Chapter Eight
The writing class had finished for the day and Kate decided to take a stroll. A chill in the air, a harbinger of autumn, was sharp and crisp and soon cleared her head as she walked across the courtyard into the garden, zipping her quilted jacket and pulling on a pair of gloves.
Writing longhand in class all day had strained muscles in her fingers that were tired from years of perpetually tapping on a keyboard.
Kate felt a stabbing pain and thrust both hands deep into the warmth of her pockets.
The discomfort was worrying and she wondered what she was going to do to stop the spread of arthritis.
Opening an iron gate, Kate stepped into the meadow.
She looked up and saw the tepee where puffs of pale grey smoke rose from an opening at the top.
A breeze carried the swirling matter towards the fells.
She could hear faint chanting coming from inside the tepee and the vibrating sound reminded Kate of a swarm of bees. She paused to listen.
‘Namaste,’ a voice called out.
Kate spun around and was startled to see the Shaman standing before her.
‘Will you join us?’ he asked and moved a length of brightly covered canvas to one side, indicating that Kate step into the dark abyss beyond.
Despite the warmth of her jacket, Kate felt a shiver run down her spine. She could hear voices and the chant was getting louder. ‘I’m just taking a little exercise,’ she said. ‘I’ve been cooped up in a classroom all day and thought that I’d take a walk to unwind.’
‘I will help you to relax.’
‘That’s very kind,’ Kate mumbled, ‘but I think I’ll pass for now, perhaps later in the week?’ She didn’t want to offend the man but had no intention of venturing into the tepee.
The Shaman looked down. He placed his palms together as if in prayer and bowed slightly. ‘You will come when the time is right,’ he said.
Kate felt her feet turn to stone. ‘What is it that you do in there?’ she asked, rooted to the spot.
‘I heal and you have pain.’
The man looked up and Kate was captivated by his shining eyes. ‘Pain where?’ she whispered.
He held out his hands and Kate stared at the long fingers. She was mesmerised as he reached out to take her hands in his own. His skin felt hot and a burning sensation rippled through her flesh. Her bones cracked and, shocked, Kate pulled away.
‘You can heal my fingers?’ She pushed her hands back into her pockets.
‘I just did.’
A drum was beating in the tepee and the Shaman lifted his head to listen. He swept his cloak around his body and with a nod, was gone.
Kate was speechless.
Falling leaves began to tumble from interlocking branches lining the edge of the meadow.
They fluttered down like multicoloured rain in the cool autumn air, which carried an aroma of musky perfume.
The potent smell drifted towards Kate and she stared as a woman, head shrouded in a long scarf, reached out to unhook the canvas doorway of the tepee.
Heavy bangles circled a bony arm and rattled as the woman closed the inner world of the Shaman from the outer.
An owl screeched and the eerie cry shook Kate from her stupor. She forced her feet to move and hurried through the meadow to climb over a stile and scramble onto damp green fields and walk along a well-trodden path.
Kate knew nothing of Shamanism and couldn’t explain the scene she’d just experienced.
In the back of her mind she recalled that it was an ancient mode of spiritual healing.
A Shaman being the medium for the spirits.
But Kate felt uncomfortable. She didn’t believe in spirits of the mystic kind and right now the only spirit she wanted was a large gin with a dash of tonic.
Whatever went on in the tepee was no concern of hers.
She picked up her pace as the wind blew and tried not to think about her feelings when the Shaman took her hands in his.
Instead she focused on the writing class, which, to her surprise, she’d enjoyed immensely.
James, the tutor, was encouraging, even when she felt that she’d made a complete fool of herself with her rag doll rant.
He’d listened, offering constructive comments and she’d been inspired to write on.
James was easy to talk to and by the end of the session, Kate knew that she was looking forward to the rest of the course.
Andy had sat next to her and she’d watched his fingers grip the body of his expensive fountain pen as it moved confidently across his page.
She’d longed to reach out and hold his hand but Andy had been immersed in his writing and oblivious to Kate.
He’d occasionally looked up and smiled, much to the delight of the female writers, alert to his every glance.
Andy certainly attracted attention.
Kate turned to retrace her steps and wondered if she should be concerned?
She’d slept with the most eligible man in the building and there didn’t seem to be a woman on his radar who wasn’t attracted to his good looks and charm.
Kate knew that she’d have to be on her guard if the relationship was to progress.
But, she reasoned, Andy was so attentive and they had much in common; she shouldn’t be paranoid.
Surely it was best to enjoy the experience and see where it went?
Her stay at Boomerville was exactly what she needed and to have a gorgeous man thrown in was a bonus.
She was a long way from her lovely old schoolhouse but so far, she hadn’t missed it one bit.
Clouds gathered in a dark squall and Kate felt rain on her face.
A storm was brewing and she cursed. Her hair would be soaked and she’d have to hurry if she was going to get back in time to be ready for dinner.
She pulled on her collar and as the hotel came in sight, looked up and saw the tepee.
As twilight fell, it cast menacing shadows and Kate thought about the Shaman.
A warm sensation had crept over her hands and as she hurried through the meadow, the tips of her fingers tingled.
She stopped to stare at her hands in disbelief.
The pain was gone. Had his healing worked?
Did the Shaman really have magical powers?
Kate shivered and shook her head. It was all a lot of nonsense; surely she was imagining things?
The rain was falling heavily and like a bunny returning to a burrow, Kate longed to be back in her cosy room.
She ran into the garden, relieved to see the welcoming lights that shone from the conservatory.
With relief, Kate flung the door open and stepped into the building.
She shook off her jacket and placed it on a rack to dry.
A gilded mirror hung to one side of the room and Kate leaned in to straighten her wayward hair.
But as she studied her reflection, she gasped.
The Shaman appeared behind her. His eyes shone and he seemed to be shaking his head. Kate spun around. She clasped her hand to her mouth to stifle a scream but the Shaman had disappeared.
There was nothing but an empty room and Kate was alone.
She stared out of the window where shafts of moonlight glistened on the rain-soaked lawn and told herself that she really mustn’t go out on the fells on her own at this time of night.
The light must be playing tricks! For the Shaman was far away in the tepee.
What she needed was a hot bath and a stiff drink. Kate sighed and, feeling cross for letting her imagination run away, hurried through the hotel and up to her room to get ready for the evening ahead.
* * *
Andy sat by the window in his room. Evening had closed in and as light drained, shadows danced across the pale walls. He stared out at the garden where the moon hid behind a dense layer of cloud and rain began to fall, ricocheting on the conservatory roof below.
On a nearby table a decanter of malt whisky sat on a silver tray and he reached out to pour a generous measure. The window was open and a draught crept over the sill but, as Andy sipped the whisky, he felt a warm glow.
Things were working out perfectly.
He picked up a packet of cigars and tipped one out then peeled the cellophane wrapper.
The tobacco was rich and he held it to his nose.
There was only one thing that complimented a good cigar and excellent whisky and that was a wealthy woman.
He flicked a gold lighter and drew heavily, then puffed smoke through the window.
As he watched it drift into the twilight and disperse over the conservatory roof, he thought about Kate.
She’d gone out earlier and he waited for her to return.
Andy sighed contentedly. He couldn’t believe his luck. Within hours of his arrival at Boomerville, everyone had soaked up his fictitious story and there was genuine sympathy for the grieving widower, who’d lost his wife so tragically.
Cancer was powerful in many ways.
He rolled the whisky across his tongue then let it slide slowly down his throat and thought about Kate’s welcoming creamy white thighs and how he’d rolled his tongue around their innermost secrets.
An experience that had been thoroughly enjoyable, unlike many in the past. Only the thought of a deep and plentiful bank account, belonging to the grateful recipient of Andy’s attention, had enabled him to ply his amorous performance to the string of rich, ageing and desperate women that he’d ruthlessly hunted down.