Mystical Circles

by S. C. Skillman

  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.

  Craig strolled back across to the library door and opened it. “Happy for Juliet to join us, Father?”

  “Quite happy. Concerns her as much as you.” Craig gestured for them both to join him. They followed him into the library, where they took easy chairs facing each other. Not for the first time in this house, Juliet wondered at the contrast between the tranquility of the surroundings – the mellow oak panelling, the dreamy atmosphere, the softly glowing lamps – and the turbulence of the people who inhabited them.

  Her neck still hurt strongly. And her heart fluttered from time to time. Would she have nightmares tonight? Would Rory’s face haunt her dreams? And images of his long, spider-like fingers? She shuddered.

  Craig noticed this at once, and looked at her, concerned. Leaning forward, he reached out and lightly laid his hand on her arm. She remained perfectly still. For one moment, she felt a sense of peace. Then he removed his hand. Her anxiety returned.

  Craig sat in a relaxed positio
n, crossed his legs in a slow, deliberate manner, and slung his arm along the back of his chair. Ah, the studied casual effect. This was in sharp contrast to Don’s prickly manner.

  “First, Rory,” said Don.

  “Oh, come on, Don,” protested Juliet, “I think Craig only has me to answer to for that. I was the one who suffered.”

  “Then ask me anything you like,” Craig said to her.

  “Why is Rory so aggressive?”

  “Yes, Craig. Tell her,” Don burst in. “And not only that. Why didn’t you warn Juliet about him?”

  “First of all, because I like to believe the best of people.”

  Don was almost apoplectic. “Never heard such … this your idea of an experiment?”

  Craig looked mildly irritated by Don’s words. “I am already dealing with Rory in the way I choose.”

  Don bristled but remained silent. Juliet drew a deep breath. Was he preparing for another onslaught?

  Craig turned to her as she breathed out again. “As we’re on the subject of Rory… I’ve been thinking since our last conversation, Juliet. The last thing I want is for you to feel badly treated. And I intend to make it up to you.”

  She was greatly surprised. How did he mean to do that?

  “I cannot be at peace if I know you’re unhappy here, or anxious about anything.”

  She wanted to reply, but found no words. She was only aware of his face, and his dark eyes. And of the passion with which his own words had been spoken. He did seem to genuinely care about her. And that meant a lot.

  But before she could respond, Don sprang to his feet. “Not enough. Rory’s violent episodes are on the increase. And nobody else seems any the more content for your teachings.”

  “I never promised contentment.”

  “Freedom then,” Don insisted. “Where’s the evidence?”

  “I don’t need to supply any, Father,” said Craig. “Not to you. As you’ve evidently been round gathering information on their mental state, you’re probably best placed to pronounce upon it yourself.”

  Don snorted at this.

  Juliet interrupted. “What I’d like first of all, Craig, is for you and Don to start talking to each other properly. And stop behaving like two sides in a Cold War.”

  Craig’s face clouded. She had an instinct that this came as both an unexpected request and an unwelcome one. And she found herself regretting that she hadn’t claimed some other far more radical and personal compensation from Craig for the part he played in her mistreatment at the hands of Rory.

  “She’s right,” said Don. “Craig, you and I… We can’t carry on like this. Been thinking. Got a suggestion to make.”

  “Oh?” Craig threw a sceptical glance at his father. “And you’re happy for Juliet to hear it?”

  “Perhaps I’d better leave the room,” said Juliet, and waited. She didn’t really want to go, although she was finding it a strain to be so stoical about her injuries; the pain had still not subsided. Perhaps she would ask Patrick for some more first-aid after all. She got up from her chair.

  Don was so focused on what he planned to say, he failed to answer Craig’s question. “Came to me last night,” Don continued. “This ship of yours here. Heading for an iceberg. We need to change course.”

  Craig listened. Juliet reached the door and lifted the door latch, ready to go.

  “But where to? We haven’t discussed that. Reckon you and me…” Don hesitated. “Let’s agree on a plan. One that looks good to both of us.”

  Craig shifted his position in the chair. “If you’ve got one to lay on the table, then I’m willing to consider it.”

  Don immediately took the opportunity this afforded him. “Craig, everything I have is yours. Or will be one day. And you know it. But you want to be here running this outfit. Why not sell up? Come back to Barnsley. You can start over. In premises owned and managed by the company.”

  The library fell quiet, and unnaturally still. Neither man seemed aware of Juliet’s continued presence. She barely breathed as she waited for Craig’s response. Don wore a look of intense expectancy. But a minute passed, and Craig said nothing.

  “Speak, Craig,” said Don. “Are you still alive?”

  The expression on Craig’s face wasn’t easy to fathom. But Juliet felt absolutely sure he’d reject this proposal out of hand.

  “Well?” asked Don.

  “No, Father.”

  Clapping both hands to his head, Don groaned. “Will we ever call a truce?”

  “Yes. When you stop trying to map out my life for me.”

  Don subsided back into his easy chair again. “That all you can say?”

  “For God’s sake, Father, you don’t seriously expect me to sign up to such a plan.” Craig rose to his feet in an abrupt movement. “There’ll be any number of get-out clauses in it.”

  “Like what?” Don buried his head in his hands. Then he looked up abruptly. “Why don’t you trust me?”

  “Hell’s teeth! What a question. You know full well why. You only need to cast your mind back to the conversation we had in here, earlier, after tea.” Craig began to pace up and down the silk-fringed rug, past the well-stocked bookshelves, arms tightly folded. Juliet watched, nervous and concerned.

  Craig wheeled to face Don again. “Why not simply invest more in this place?”

  Don was, she saw, trying to smother rising rage. “Explained that before. The way you’re running it isn’t cost-effective.”

  Craig’s expression was impassive.

  Newly emboldened, Don forged on. “If you relocate to Yorkshire, I won’t judge. Nor veto anything. All I ask is this. You use property owned and managed by the company.”

  Juliet was seriously alarmed. Would Craig fall for this?

  “I need time to think.” Craig continued pacing.

  “Fine, fine. Only remember. What’s in it for me is what’s in it for you, Craig.”

  “What sort of penance would you exact from me?” demanded Craig.

  “Penance?” Don’s voice had acquired an almost falsetto pitch. “No such word in my vocabulary. And you know it.” He cleared his throat, and began again in a more even tone. “The company would buy whatever you like. A redundant church. Georgian mansion being sold off to pay death duties. Converted abbey. Best on the market. Think of that, Craig. What do you say?”

  Juliet could not believe Don had resorted to bribery. But there it was, undeniable. Bribery to fulfil Don’s dream of an ideal future, with his son where he wanted him. Juliet knew Craig would reject the proposal.

  “I say this.” Craig held his finger up close to Don’s face, as if to accentuate his words. “In the story of the prodigal son, the son first freely returned; and then the father killed the fatted calf. But I haven’t returned yet; and here you are offering me that fatted calf. That’s bribery.”

  Juliet felt her heart beating faster.

  “What more do you want? Blood? The only reward I ask is peace.” Don let his hands drop once more to the arms of his chair. “Nothing else.”

  Peace? thought Juliet. What sort of peace did Don think he meant? Juliet saw none between these two, until they came clean with each other. She almost shrank from his disingenuousness with his son. And it was clear to her that Craig saw through it, as she’d fully expected he would.

  “Nothing else?” he asked. “Not even for me to let go of my beliefs?”

  Don straightened, and stared at him again. Juliet looked from father to son. She saw Craig’s body language was hostile, hands on hips. She couldn’t predict Don’s reply.

  “I never asked your mother to change her beliefs, did I?” said Don in an icy voice.

  Juliet tensed. What was this all about?

  Craig had frozen. His face was white. “No, you just drove her away instead.”

  Don turned from him. Juliet couldn’t see his expression. But he took several moments to regain emotional control.

  Then he swung round, and tried a new angle. “This philosophy of you
rs. It’s no hurdle.” He looked brighter. Juliet sensed he was about to say something disastrous. But she of course was powerless to stop him. She shouldn’t even still be in the room, listening to this.

  “Why not offer Devil’s Advocate sessions?” suggested Don. “I’ll run them. Want to take me up on it?”

  Craig scoffed contemptuously.

  The fact that Don could make such a misjudged remark, proved to Juliet that Don didn’t understand Craig at all. And Don still seemed to imagine the ideal solution lay within easy reach. If he won Craig’s agreement, he’d call in an estate agent to sell this place, exchange contracts, complete the sale, and be off back to Barnsley in a flash. Except…

  What about Craig’s followers? They loved the Centre. Craig couldn’t betray them. She felt sure they’d all believe Craig was selling his soul to... not the devil exactly, but to something very close.

  “I have a proviso,” said Craig.

  “A proviso?” repeated Don. “What’s that?”

  “That you agree to change the name of the company.”

  Don’s jaw dropped. So did Juliet’s. This was completely unexpected.

  “Change the company name?” said Don. “What’s wrong with McAllister Developments Ltd? Perfect.”

  “No it isn’t,” said Craig. “I challenge you to swap it for McAllister & Son Life Transformation.”

  Now Juliet felt she could barely withhold the laughter that would give her away and reveal that she’d overheard the entire conversation. But Don didn’t share her amusement.

  “And Son?” He nearly fell off his chair. “Life Transformation? Got to be joking.”

  “Ah,” said Craig. “There I have you, don’t I?”

  “I’m … I’m…” Don stumbled over his words. “Before you’ve proved your worth? You expect the fruits first?”

  They faced off like birds of prey, each chained to a tree stump to prevent them flying at each other and attacking.

  For Juliet, despondency re-emerged. They were at it again. She knew Don had difficulty articulating his feelings. But even so, she wished he was much less controlling. As her mood dropped, so her aching throat became worse.