Kingdom of Shadows. Barbara Erskine
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for a holiday. A couple of months in the sun would do you good.’
She shook her head. ‘Perhaps after Christmas; I don’t want to go away now.’
‘Why not?’
‘I want to go up to Scotland. I have to sort out one or two things.’ There was a moment of silence.
When he spoke his voice was grim. ‘May I ask what sort of things?’
‘Duncairn, for one.’ She looked him straight in the eye. ‘I want to discuss the future with Jack Grant. There are repairs that need doing as soon as possible to the hotel.’
‘I see. And where is the money going to come from?’
‘I am sure I can find it. I still have money of my own, Paul.’
‘Yes; and I know exactly how much. How far do you think that will go?’
‘Far enough for the time being.’
‘Clare! You’re crazy. You might as well stand on the edge of that damn cliff and tear up the money, note by note, and throw it into the sea. No one in their right mind would contemplate pouring money into that hotel.’
‘Except the man who wants to buy it. You wouldn’t object to him throwing his money away, I take it?’ She tried to keep her voice steady.
‘He doesn’t want the hotel, Clare. He wants the oil.’
‘Well, he’s not getting it.’ She clenched her fists. ‘I thought I would go up north later this week.’
‘We have a dinner party on Saturday, if you remember.’
‘Early next week, then. I’ve made my mind up, Paul.’
He had slept in the spare room, and he had left for the office before she was awake.
Thoughtfully she reached up to clip another rose, sniffing it absent-mindedly before she dropped it into her basket. Since Zak’s visit she had not left the house.
When the meditation had ended, she had remained sitting on the floor, still staring at the guttering candle, waiting for him to speak. Slowly he had risen to his feet and walked across to the window. Opening the curtains, he stood, looking out into the road. For a long time he said nothing, then at last he turned.
‘Clare, I think I must suggest you turn your meditations in a different direction. What you are doing is a valid exercise, but it is not one which is going to bring you the results you need. I want you to go back and practise some of the methods I first taught you. Especially the counting.’ He smiled. ‘That is the one you find so boring, I think you said.’
‘But why can’t I go on as I am?’ She looked up at him. ‘What am I doing wrong?’
‘You are not doing anything wrong, as such.’ He hesitated. ‘I have been trying to decide what is taking place. As you suspected, although your technique is correct, what is happening to you is not usual; it is not what you expect from a simple visualisation. There are several possible explanations. The most obvious, and the one I hope it is, because it is the least complicated, is that you are remembering a previous incarnation; that you were this Isobel in another life and that meditation has given you access to the memory.’ He gave an almost apologetic smile.
Clare stared at him in astonishment. ‘That’s not possible!’
‘Why? Don’t you believe that you have lived before?’ He frowned.
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it. I suppose I’ve had feelings that I’ve been here before – doesn’t everyone? But not as Isobel, Zak.’ She shook her head firmly.
‘What makes you so sure?’
‘I know. All right, you want something more positive than that. Well, Aunt Margaret saw her too. We can’t both have been her in a previous life, can we?’
‘Ah.’ Zak moved slowly back and sat down stretching his long legs out on the carpet in front of him. He was silent for a moment. ‘Then we must consider some of the other possibilities.’
‘Zak.’ Clare was thoughtful. ‘How do you know about Isobel? Did I talk out loud?’
He frowned. ‘A little. I prompted you and you answered.’
‘Without knowing it?’
He nodded. ‘You were hundreds of miles away, Clare, and you were in a different time. You had no knowledge of me being there, but with part of your mind you heard me and you replied.’ He hesitated, unwilling to give up his theory. ‘Are you sure your aunt saw the same things?’
Clare nodded.
‘And she spoke to you of them?’
‘Yes.’
‘And did she ever tell you how she summoned Isobel?’ He was feeling his way with care.
She nodded. ‘She used to tell me that she closed her eyes and imagined as hard as she could, and if I imagined hard enough I would see her too: that when I opened my eyes again she would be there.’
‘And it worked?’
‘Always.’
‘So that was that you were doing just now?’
‘Not consciously.’ She hesitated. ‘At least, I don’t think so. I’m not aware that I was trying as such – or at least not in the same way …’ She stopped, confused. ‘She just comes.’
‘That is because of the meditation technique. You have learned how to open your mind to the past without effort.’ He pushed. ‘When you were a child, was Isobel a child?’
She nodded. ‘I played games with her.’ She paused again, embarrassed. ‘She was very real to me when I was little, Zak.’
‘And she’s very real now, isn’t she?’ Zak was becoming more and more uneasy.
She nodded again. ‘And now she’s grown up. Each time I see her she is older, closer to my age. It isn’t meditation, is it?’
He shook his head. ‘No. I don’t think it is. I hoped you were reliving a past incarnation. That may be traumatic, cathartic even, but I don’t think it can really harm one. If that is not it …’ He stopped, again, trying to choose his words carefully. ‘I think, Clare that you must have managed to get the knack of doing something which takes people years of study. You have a natural aptitude for a science which should not be undertaken by someone who is not properly prepared, or by someone who is’ – he hesitated – ‘uninitiated. I think for your own sake you must stop, Clare.’
‘But why? Surely it can’t do me any harm? You yourself said anything I enjoy doing would be better than nothing.’ Something like panic had crept into her voice.
‘I didn’t realise then what you were doing,’ he interrupted her.
‘But you don’t know now for sure! All you could do was see me sitting there with my eyes closed and ask me a few questions!’ She scrambled to her feet and pinching out the candle put it on to the sideboard. Her eyes were alight with rebellion.
‘I do know,’ he repeated. He was watching the trail of smoke rising from the wick. ‘You see, I saw them, Clare.’
‘What?’ She stared at him, aghast.
‘I saw them. You have learned to project thought forms. You have made these people real. I don’t know if they are actual physical entities or whether I saw them telepathically, but I saw them. I don’t know if they are spirits, or from your imagination – I think perhaps the latter, as they seem unconcerned about relaying messages and only re-enact their own lives – but the power of your imagination has given them reality. And that is dangerous. Please, believe me, Clare. You should stop.’
‘And what will happen if I don’t? What if I enjoy it?’ She pushed her hair