‘That was in 1706. The four persons not visible to the girl were all in good health at the time, yet they all died before the king. And, in 1715, in front of his deathbed, the only people present were the ones she had so carefully described nine years earlier.
‘One last detaiclass="underline" in accordance with the magician’s wishes, and in order to help the child to “see” the scenes, a large glass of water had been placed on the table in front of her….’
Mr. Hilton nodded understandingly:
‘So your great-uncle saw the future using the same method?’
‘In all likelihood. I’d known for a long time about the anecdote reported in Saint-Simon’s Memoires, but it wasn’t until last year that I made the connection with Harvey’s glass of water. And I won’t hide the fact that I now use the same method to… let’s say, concentrate.’ A curious gleam came into his eye. ‘It’s remarkable. The perfect transparency of the water acts like a veritable mirror where one can see many things, things which….’
His words tapered off and a beatific expression lit up his face.
‘When it suits you,’ said Francis amiably, ‘I wouldn’t mind a session with you… as long as you don’t announce a forthcoming catastrophe.’
‘But tell us,’ said Paula, still trying to come to grips with what she had heard, ‘is there any connection between your great-uncle’s glass of water and his death, and with the water found on the carpet?’
Brian made a futile gesture.
‘I’ve no idea. I’ve thought about it a great deal, particularly after my brother’s death… Why did he throw himself out of the window? And why the water on the carpet, in the exact same spot?’ He looked thoughtfully at Sarah. ‘You still don’t remember why you were so distraught?’
Sarah trembled.
‘I’ve tried so many times,’ she murmured, ‘but with no success. I can see the door I knocked on and the moment when I opened it … But, after that, nothing.’ She looked dolefully into Brian’s eyes. ‘Maybe it’s a form of vertigo brought on by a premonition of Harris’s death?’
Brian nodded.
‘It’s the only reasonable explanation. What’s more, such premonitions occur much more frequently than people think. I can cite numerous examples where people have been taken ill or had a nightmare at the precise moment when they lost a loved one several hundred miles away… My dear Sarah, there’s no doubt: at the very moment you started to open that door, you knew that Harris had left us forever.’
11
In the oppressive heat of that July afternoon, Howard Hilton contemplated the large clusters of roses that adorned the front entrance to Hatton Manor. Since the beginning of the year, it had been his task to take care of them, so as to lighten the load on old Mortimer, whose physical decline had become only too evident. He carefully checked the grafts he’d made, then, satisfied with the results, decided to take a short rest on one of the benches. He took off his hat, mopped the perspiration off his brow with the back of his arm, and sighed contentedly.
Trying to clear his mind, he contemplated the dark green swathe of the forest, which separated the azure sky from the soft green lawns, from which emanated a suffocating heat. Yet something was nagging at him: what Sarah had said at lunchtime. Although he had nothing specific to go on, he couldn’t help thinking it would put an end to the peaceful calm that had reigned the last few months. Obviously, a woman like Sarah couldn’t be expected to stay a widow forever, but he hadn’t expected it to be so soon.
Footsteps crunched the gravel and he saw Dorothy approaching. They hadn’t had time to talk since lunch, but by her demeanour he could see that she shared his thoughts. She sat down beside him, sombre and silent.
‘What a beautiful day, my dear,’ he observed in a gentle voice.
‘Enjoy it while you can,’ his wife replied. ‘Who knows what tomorrow will bring.’
‘Too true, my dear, too true.’
After a lengthy silence, Mrs. Hilton continued:
‘I don’t blame Sarah, as you well know… but she could have waited a bit longer. It’s not really appropriate. And Heaven only knows what will become of us now… It’s not out of the question that, in a few months time, she lets it be known that, in the interests of privacy, independence, or who knows what else, it’s better that we live apart… Of course, she wouldn’t cut us off financially… although even that remains to be seen.
‘I don’t know whether you’ve noticed, but since Harris’s death, she’s been looking down on us. The way she imposes her will and makes it clear to us, her own parents, that she’s the mistress of the house… The money’s gone to her head, I’m afraid.’
Howard made a gesture showing that he agreed with her, as his thoughts went back to the end of the lunch: Sarah had waited until then to announce she was about to be engaged to Dr. Meadows. To say that it had come as a surprise to all present was to put it mildly. Francis had sat there with his mouth open. Paula had felt a knot in her stomach and Dorothy, despite her outward calm, probably had as well.
Her husband watched her now out of the corner of his eye. As usual, she concealed her emotions. Nevertheless, years of experience had taught him that she was extremely upset. She turned to her husband:
‘Meadows is a perfectly respectable young man. Polite, well-mannered, always friendly, there’s really nothing to reproach him about.’
‘I quite agree, my dear.’
Mrs. Hilton became tight-lipped and paused before adding:
‘Except that I can’t help wondering… nothing certain, you understand….’
‘Whether he really wants to marry her just because of her blue eyes….’
Dorothy’s silence confirmed that she had the same suspicions.
‘I started wondering last month,’ said Howard, ‘when he told us he’d broken off his engagement to Bessie Blount. She’s a sweet girl and I couldn’t understand why it had happened.’ His expression hardened. ‘The question went unanswered… until today.’
The next day, Wednesday, Francis and Paula paid a visit to Bessie Blount. They’d been in the habit of going round once a week and thought it would be insensitive not to do so now.
Bessie’s house was situated a few hundred yards to the left on the way out of the village, beyond a heavily wooded area and just before the winding, pebble-strewn road which led gently uphill to the manor. For residents of Hatton Manor desirous of visiting the Blount residence, however, there was a path down through the undergrowth which led directly to a gate in the fence surrounding the property, from whence a path wound its way through a small meadow to a modest shed which had served as Bessie’s grandfather’s workshop.
The old man hadn’t set foot in the place since the accidental death of his son, for which he felt himself responsible: Bessie’s father had been crushed by the weight of a heavy wardrobe which had fallen on him as a result of a faulty manoeuvre.
Beyond the workshop lay a kitchen garden, a hedge, a small lawn in the shade of a weeping willow, and the Blounts’ house itself.
It was the path through the undergrowth which Francis and Paula usually took to visit their neighbour. They found her installed in a deckchair beneath the weeping willow. Seeing them, she sat up and smiled warmly.
The young couple, who had come prepared to offer words of comfort following Mike Meadows’ engagement to Sarah, were relieved to find that she was actually in excellent spirits. They sat down to tea and were caught off balance when Bessie announced: