Part 52 (1/2)

Indeed, at first she stared at Millie for a perceptibly long time without uttering a word.

'Well, come in,' she said at last, as if there had been some demur.

They were in the rheumatism lady's small sitting room, though already it looked much more run down. The rheumatism lady's little water-colours had been replaced by wall cards bearing emblems of the zodiac; somewhat stained, and by no means a complete set. There was a round black table in the centre of things, with two black composition chairs opposite one another.

'Sit down,' said Thelma Modelle, still a little petulantly, 'and call me Thelma.'

Millie sat, as one does at such times; but Thelma continued to stand. She was observing Millie.

'Would you prefer to smoke?'

'I've given it up. My husband made me stop it.'

'Then why are you carrying a packet of Players in your handbag?'

Millie felt that she had turned pale and puce at the same time.

'It's an unopened packet. I suppose you can see that too.'

'One thing I can't see is why you're here. What are you looking for?'

'Your leaflet came through my door. Just this moment, in fact. So will you please read my palm, or whatever it is you do?' Millie extended her hand across the table.

'That's the wrong one,' said Thelma. 'But never mind. It would be no good with you in any case. I'll see what the cards have to say.'

She picked up a working pack from the mantel behind her. Millie would have supposed there would be shuffling, perhaps cutting, certainly a careful and symmetrical laying out. But all Thelma did was chuck six or seven apparently random cards across the surface of the table.

'You're in trouble right enough,' said Thelma.

'What sort of trouble?' asked Millie steadily.

'You'll know the details best.'

'What's going to happen about it?'

'It's going to get worse.'

'Yes, I suppose it's bound to do that.'

'I should try running away, if I were you. Hide. Change your name. Change your appearance. Change everything.'

'Join the raggle-taggle gypsies, in fact?' After all, one must at times seek some proportion in things.

'Please!' exclaimed Thelma. 'I am a gypsy.'

'I'm so sorry.' But that was wrong too. 'I wasn't meaning to be rude.'

'The gypsies wouldn't have you.'

'Why ever not?' But Millie was by now hardly surprised, hardly capable of surprise.

'You're marked.'

'In what way? How am I marked? You don't mean that lacrosse accident?'

'No. Not that.'

Millie reflected silently for a moment. If Thelma Modelle would sit down, as consultants normally do, it could be that much easier.

Millie spoke again. 'Please tell me more.'

'The cards won't go any further.'

'Well, something else then.' After all, there was a crystal on the mantel too, though Millie had never seen one in her life before (it was smaller than she had supposed); and some sort of large, shapeless thing leaning against the wall.

'If you want to know more, it will have to be s.e.x.'

Millie had heard at Oxford of 's.e.x magic' and its alleged dangers.

'I don't think I want that,' she said.

'That's quite all right,' said Thelma rather nastily. 'I shouldn't advise you to find out more anyway.'

'Why ever not? Is it really as terrible as all that?'

'It might make you mad.'

The familiar Shakespearian phrase was really too much. Millie rose to her feet.

'How much do I owe you?'

Thelma's expression had become very odd.

'No money. Just look in again. While you still have time of your own.'

'You've made a mistake there,' said Millie. 'The boys aren't going back. They've been expelled.'

'I've never claimed to be right every time.'

Millie managed to smile a little. 'Please take some money. I have profited by your frankness.'

'Not from you,' said Thelma. 'I've told you what you can do.'

'I'll think about it,' said Millie.

'You can come and live here if you've nowhere else to go.'

'I can go to my Uncle Stephen. Actually he's pressing me.'

'You can do whatever you like,' said Thelma.