special dinner with my girlfriend and that’s what we’re going to have. Now go and sit down and don’t watch while I serve up.”
Still smiling, Bronwen went back into the living room.
It was very early the next morning when Evan’s phone roused him from sleep. He staggered downstairs and picked up the receiver.
“Evan—are you all right?” He was surprised to hear Bronwen’s voice.
“Me? Yes, I’m fine, as far as I know. I’ve only just woken up. What time is it?”
“I don’t know. Early. I’m sorry I woke you, only I’m not fine, and I just thought maybe there was something in the food … .”
“You mean you’re sick?”
“As a dog,” she said. “I’ve hardly left the loo all night.”
“I’ll be right over,” he said. He scrambled into his clothes and ran up the high street. It was a misty morning and the milk float loomed like a ghostly specter as it crept up the street, making the morning milk round. The schoolhouse was barely visible through the fog. Evan ran across the school playground and let himself in with the key Bronwen had given him.
“You shouldn’t have come,” Bronwen said as he came into her bedroom. “It might be catching.”
“You look terrible. I’m phoning for the doctor.”
She nodded. “I feel terrible. But you’re fine and we both ate the same things last night, so it can’t be food poisoning.”
“I like that,” Evan said, smoothing her hair back from her forehead. “I cook her one meal and immediately she accuses me of poisoning her.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …”
“It’s okay, love. You’ve probably just got a touch of flu. Would you like to try a cup of tea and some toast?”
She nodded. “I’m not sure if it will stay down, but I’ll give it a try. And could you make a phone call for me? I have to let the Office of Education know that they’ll need to send up a substitute for me today.”
“You’re lucky this is my day off,” Evan said. “See, I knew there had to be some advantages to working every other weekend.”
“Lucky me.” Bronwen managed a smile. “If the first meal didn’t finish me off, he’s got a chance to try again.”
Betsy sensed as soon as she entered the Sacred Grove that morning that something was wrong. Emmy had dropped her off at the entrance. “I’ve got some new prospects to interview,” she said. “Fascinated as I am by your particular case, I’m supposed to be compiling a body of evidence about extrasensory perception among Celts. Just one Celt isn’t likely to satisfy my professor at home. Let me know how your session with Randy goes today, won’t you? I’ll try to stop by later.”
Betsy passed nobody apart from Blaine at the security post until she had almost reached the spa, where her first duty was to check towel supplies. She stopped when she heard someone yelling.
“You! Girl! What’s your name—Betty?”
Lady Annabel, her hair for once not looking as if she had just left her hairdresser, came running down the steps. Betsy noticed that she hadn’t made up her face either.
“I want a word with you, Betty. Can you come up to my office, please?” Her voice was shrill.
“My name’s Betsy. I haven’t done anything wrong, have I?” Betsy asked. “I loaded the dishwasher before I left last night and …”
“You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s not that.” Lady Annabel climbed the last of the steps at a great pace. “I wanted to ask you about your session with my husband yesterday afternoon.”
Betsy shot her a glance. Was she jealous? Did she suspect her husband of flirting with an attractive young girl?
“I didn’t have the session with him yesterday,” Betsy said.
“But it was down on his schedule. Bethan said you went down to Meditation to meet with him around four.”
“I did.” Betsy nodded. “But he wasn’t there. I waited around but he didn’t show up. After a while I thought that maybe something more important had come up, and I was supposed to be helping with dinner shortly. So I went up to the kitchen and decided he’d find me there if he wanted to.”
Lady Annabel pushed open the door of the admin building and swept in ahead of Betsy, not seeming to care that the door swung back into Betsy’s face.
“Why? What did he say about me?” Betsy asked with a tremulous voice.
“He didn’t say anything!” Lady Annabel’s voice rose almost to a shriek as she turned to face Betsy. “He didn’t say anything because he’s nowhere to be found!”
“You mean he’s gone?”
“Of course I mean he’s gone!” Lady Annabel snapped. “When he didn’t appear for dinner, I sent Michael to look for him. He found Randy’s desk with some notes about you scribbled on a pad, a half-drunk cup of coffee, and no sign of him. Nobody has seen him since midafternoon.”
Betsy couldn’t think what to say. What kept crossing her mind was that Randy was a rather gorgeous man and Lady Annabel was a chubby older woman. Maybe Randy had a good reason for slipping out for the night.
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” she said, trying to be helpful.
Annabel gave her a poisonous stare. “If you’re as bloody psychic as they claim you are, then why can’t you bloody well see him and tell me where he is?”
