The Chalice

The petals of her eyelids floated like waterlilies on pools of tears.

You are lying in her dead arms. We leave you there in those dead a rms. Until other arms encircle you.

Powys let the knocker fall twice, the sound tumbling away into the slender Georgian house.

The barbed tower of St John's soared above the surrounding roofs, almost shockingly close to this discreet but hardly modest pagan temple.

Nobody answered the knock. Powys glanced at Juanita for guidance.

'Try again.' She was tense. 'They've got to be here. Where else would they be?'

'You OK?'

Stupid question. She looked close to fainting, her face taut as parchment. It was a lovely face but not iridescent, not mesmeric. He wanted to take her home, come back alone. Smash a window with a brick, storm the place. Drag Diane out of there. Get them all the hell out of this increasingly unholy town before they, too, like Jim Battle, like Woolly, fell under the malaise.

Powys raised the knocker again. This time, when it fell back on the metal plate, the door glided eerily open. 'Of course,' Juanita said. 'Electronic.'

She followed him into the hallway. There was nobody waiting for them He saw closed doors and…

'Bloody-hell. What's that?'

In a corner, a tangle of dead branches rose sombrely from a black tub. The branches were wound with holly and mistletoe and there was a circle of small stones on the carpet around the tub.

'I suspect it's… what you might call a Solstice tree,' Juanita said.

On the topmost sprig, where the silver yuletide fairy would be expected to perch, a large, white mushroom sprouted flabbily.

'It's obscene.'

'…'s pretty, isn' it? 'S extremely… pretty.'

'God!' Powys found himself clutching Juanita's arm. One of the doors had opened; the shape which hung there was as white and moist as the mushroom. '

'She wore her druidic white robe with gold edging. It hung open, exposing a black satin shift. There was a huge gold tore around the neck, glittery slippers on the feet, a sheen of perspiration on the face.

'Who're you?' She was obviously pissed as a newt.

'Wanda,' Juanita thought rapidly. 'I'll come straight to the point. We're looking for Diane. You remember Diane?'

'Diane Fortune?' the Druid giggled. 'Oh gawd, Diane bloody Fortune.'

He should have recognised her; she was, after all, famous.

'That's right,' Juanita said tensely. 'Diane Fortune.'

The eyes unclouded for a moment. 'You're not Diane Fortune. I know who you are. You're that woman from the bookshop. Anita. Been away, haven't you? Something happened to you, what the hell was it? Come and tell me about it. Is this man with you?' She peered at Powys. 'Do I know you, darling? Think I'd've remembered. 'Stonishingly few shaggable men in this town. Place is full of new men, show 'em your tits and they offer to do the washing-up.'

Dame Wanda cackled.

Juanita adjusted a glove with her teeth. 'Wanda,' she said very deliberately, 'may I present J.M. Powys, the writer… and bastard son of John Cowper Powys. J.M., this is Dame Wanda Carlisle.'

And whispered to Powys, 'Go with it. We have to make her talk. Put your hand up her robe if you have to.'

She was drowning.

In a red tide.

Thick, salty wetness in her mouth. She awoke in terror from a long, long, long sleep, with blood in her mouth.

Breath bubbling through blood.

Blood drying on cold arms.

She said, 'Please… Have I been in an accident?'

What makes you think that?

'I feel… I can't feel…'

No, lie down. You 're all right. You're fine. No, you haven't been in an accident.

'But I… No. I don't remember.'

But I'm sorry to tell you, my dear, I'm very sorry to tell that you were attacked.

'I… I don't remember.. I don't remember what…'

You were – be calm – you were raped, Diane.

'NooOOOOO!'

Diane. Be calm, my dear. Give me your arm.

'D'you know what I thought?' Wanda Carlisle demanded. 'D'you know why I took a short while opening the door? Thought it was little fucking Verity. My goddess, what a bore that woman is. Come in, come in. Solstice felishi… felicitations. Have some mulled Bowermead plonk. Dreadful piss.'

They followed her into the opulent room with the velvet drapes, the gold braiding and a superior coal-effect gas fire. Dame Wanda rumbled at the drinks cabinet and knocked over a brass lamp. 'Bloody thing.'

Powys righted the lamp. Wanda squinted at him. She wore lots of mascara which had blotched and run. She looked as though she'd been shot through both eyes.

When she flopped down on the sofa, Juanita sat next to her. 'Wanda. listen to me. Where's Diane? You remember. Plump girl. Jenna brought her last night. And Ceridwen. Was Ceridwen here?'

'Nobody's here, darling, nobody't all.'

'You're saying you're alone? All alone in this big house?'

Wanda poured wine, clumsily. 'We're all of us alone.

'And chilled by the draught of death. Yeah. Wanda, where is Ceridwen?'

If she could use her hands, Powys thought, she'd be shaking the great actress until her tore rattled.

'C'ridwen's gawn. All gawn.'

'All? Who?'

'C'ridwen. Domini, Diane Fortune'

'Diane. Diane is with them. Where? Where are they, Wanda?'

'Fuck should I know. I'm just an outer… outer circler. Don't tell us anything. I sit and I drink and I wait for Enlightenment.' She thrust a brimming wineglass at Juanita. Try this. Old Pennard makes it. Ghastly piss.'

Juanita didn't move. Powys swooped and plucked the glass from Wanda's hand, took a sip, grimaced. Wanda laughed.

'Treads the grapes himself, shouldn't wonder. They're on their uppers, you know, s'why he's so keen for the bloody road to go through. Done a dirty deal with Government for about fifty acres. Got a drink, have you, darling?'

'Yes,' said Juanita.

'But we're going…' Wanda stabbed her in the chest with a gold-encrusted forefinger,'… to stop them. Yes we are. C'ridwen will cast the most enormous sodding spell. Not that I'll be there. Bitches. I'm not toh… totally stupid. Know I'm just a figurehead. Also kept for menial chores like looking after little fucking Verity.'

'What's the problem with Verity? I thought you were friends.'

'Lord above,' said Wanda, I'm a fucking actress.' She leaned her head back into the sofa's gold-brocaded cushions. 'D'you know what I've to do today? Have to invite her for Solstice tomorrow. Gawds, up at dawn to join the fucking bishop on the Tor and then Verity for the duration. You imagine that? Verity for Solstice? Stringy old bird, no breast.'

Wanda cackled. She adjusted herself on the sofa, picked up an imaginary phone.

'Oh, but darling, you simply must come. No way you can spend Solstice alone in that dreary, dreary house. And the other point, you see, is Dilys – my housekeeper – has gawn down with this awful bug. Verity would you, could you… I've a lovely room, overlooking St John's…'

Wanda beamed. Lecturing Juanita now, pleased with herself. She seemed to have forgotten all about Powys.

'Double whammy, darling. You see, she'll be desperate to come, but she'll feel it her duty to stay in that hellhole – so the clincher will be the housekeeper line. Housemaid mentality, that woman. Got to be doing for people or she doesn't feel jus… justified. In living.'

Powys nodded to Juanita and moved quietly to the door.

'Piece of cake,' Wanda was saying. 'Putty, that woman. Dear little parcel under the Solstice tree. Set of naff hankies with a monogrammed V. Basket of pot-pourri…'

Powys slipped out of the room and back down the thickly carpeted stairs.

He entered Cauldron country. There was a huge drawing room and library, perhaps two rooms knocked into one. A lecture room now, with about thirty chairs in rows. Shelves around the walls held about twice as many books as you could find in Carey and Frayne, but the same kind of stuff. Alphabetically arranged. Under Fortune, he found about forty volumes, some different editions of the same book, under Powys, nothing.