juliet recognised at once, to linger on him.

At that moment, they both heard the sound of a car horn, out on the forecourt.

“That’s Don,” said Theo. “I must be off. He’s going to drive me to the station.”

He held out his hand, and she took it. “Goodbye, Theo. Good luck.”

“Thanks. And you look after yourself, Juliet. Go and get some first-aid from Patrick.” He smiled, squeezed her hand, and then let go.

She stood watching him go down the stairs. Now he’d told her that little story she felt different about him. She drew a deep breath. It seemed some kind of traumatic experience did lie in his background, from what he implied, just as it very probably did in Rory’s. Although of course, the results, in terms of their personalities and actions, were very, very different.

And, from his remark about Zoe, she had her suspicions her sister might be about to fall for him. Maybe in a big way.

And that, in her book, was unwelcome news.

12

No Halfway Meeting

Echoes of her recent conversation with Theo chased each other round Juliet’s mind. And so did fragments of emotional fall-out from her encounter with Rory. She felt very sore – in more ways than one – and a dark shadow of insecurity lay in the pit of her stomach. Rory was still around and she might find herself alone with him at any time.

As she hesitated, Beth pushed past, carrying a huge armful of sheets and pillowcases.

“Can I help?” Juliet asked.

“No,” said Beth grumpily. “Work duty.”

She stomped down the stairs, trailing sheets behind her. Juliet winced as her neck throbbed. Beth vanished.

Juliet decided to return to her room. Arriving at the door again, she saw Beth had left a pile of clean bed linen on the floor. She bent to pick it up and took it back inside her room. She’d rest for a while, to prepare herself for whatever the evening might hold. If she could, she’d have liked to lock the door. Just in case Rory came up here to get her. No, that was silly. She must pull herself together.

And in any case, there was no door key.

Refreshed, Juliet reached the bottom of the staircase an hour later, and entered the hall, just as Don closed the front door behind him and Craig stepped out through the library doorway.

“Theo caught the train OK?” Craig asked his father.

Don gave a curt nod.

Craig then turned to Juliet. “Feeling better, Juliet?” he asked in a low voice.

“A little,” she said guardedly. “Have you spoken to Rory yet?”

“I have,” Craig said.

At this, Don broke in. “Like a word with you, Craig,” he said. “Before supper.”

“Fine by me,” said Craig.

Juliet immediately went on full alert. Craig for his part looked unperturbed. Was Don planning to take him to task about Rory? She half hoped not, for she herself felt that matter was best left for discussion between her and Craig.