The Dream Weavers by Barbara Erskine (books you have to read txt) 📕

She waited until he had closed the door and she heard the sound of his footsteps running down the stairs, then she slipped the cross into the pocket of her jeans and turned to the shelf to retrieve what she needed.

Behind her the shape of a woman had coalesced out of the shadows. It was watching her, a faint smile on the drifting amorphous shape that was her face. Before Bea turned back with a dried bundle of rowan leaves and mugwort and a box of matches, the figure had gone.

32

Sandra was wandering round the aisles in Marks & Spencer, deep in thought. She had been there some time now, flicking through coat hangers, pushing at racks of jackets and skirts, feeling soft jumpers and trousers, going round and round in a half daze. She did not notice the figure some distance behind her keeping a suspicious watch on her activities. Pulling out a dress she held it against herself for a few moments, then shoved it back amongst the others. She hadn’t even noticed that it was at least four sizes too big for her. When at last she gave up on her endless, pointless quest and headed for the doors, the store detective stood watching until she was out of sight in the crowded street outside. The woman was a troubled soul, no question about that. Exactly the sort of unhappy middle-aged loser who would find herself up before a magistrate for shoplifting without ever quite knowing why. She knew if the woman had shoved something into her bag it would have been without even realising what she had done. For once she was glad it hadn’t happened. It would have been so needless a humiliation. She turned back into the shop and spotted a group of giggling teenagers. These were far more likely prey. They were the kind who thought nicking something was normal and easy and a laugh. Well, she was about to prove them wrong on every count.

Sandra wandered on down between the stalls of the street market, her empty shopping bag over her arm. Overhead she heard the ringing call of a gull as it flew low over the street, scanning the crowds below. She gave a rueful smile. Once that noise would have filled her with joy, reminding her of happy seaside holidays with her parents; nowadays, as a rueful neighbour had explained, all gulls needed to target a town was word to get out in the bird community that people were walking around eating chips. She stood lost in thought, studying a stall laden with joss sticks and candles, incense cones and statues of the laughing Buddha, until a woman laden with carrier bags in the jostling crowd pushed her out of the way.

By the time she turned back towards the cathedral, her mind was made up. There was only one thing she could do.

‘She resigned?’ Bea looked at Heather in astonishment. ‘Why?’

‘No idea. She loved her job. But we both know she has been very odd lately. On a bit of a quest. I told her she could come back any time and she would be very welcome. No,’ she raised a hand as Bea opened her mouth to protest, ‘I know this must be huge relief to you, but I wondered if perhaps she’s not well. Maybe that’s behind her weird behaviour. She has been looking very stressed and tired. It can’t all be because she’s witch-hunting you.’ She gave a tight little smile. ‘You didn’t cast a spell on her, did you?’

‘No, of course I didn’t!’ Bea’s reply was sharper than she intended.

Heather looked at her thoughtfully. ‘She has a flat in St James. As far as I know, she lives there alone. She’s a widow or divorced, I’m not sure which, and I don’t think she has any children. I always thought the cathedral was pretty much her whole life. I can’t understand her going, especially now in the run-up to Easter and with her quest to thwart your evil plans in full swing. I’ll look in on her in a day or two or so to make sure she’s OK.’

Bea said nothing, pushing away her lurking feeling of guilt. She was surprised though. She would have thought Sandra’s quest would have led her to stay where she was, hiding behind the great Norman pillars, tiptoeing round the Chapter House garden, spying. Her guilt was followed swiftly by a huge wave of relief. She turned to Heather. ‘Why don’t I shout you a cup of tea? Are you in a hurry?’ They had met by accident both doing last-minute shopping.

Heather smiled. ‘Why not? I have serious questions to ask you.’

She waited until they were seated in a quiet backstreet café.

‘So, you looked a bit guilty when I told you Sandra had left.’

‘And you know why. But I won’t deny it’s a weight off my mind to think she won’t be tracking me round Herefordshire any more.’

‘And you believe that, do you?’

‘What do you mean?’ Bea stared at her.

‘You don’t think she’s left so she can pursue you full-time?’

Bea was speechless with horror. ‘But what does she think she’s going to see?’ she retorted at last.

‘You tell me.’

‘Only me in a chapel praying. And working with a vulnerable child, which is something I shan’t do again, or not in the cathedral anyway. That was a mistake, though I could be forgiven for thinking it was a safe space.’

‘True.’ There was a pause. ‘Do be careful, Bea,’ Heather said at last. ‘I have an uncomfortable feeling about this. If I extrapolate from some passing remarks she made, I had begun to wonder if she fancied Mark; she definitely thinks she has a special rapport with him and she might, just might, be under the impression that he likes her.’

Bea’s mouth dropped open.

‘I know. I know,’ Heather went on. ‘It’s not very credible, but I’ve met cases a bit like this before. You know