Mystical Circles

by S. C. Skillman

  She obeyed, and began to relax.

  He sat opposite, and looked at her. Again, his eyes held an intense quality she found almost irresistible. But she was determined to steel herself against that. She glanced away, beyond him. Her eye moved from the flat screen monitor and keyboard on the mahogany desk. Behind it was a wall of bookshelves. In the brief moment her eyes swept across it, she registered one or two titles about mental health and another about the Middle East. For some not quite identifiable reason, she hadn’t expected such subjects on the shelves of a New Age guru.

  The jade silk curtains exactly matched the colour of the carpet, and through the leadlights of the window she could see down to the front of the property, across the garden, and then up the thickly wooded slope to the ridge beyond.

  The muted colours created a peaceful, dreamlike aura. She looked at Craig again. His presence, together with the angelic fragrance, continued to penetrate her mind and heart and soul. Quickly she laid the blue folder on the table. She was going to talk contracts and bank account details with him. Take a grip on yourself, she repeated inwardly.

  Then she met his eyes once more. He was smiling. God, this would be difficult, she thought, and once again began to forget her own reason for entering his study in the first place.

  But he surprised her by getting straight to business. “So, Juliet. A briefing.”

  “Of course.” She took out a spiral-bound notebook and pen, ready to make notes.

  “Edgar, Sam, and Al you’ve met. And James. You’ve learned a little about them. Now, we move on to Rory.” He paused.

  “Rory?”

  “Rory Anstruther-Jones. Born in London. South Kensington.”

  “I know it well.”

  “Good. Go easy, though, on talking about his past. Initially, he’ll impress with his gracious manner. But treat him with caution.”

  She looked up from her notebook. “Why?”

  “Can’t go into details. Confidentiality, you understand.” His eyes danced. Was he playing a game with her?

  “But I’ll find out, if I ask the right questions,” she said.

  “Exactly.” He leaned forward across the coffee table, put his hand out and gave hers a gentle squeeze.

  Her reaction was disproportionate to the gesture. She felt as if he’d made some spiritual claim upon her. As if they had sealed some sort of pact. She started.

  “Are you all right, Juliet?” He sat back, hands in lap again.

  “Perfectly, thank you.” This would never do. She was a confident, independent, professional woman. Not a naive, inexperienced young girl. She swallowed hard, and sat up straight. “Go on, Craig.”

  “Emotionally, he may test you. It will mean some extra sensitivity on your part. Which of course you have in abundance.”

  “Thank you, Craig.”

  “You’re welcome. Next, Patrick O’Shaughnessy. From County Limerick. Coordinates all practical tasks. Very fond of Sam, I might add.”

  She looked at him. His face gave nothing away. He crisply continued. “Llewellyn, our Welsh poet.”

  “Ah yes, I’ve met him.”

  “Excellent. Then there’s Oleg, our Russian friend. Once more, handle with care. Highly fragile. I’m working on that one. Next, Beth. Again, a troubled family background. Takes life too seriously. Oleg would help, but something holds her back.”

  “Which is..?”

  “Attachment to the past,” said Craig. “As is the case with most who come here. I offer healing for that.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. Laura you’ve met. And Zoe – well I hardly need introduce her.”

  “No.” A beat of time passed. She wanted to challenge Craig about her sister, and no words came. She made an extra effort. And said something different to what she’d intended. “You haven’t mentioned your father.”

  “Of course. My father.”

  “You teach forgetfulness of the past, I understand. But I detected some ill-feeling between you.”

  He chuckled. “No, no, Juliet, you misunderstood. In any case I’m not open for discussion on that. Quiz my followers first. My time will come later.” Then he swiftly changed the subject before Juliet could get another word in. “So you want to draw up a schedule of interviews. Fine. I’ll make sure they all speak to you after dinner tonight, so you can get that sorted. Anything else?”

  “Yes, your fee.”

  “I’m quite happy with the figure you mentioned,” said Craig.

  Again, she felt unsure whether he was taking this seriously. In fact she had feared he would want to raise the figure she had offered. Still, she felt she should accept this as a small act of grace. “And the contract,” she said.

  “Absolutely. You’ll want a signature.”

  “Bank details?”

  “In my drawer over there. You should have gone to my father first. He’ll have them off by heart.” He laughed lightly. Then he rose, and walked over to his desk.

  From her position she could see into the drawer as he unlocked it. She noticed a piece of black-and-white checked material in his fingers as he lifted it out of the way, searching beneath. It caught her attention for a few moments.

  “What’s that, Craig?” she asked. “Looks like an Arabic headscarf.” She had an instinct that it was a female headdress. Though she could have been wrong.

  He pushed it back into the drawer. “You know James likes to dress up.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “As a woman too?” she was about to say, when her eyes fell on a piece of charred and broken timber lying at the side of the drawer. “A souvenir of the house? Was that the state it was in when you first saw it?”

  “Something like that, Juliet.”

  “Had there been a fire?”

  He smartly closed and locked the drawer, and pocketed the key. He said nothing, and didn’t look at her.

  She felt puzzled and disconcerted. A moment later he pushed the signed contract over to her. “Must rush now, Juliet. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  He touched her shoulder. She rose, collected her papers and he ushered her to the door, closing it firmly behind them both. In the next moment he was gone.

  What on earth was that all about?

  She felt slightly bemused, unsure what to make of Craig and his behaviour towards her. She’d gained some bite-size pieces of information about his followers. But he’d left no time for any discussion about Zoe. And he himself had remained as mysterious and as unknown a quantity as before. And had already sown some doubts in her mind that would need resolving.

  For several seconds, she stood silent and baffled. Her mobile buzzed. She answered.

  It was Toby. “How are you getting on, Juliet?”

  She summarised events so far, and he seemed pleased. That was encouraging; Toby believed her subject matter would make great radio. But it was the line he finished on that unsettled her. “Whatever you do, Juliet, hold a little bit of yourself back.”

  All very well for him to say that. But there again, Toby knew nothing of her anxiety for Zoe. And just as well too; she felt thankful for it.

  “That’s the observer part of you,” Toby went on. “You don’t want to end up getting too personally involved.”

  A few moments passed. How could she fully explain her ambivalence about it all? “No need to worry, Toby. I won’t let them brainwash me.”

  But that, of course, wasn’t what centrally concerned her. Rather, her instincts had been alerted by a number of scents on the trail: and they all clustered around Craig, and what had gone on between him and Zoe in the time since they’d met.

  There were, firstly, Don’s earliest words to her about Craig: My problem…son…he’s created his own philosophy of life…but no money sense… and the words: special ability…with young women…can be very charming.

  Then, there were James’s words: his mentor…met a need in him…one of many…unmet by his father.

  And finally, she recalled Craig’s remark: I don’t encourage talk about th
e past. Let’s concentrate on the present, shall we?

  What was all this telling her about Craig, the man her sister was besotted with? And then there was the curious way Sam had reacted when she asked about Craig being physical. She felt slightly disturbed. No way would she explain her personal fears to Toby. They weren’t part of her brief at all.

  “Must go, Juliet. You’ll strike the right balance. Perfect position. About the right age for people attracted to this kind of community. And your sister … her being there gives you the ideal opportunity to live alongside the group members. So long as you don’t take it too far, of course.”

  “No, Toby.”

  “This documentary should be good stuff. I’ve every confidence in you. Catch up with you again tomorrow.” And he was gone.

  With this conversation still preying on her mind, she headed towards the staircase. She was developing a different agenda to the one Toby had set. Was she up to it? And how would all this affect her sister? She needed to find Zoe, and try to put things right.

  To her delight she got her chance almost immediately, down in the entrance hall, when her sister appeared before her.

  “Zoe!” Juliet cried. “Sorry about this morning.”

  Zoe looked relieved. “That’s all right. Been thinking about it too. Difficult for you to understand. But it’s still great you’re here. And hey, I know the others have been working on you. Laura told me all about what happened at lunch.”

  Juliet said nothing. What had Laura’s slant been on that conversation? She dreaded to think.

  “You won’t believe what Craig can do for you,” Zoe rushed on. “Just trust him, Juliet. Wait and see what he’s like this evening.”

  Pointless to tell Zoe her forebodings about Craig. Yes, thought Juliet ruefully. See what the evening held. That was all she could do.

  The buzz of conversation from the other side of the inner door increased. Juliet knew the group were already taking their seats at the dining table, ready to start the meal. She glanced through the doorway, entranced by the many candle flames. How sensuous the room looked in this light; the gleaming timbers held even greater depth and richness. And the fragrance of the roses and apple logs in the fireplace seemed more intense.

  At that moment, Craig appeared before her, hand outstretched, a smile of greeting on his face. She stopped short, disconcerted by a tingling sensation in her stomach. If not for the evidence of her eyes, she could have sworn she’d just brushed against a lightly charged electric fence.

  “Welcome to your first evening meal with us, Juliet.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Come in, come in,” he said robustly. He took her arm. “Do sit here, close to me.”

  Juliet was still recovering from her initial reaction to his appearance. She wondered whether her being invited to sit near Craig would upset Zoe. But not at all. Instead, her sister touched her shoulder. “I’ll slip in, opposite you.”

  “Sure,” said Juliet. She looked for Don. Perhaps pinpointing his location would ease her mind and her nerves. Then she saw the Yorkshireman, near the top of the table. Zoe was already seating herself.

  Juliet followed Craig past The Lady and the Unicorn. Craig moved with a fluid grace. For her part, she hoped her manner gave no clue to the insecurity she felt. This would be her first official introduction to the group. As she glanced around those sitting at the table, it suddenly occurred to her that the only non-speaker was the large, hand-carved wooden Buddha which sat in the chair opposite where she stood. How bizarre, she thought.

  Now she sensed a change in the atmosphere. All eyes were upon her. Juliet almost expected everyone to push back their chairs and rise to their feet. Yet nobody did.

  The table was laid with blue-and-white china and silver cutlery, together with ivory church candles set in wrought-iron candlesticks. At each place appeared a large wine goblet. Interspersed between three bowls of roses, she counted at least seven bottles of red and white wine.

  Craig showed her to her chair, and waited until she was in her seat before taking his. Then he raised his voice. “May I officially introduce our new arrival to you all?”

  Everyone fell silent.

  “A few of you,” Craig went on, “had the good fortune to meet our visitor earlier: Juliet, Zoe’s sister. You’ll remember from my explanation last night, Juliet’s a freelance journalist, and has asked my permission to come and make recordings for a radio documentary. She hopes the BBC will take it up eventually. I speak for us all, Juliet, when I say we’re happy to have you. We’ll be only too pleased to answer any questions you may put to us.”

  Juliet squeezed her hands together under the table. From the lack of reaction to this preamble, she didn’t feel at all confident that her presence met with one hundred percent approval. But all she could do was courteously accept his words.

  “Thank you.” She faced everyone. “I’m delighted I have your consent to make these recordings.” She might as well play her professional role for all it was worth. “There’ll be nothing underhand about it. You’ll know what I’m doing, because you’ll see this.” She lifted her recorder and microphone, which she’d brought with her. “Also, may I set your minds at rest; I aim to be as fair and accurate as possible. And if any of you are worried in any way, I can show you my guidelines on consent.”

  She sat back in her chair. To her right, she glimpsed an ironic expression on Don’s face. He was clearly amused at her performance.

  After a mixed chorus of murmurs which couldn’t be interpreted as agreement or otherwise, Craig said, “I’ve a suggestion so Juliet feels welcome. Why don’t those of us she hasn’t yet met, introduce ourselves in turn?”

  A current of approval rippled up and down the table. Over the other side of the Beaujolais, next to Zoe, a smartly-turned-out man in his forties banged on the table with his spoon. “Well said, Craig.”

  “Thank you, James. Why don’t you start the introductions?”

  James! Juliet could barely believe it. He was so different from the vagrant at the lunch table, she would never have identified him as one and the same.

  From his neatly combed hair, distinguished features and elegant bearing, to the shiny brass buttons of his navy blazer, he looked like the sort of person who might command respect anywhere.

  She quickly recovered from this slightly troubling reflection. “I met your alter ego at lunch, didn’t I, James?”

  “Indeed you did, Juliet.”

  She glanced at the dark smear from his collar up to his cheekbone. He evidently hadn’t washed all traces of his disguise off.

  She wondered when he got his Equity card. Presumably he’d fitted his drama training in prior to acting as Craig’s PhD supervisor.

  Craig began again in a smooth, urbane manner. “Zoe, of course, needs no introduction,” he said, smiling. Then he inclined his head toward his left-hand neighbour. “Sam you’ll remember from lunchtime.”

  Sam failed to make eye contact with her. She could see his lips were shaking. Poor boy, she thought.

  The diner on Sam’s other side hastened to his rescue. “Fear not, Sam,” he said in a strong Irish accent. “You’re not obliged to speak. I’ll introduce myself, shall I? Patrick O’Shaughnessy. From Limerick. Delighted to meet you, Juliet, I’m sure.”

  Craig spoke. “Thanks, Patrick. Why not tell Juliet a little more about yourself?”

  “Willingly. I’m the coordinator here. I order new supplies. In house or garden, if you have any practical problems, you come to me. I keep track of the toilet rolls, change blown light bulbs, you name it. The only thing I don’t do is guarantee the destiny of your immortal soul.”

  Without giving Patrick the chance to qualify this, Craig went on, “And Al?”

  “Had the pleasure of meeting the lady earlier,” said Al heartily. He motioned to the seat at his left-hand side. “Sorry, this happy-smiley Buddha here gives me the creeps. And I’ve been here… how long?” he appealed to Laura.

  Craig turned to Ju
liet and spoke before Laura could supply the information. “I thought it would be an amusing touch for the Buddha to join us tonight and over this weekend. At the beginning of next week he’ll be superseded. I’ll explain later.”

  He lifted his gaze above the candles and wine bottles to the two seats at the opposite end of the table. “Oleg and Llewellyn will be sitting there, when they’ve served our meal. And Edgar?”

  Juliet leaned forward to greet that keen researcher of religious experience. He still looked as if he should be wearing a habit, and leading a Gregorian chant. The candlelight heightened the effect. Edgar’s lips curled. His glance was edged with steel. “Juliet and I chatted this afternoon, too. I have her questionnaire ready to fill in, just as soon as she has a few moments to spare.”

  “But…” began Juliet.

  Craig interrupted her in a low tone. “Probably best to humour him.”

  She gazed at him, astonished. He made no further explanation.

  Then Craig lifted his voice again. “Juliet wants to draw up a schedule of interviews. See her afterwards in the library to make an appointment. I’ll shift any other commitments you have to make way for this.”

  “I’ll be first,” said Edgar. “And you can start by filling in my questionnaire.” A light wave of chuckles ran up and down the table.

  There was a small pause. Oh dear. Juliet was about to speak, then thought better of it. Turning back to face down the table, she met Don’s eye. It held a strangely knowing expression. But he resisted any urge to comment. For the moment, so did Edgar.

  Juliet exchanged a wave of acknowledgement with Laura, seated opposite the American, before turning her attention to the next diner, beside Laura.

  This was a sharp-faced young woman with dark hair pulled tightly back in a French plait, which emphasised the severity of her expression. She gave Juliet a frosty stare. “I’m Beth. Beth Owen,” she snapped. “I prefer not to say anything else about myself.”

  Well, thought Juliet, Beth wasn’t very friendly. How had Juliet managed to earn her hostility so soon? Beth continued to look tense and suspicious. Perhaps she misunderstood what Juliet was trying to do. But if she didn’t say anything, Juliet couldn’t put her mind at rest.