“Your guru, Randy, tried to do that and didn’t come up with anything. How did your session go with him today?”
“It didn’t. He wasn’t there. I went to his office but he didn’t show up. I expect he got called away for something more important than me. I know they had new guests arriving today. He’ll fit in my sessions when he can.” She leaned against the edge of the draining board, watching him. “Emmy says that my powers may be remarkable. She says that I may be able to see other people’s lives and even make things happen. She says the most powerful psychics can just picture something in their head and it happens, just like that. Isn’t it exciting?”
“I’d take it all with a grain of salt if I were you,” Evan said as he dropped the spaghetti into a huge pot of boiling water. “These people believe in all that stuff, but I’d want some proof, myself. I’ve never yet met anyone who was truly psychic.”
“My old
Evan smiled. “I shall be only too delighted if you turn out to be a famous psychic. You’ve always wanted to be famous, haven’t you?”
Betsy beamed. “Imagine me on a TV show someday with Randy.”
“Sorry to remind you, love, but he’s already married.”
“Oh, he’s too old for me. He’s way over thirty. I like younger blokes myself.” She hoisted herself up onto one end of the counter and sat there, swinging her legs. “Tell me, Evan,” she said carefully, “if Bronwen wasn’t around any longer … if there was no Bronwen Price in the world, do you think you might be interested in me then?”
“Betsy!” He laughed uneasily. “I really like you. Honestly I do. But I don’t think I’m the right bloke for you. You need someone who’s more lively and fun. You know I don’t like dancing and the type of thing you like.”
“I’d also like to settle down with a steady bloke of my own someday,” Betsy said. “Oh, well, I’m not going to give up without a fight. Do you think I could use my psychic powers to make Bronwen disappear?”
“Hey—that smells wonderful,” came Bronwen’s voice as she opened the front door. “You see, I told you that you could …” She stopped short as she came into the kitchen and saw Betsy sitting on the kitchen counter beside Evan. “Oh,” she said. “I hope you haven’t been cheating.”
“I’m here on an errand from Mrs. Williams,” Betsy said, sliding gracefully from the counter. “You don’t have to worry.”
Bronwen laughed. “I meant cheating by having someone who knows how to cook help you. You haven’t been helping him, have you, Betsy?”
“Only washed some lettuce or you’d have eaten it full of caterpillars,” Betsy said. “Well, I’ll be on my way then. Enjoy your dinner. I think you’re doing just fine, Evan.”
Evan was conscious of Bronwen looking at him as Betsy closed the front door behind her. “You didn’t ask her to come and help you, did you?” she said accusingly.
“Of course not. Mrs. Williams wanted to make sure I was all right. Betsy had been having dinner with the famous Emmy, so she stopped by on her way home.”
“If you ask me, Betsy’s all too influenced by the famous Emmy. She’s been following her around like a sheep.”
“And by the famous Randy,” Evan said.
“Oh, who’s he?”
“The star psychic at the Sacred Grove. You should see him, Bron. Hair over his shoulders like Samson. Very tanned and muscled and Hollywood.”
She gave him a wicked smile. “Ooh, sounds interesting. Maybe I’ll go and check him out for myself.”
Evan grabbed her round the waist and pulled her close to him. “None of that, or I won’t share my secret spaghetti sauce with you.”
Bronwen laughed and kissed him.
“And none of that when I’m trying to concentrate,” he added. “Make yourself useful and open the bottle of red wine I’ve put on the table.”
“First sensible suggestion you’ve made all evening.” She waltzed out of the kitchen. Evan came through to join her. “I haven’t got as far as candles and tablecloths and things.”
“This will do just fine. You’ve done a lot in a week.”
“Especially since I’ve been up and down to that bloody Sacred Grove all weekend. Missing college student from America,” he added. “Turns out she was there briefly then left a couple of months ago, so we’re none the wiser.”
Bronwen poured out two glasses of red wine.
“You sit down and I’ll serve,” Evan said. He went through into the kitchen, stopped in horror, and yelled, “Bloody hell!”
Bronwen came running through. “What? What is it?”
Evan pointed silently at the huge glutinous mound that was currently creeping out of the pot and down the side of the stove. “Spaghetti isn’t supposed to behave like that, is it?”
Bronwen started laughing. “It’s like something out of a horror movie—
“Well, I started with one packet but that didn’t look like very much, so I added another one.”
Bronwen wrapped her arms around his neck. “My dear sweet twit, each packet is enough for eight people. You’ve just cooked enough to feed half of Llanfair.”
“Well, I’m not inviting them to share,” Evan said, annoyed and embarrassed at her laughter. “I planned a
