Helen Smith - Beyond Belief (Emily Castles #4) Read online

  “I don’t mind,” said Gerald. “I’m proud of my race. I’m proud to be the first black president of the Royal Society for the Exploration of Science and Culture.” He looked over at Emily as if to say, you can write that down. She took out her notebook.

  The Colonel continued. “I saw you and I thought of Africa. I thought of lions. I thought of all the souls I could save if I left Britain and went there. I believed it was a sign. I was meant to immerse you.”

  Hilary chipped in, trying to keep her voice calm. “There are lions in Trafalgar Square. Two big pools with fountains. Think of all the people you could immerse in there.”

  The Colonel looked sad. “We’ve never had much luck in London, have we?”

  Now Trina piped up again. “You found me!”

  The Colonel spoke gently to her. “Yes, child. So we did. But you’ll be back in school soon enough, won’t you?”

  “What do you mean? I ain’t been in school since I was ten!”

  Squished together, Peg and Sarah looked at each other and made silent awww faces that could be seen by everybody in their corner of the bar except the Colonel, who was looking at Trina.

  “Hilary will find a place for you, child. The Easter holiday will be over soon. You can’t neglect your education.”

  “I’m not a child!” Trina yelled, loud enough for a philosopher from Manchester and a philosopher from Stockholm to stop talking and look over at her, even though they were sitting all the way at the other side of the bar. Other delegates in the bar looked over, too. They saw a child dressed in a middle-aged woman’s clothing, standing in a hotel bar, asserting loudly that she was not a child. Then they noticed Dr. Muriel and…well, to the philosophy professors, at least, nothing seems out of place when you put another philosophy professor into the mix. They must have hypothesized that this was a practice for the illustration of some ethical conundrum at Dr. Muriel’s talk at the conference on Sunday morning. The philosophers nodded and smiled and waved. Everybody went back to their drinks. The buzz of conversation resumed in the bar.

  “And Tim!” said the Colonel, going to stand next to him. “I said I’d buy you a drink, my friend. But that hardly seems enough, considering what you have done for me. How much is that magician fella offering this weekend?”

  “Fifty thousand pounds,” said Tim.

  “I was full of doubts. I stood by the waves and called for people to come in. But you were the only one who responded. So I’ll match the magician’s fifty thousand pounds.”

  “You what?” said Trina.

  “I’d like to make a donation of fifty thousand pounds to a charity of your choice, Tim. Never mind the paranormal. You have proved something much more important to me.”

  “Now, hang on a moment,” Hilary said.

  “You’ve got fifty thousand pounds?” Trina said. “And we’ve been stuck in that Seaview place that smells of sick and mold?”

  “We don’t need money,” said the Colonel. “It’s not important, the life we lead. Think how much further the funds would go in Africa—the souls we could save.”

  “We could be staying here,” said Trina. “You know there’s a spa? With a Jacuzzi!”

  “I’ll get us a room here if it means that much to you, child.”

  “I think they’re fully booked,” said Hilary.

  Tim caught hold of the Colonel’s elbow, very lightly, and brought the subject back to the Colonel’s money. “You were talking about making a charitable donation?”

  Joseph Seppardi put his drink down loudly enough to attract attention from their group. As all eyes in the corner of the room turned to him, he closed his and began to breathe deeply, hands clasped in front of his chin.

  “What is it, Joe?” Sarah asked anxiously.

  But Joseph Seppardi didn’t last even a minute as the center of attention. Two attractive men—one dark haired, one blond—walked through the bar, turning heads. The atmosphere crackled with excitement.

  “You’re not prancing about doing street mime now for a few coins in a hat!” the dark-haired one was saying, good-naturedly enough. “This isn’t some earnest government-funded poetry event with acrobats and out-of-work actors in masks.”

  “Good to hear it. Those kinds of events take a hell of a lot of work.”

  They could have been brothers, or two men playing brothers in a popular soap opera: both arrogant and athletic looking, one dark, one blond, quarreling over their opposing world views, yet comfortable in each other’s company. It was Edmund Zenon and Chris, and they were heading in Emily’s direction.

  “I believe I have something of yours,” Edmund said. With a magician’s flourish, he produced a key, apparently out of the air. He held it out to Emily and bowed theatrically, as if he was presenting her with a bunch of flowers. “Room number thirty-six. I’ll get my luggage collected this evening. Please accept the key with my apologies.”

  “Is that the big room at the front? The one with the balcony?” Peg asked, a little jealously.

  “It isn’t mine,” Emily told her. “It was meant for Dr. Muriel. There was a mix-up at checkin.”

  “What a lovely gesture, Edmund,” said Dr. Muriel. “I truly appreciate it. But I’m settled in upstairs now. All my clothes unpacked and various electricals charging. I shan’t change rooms with you. You keep it.”

  “There’s a room free?” Trina looked very excited. “Hilary?”

  “Out of the question!” snarled Hilary.

  Trina snatched the bag of clothes the Colonel had brought and hugged it to herself, brooding, as if the bag contained an elaborate costume that would transform her into her alter ego, a terrifying comic book villain.

  The attention of the group in the corner of the bar turned back to itself.

  Tim said to Joseph Seppardi, “Was it Liam? Just now? What was he saying?”

  Joseph Seppardi shook his head. “He’s gone.”

  “You should be ashamed of yourself,” Edmund said to Joseph. “Preying on vulnerable people. You charlatan.”

  “You should be ashamed,” said Sarah. “He helps people like us. He gives us hope. What do you do?”

  “Save your soul, Edmund,” said Hilary. “Before it’s too late. The Colonel can do it for you.”

  “Pledge and plunge?” said Edmund. “No thanks. If I’m going to make a show of myself in public, I like to get paid for it.”

  “It doesn’t have to be public,” said the Colonel. “Make your peace with God. Go into the water, Edmund. No one needs to know except the One Above.”

  “What if he ain’t got a soul to save?” Trina was genuinely interested. “Who’ll help him then?”

  “Ah,” said Gerald. “Now, here we all are, gathered for a conference that we hope will give rise to some interesting discussion about what people believe and why. Let’s try to keep things civil.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” Dr. Muriel raised her glass. “Why don’t you tell us about your challenge, Edmund?”

  It was Gerald who answered her. “We’ve got the security guards in place. That’s the most important thing.”

  “To protect Edmund?”

  Edmund laughed. “To stop the contestants coming out of the Ballroom tomorrow and telling everyone else the secret method we used to evaluate their skills.”

  Gerald exchanged a conspiratorial look with Edmund. He was obviously in on the secret—and wanted people to know it.

  Sarah looked worried. “What secret method? I thought you’d just say, you know, ‘Give me your best shot.’”

  Joseph Seppardi said, “I shan’t be taking part in it, Sarah.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fascinating!” said Dr. Muriel. “I wish I could see it.”

  Edmund treated her to his charismatic smile. “Can you keep a secret?”

  “If it’s interesting enough to make it worth my while!”

  Were Edmund and Dr. Muriel flirting with each other? Emily exchanged a horrified look with Trina, the only other youngish person in their group. Trin
a raised her eyebrows. No one else seemed to mind.

  Edmund twirled the key in his fingers. “Why don’t you drop into the Ballroom tomorrow, then, Muriel? I owe you a favor, for being so gracious about the mix-up with the room.”

  “Oh yes! And Emily, too. She’s marvelous with secrets.”

  “And me!” said Trina. “Can I come?”

  Edmund gave her a nice smile. “I can’t allow bystanders, Trina. I’m sorry. We’ve got all sorts of nondisclosure and other legal forms.”

  “Emily’s part of the team, so she’ll be OK,” said Dr. Muriel. “She’s our future crimes unit.”

  “What does that involve?” Edmund looked amused.

  “She’s writing a report about my premonition, and how I saved the Colonel from drowning,” Peg told him.

  Chris turned to Emily. “So you’re not on holiday, then?” He looked hurt. “That’s why you were taking such an interest when we were in the Rosie? You’re here to write about Edmund?”

  “Dinnertime, I think!” said Gerald. “Muriel? Emily? Peg? You’re joining me, is that right?”

  As the members of their group edged up from the sofa and trod on each other’s feet and reached across each other for jackets and cardigans hung over the back of their seats, Chris walked off. Emily called after him. If he heard her, he didn’t acknowledge it. It would have been absurd to go chasing after him, so she stayed and watched him walk away.

  “We need to talk through the day’s events,” said Gerald. “Do you fancy a pie and a pint at the Lamb and Dragon? They’re doing a special offer this weekend.” His invitation took in Peg, Dr. Muriel and Emily.

  “Why don’t you try the Poisson d’Avril, by the pier?” Edmund said. “It’s a nice place, if a little overpriced.”

  “Ah, well. The budget…”

  “Book a table at the Poisson d’Avril, Gerald. Make sure you ask for one near the window. You won’t regret it.”

  “Nice view?”

  “There should be, tonight.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  WALKING ON WATER

  Later, people would talk about where they were and what they were doing when it happened, though no one could agree who had seen it first. They were on the big wheel overlooking the harbor. They were eating fish and chips by the pier. They were walking the dog. They were smoking a cigarette outside the pub. They were going home from work. They were going out to get drunk.

  The sky was dark because the sun had set, but there were only a few clouds drifting across the full moon as it climbed in the sky, dripping silvery beauty over everything below it. The night air was chilly but pleasant. Though it was out of season, there were plenty of people about because they were either attending the Belief and Beyond conference, or enjoying the fringe activities that went with it. Colored lights had been strung along the esplanade and looped around the palm trees. The sea was calm. If not quite the Riviera, Torquay nevertheless seemed magical and charming as Emily took her seat by the window in the Poisson d’Avril restaurant on the top floor of a three-story building next to the pier, overlooking the harbor.

  Emily, Dr. Muriel, Peg and Gerald had ordered fish and chips with a bottle of the house white wine. Gerald had taken a picture of the food when it arrived, to put it on Twitter: Good Friday fish supper #BeliefandBeyond.

  “How’s the report going?” Gerald asked Emily.

  “The image of Edmund walking on water is where it starts for me. I mean, seeing the poster was where the story started to get real—looking at him, seeing his face, his eyes. I felt a connection to him. That image seems to suggest different things to different people. Some think it’s blasphemous. Some think it’s about entertainment, or money. Some think they’re looking at a man who will drown. It’s like…”

  Dr. Muriel said, “It’s like a spiritualist or a psychic whose real skill is showing people to themselves. They use a mirror, not a microscope.” She smiled at Peg. “Or so the studies say, anyway.”

  “I’ll agree with you there, Muriel,” said Peg. “There are those of us who have the gift, of course. But I’m afraid there’s also charlatans. You take that Joseph Seppardi, for one. You seen the way he manipulates that poor couple, Sarah and Tim? He’ll say he’s talking to their child, but he’s just telling Sarah what she wants to hear. He doesn’t have the kind of skills to bring to a situation and turn it around the way I can with my positivity circle. You’ve got all that in your report, Emily? A drowning foretold, and it’s all over and done with, fortunately, with the Colonel surviving the ordeal.”

  “Yes. But I thought it was Edmund who was going to drown,” said Emily.

  “You’re a sensitive and intelligent person, but your aura still needs development. Remind me to give you some lessons when we get back to London,” Peg snapped.

  “Sounds like the report’s shaping up nicely,” said Gerald, very quick. “It’ll show the excitement we’ve generated in Torquay by bringing the conference to town, and how it can have a positive impact on the tourist trade in other locations, if we decide to spread our wings.” He changed the subject. “That haddock looks good, Peg. How is it?”

  “Very nice. But you should have been a bit quicker if you wanted a picture for your Twit-thing, Gerald. It’s nearly all gone.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” said Gerald smoothly. “The cod in batter’s good. A bit bland, perhaps. But it was the most reasonably priced choice on the menu.”

  “Haddock’s reliable. I don’t like to get the cod because of overfishing,” said Peg. It was the last mundane thing anyone would say for a while because people had already started to run toward the window, calling excitedly to each other that the magician, in top hat and black cape, had begun to walk along a stone jetty by the pier.

  Emily and her companions put down their wine glasses and went to the window to watch. The moon was full but it was dark outside. Powerful lights had been strung up at the town end of the jetty to pick out the figure of the magician, and these were switched on as soon as he began to walk toward the sea. The lights were housed in a specially constructed temporary booth made from scaffolding, with a waterproof canvas above it to protect the lights in case of rain. One of the security guards from the hotel was standing by the booth to make sure no one got too close.

  The magician was going to do a trick. And everyone knew what he was going to do because it had been staring them in the face all day, and they had been expecting it, even if they hadn’t known they were expecting it. He was going to walk on water. From their position by the window in the Poisson d’Avril restaurant, Emily and the other three had a good view of the show. There was Edmund in top hat and cape, walking very slowly along the jetty, putting one foot in front of the other as though he were walking on a tightrope, building the tension, allowing time for the crowd to grow bigger, the excitement to increase.

  Gerald had his phone out and was spelling a message on it with his thumb. Big crowd here! #BeliefandBeyond

  Down below them, Emily could see people running toward the jetty from all directions, trying to find a position that would give them a good view. A couple of youths had climbed the lampposts. Some men had children or girlfriends on their shoulders, as if they were at a festival in a park. There were coin-operated telescopes along the esplanade but these were fixed in place, pointing at places of interest across the bay, and money put into them tonight would be wasted unless the viewer wanted to look at those places and hear an accompanying recorded commentary. Most people had gone down onto the beach. Emily thought she spotted some familiar faces among them. There was Tim—tall and therefore easily identifiable among the crowd—a rucksack over his shoulder, zigzagging through the crowd. And then, twenty paces behind, as if tailing him, there was the slightly taller Joseph Seppardi. There were the German professors, Marta and Birgitte, and others from the conference whose names and nationalities Emily had forgotten or didn’t yet know. There was Hilary, too, though she was walking away from the crowd, heading into town.

  E
dmund was nearly at the end of the jetty, all eyes on him, when there was the sound of furious shouting.

  It was the Colonel, wading into the water from the beach in his white shirt with his trousers rolled up, his jacket discarded on the shore. He called to the magician from the waves. “Blasphemer!”

  The lights that had been trained on Edmund flickered. The crowd lost sight of him for a moment or two. Where was he? Who would see him first and have the satisfaction of shouting it for others to hear? A lad up a lamppost saw him, shouting like the kid on the Titanic who has seen the iceberg. There he is! There! It was impressive. He really did look as though he was walking on the water. He proceeded slowly, arms out for balance, still putting his feet heel to toe, one in front of the other, like a tightrope walker.

  “Oh! Now that’s a good trick,” said Dr. Muriel.

  “Is the Colonel part of it, do you think?” asked Gerald, a little anxiously.

  “Aren’t you in on this?” Dr. Muriel asked him.

  “No. I’ve been involved with the paranormal challenge, to ensure it’s as rigorous as possible and conducted along broadly scientific lines. But this trick is something Edmund’s taken upon himself to do. I hope the Colonel doesn’t do anything silly.”

  Emily looked along the jetty to see if she could see Chris. He would be at the heart of it somewhere. She couldn’t see him anywhere among the huge crowd. “I don’t think the Colonel’s part of the show.”

  “Someone’s going to call the police if they think he’s threatening Edmund,” said Gerald. “I need to go down there.” He tweaked at the sleeves of his jacket and adjusted his necktie with as much resolve as any action hero. But he remained by the window.

  Emily wasn’t surprised at Gerald’s reluctance to approach the Colonel at the water’s edge, given the afternoon’s events. She said, “I’ll go down there. I’ll see if I can persuade the Colonel to come back out of the sea.”

  When she reached the jetty, pushing her way through the crowds, Emily could hear the Colonel railing at the magician in a language she didn’t recognize.

  “Chware’n troi’n chwerw.” He was chest-deep in the water in his white shirt. “Dros ben llestri!”