'So,' I said, straightening up now that we were safely out of range, 'what would you like to do for the rest of your visit? All this melodrama must be terribly boring for you.'

'On the contrary, I haven't had this much excitement in ages.' Tom grinned broadly. 'But I have to admit my plans for the day were more mundane. I had thought we could have lunch at that pub of yours....'

'What, the Red Lion?'

He nodded. 'I think it's time I met some of your new friends. For curiosity's sake, if nothing else. And then, after I've put new locks on your doors, I thought I might take you up to Swindon for the rest of the day. We could poke around the shops, if you like, have a classy dinner somewhere, maybe even go to the pictures afterward. Remember going to the pictures?'

'No.'

'Neither do I,' he sighed. 'So, what do you think?'

'I think it sounds heavenly,' I admitted.

'Good. Then that's what we'll do.'

We drove in silence for a moment, and then Tom frowned suddenly and looked at me.

'Julia, I've been thinking.'

'Yes?'

'This past-life business. I don't think you ought to be playing around with it, trying to make things happen.'

I stared at him. 'But last week you said—'

'I know. But that was before I'd seen ... what it was like. What you're like when it's happening. And now that I've seen it, I've changed my mind. Just think about it, for a minute,' he implored me. 'You could get mown down by a car on the road, or something. And the past might be just as dangerous. How do you know this Mariana person didn't hang herself, or drown herself in the river, or throw herself off a cliff?'

'There aren't any cliffs near Exbury.'

'You know what I mean. We simply don't know enough about the whole phenomenon yet, and I don't think it's safe for you to be playing around with experiments, that's all. Bad enough it happens spontaneously, sometimes.'

I turned my head to look out the window at the passing landscape, not answering him, and Tom went on in a cautious tone. 'Julia? I want you to promise me that you won't try anything like this again until we learn a little more about what's happening. Will you promise me that?'

Beyond the rain-soaked swells of Wexley Chase, a flock of birds rose in a beating, shifting cloud, wheeling in tight formation above the softly smudged green fields. I looked away from the window and smiled sweetly at my brother.

'Yes, Tom, of course,' I said. 'I promise.'

Seventeen

I think your brother is rather wonderful,' Vivien commented. 'Not at all like a real vicar.'

It was half-past nine in the morning on the following Saturday, and I was taking advantage of the brilliant sunshine and mild temperature by attempting, in my amateurish way, to weed the dovecote garden behind my house, while Vivien sat perched on the tumbled stone wall, drinking tea from one of my cracked cups and keeping me company in my labors.

'Yes, well.' I straightened my back, tossing a handful of what I hoped were weeds to one side. 'I'm afraid the Church tends to agree with you. Nothing like a real vicar, although the people of his parish think the world of him. And he can be serious, when he wants to be. Is that a flower, do you think?'

I looked dubiously at a small, delicate plant with fern-like leaves, tilting my head to one side.

'I honestly can't say,' Vivien told me. 'I'm hopeless with gardens. Look, are you sure you want to be doing this? Iain I’ll have your hide if you pull up one of his prize South African whatchama-whoosits by mistake.'

I left the questionable plant alone and ripped out what looked like a clump of grass instead, setting my jaw in what my brother would have instantly recognized as defiance.

'I'm not afraid of Iain Sumner. Besides, he can't possibly do everything. He can't help out up at the manor and keep his garden going and take care of his sheep all at the same time.'

'He's got an orchard, as well.'

'There you are, then.' I pulled another clump to empha-;ize my point. 'I'm saving him from a nervous collapse.'

Vivien grimaced. 'Well, don't say I didn't warn you. You've never been on the receiving end of one of his tirades.'

'They can't possibly be any worse than my brother's.'

'What, that lovely sweet man who sat at my bar telling funny stories all the afternoon? Don't tell me he has a temper?'

'Fire and brimstone,' I affirmed. 'In biblical proportions."

'Well.' Vivien smiled, swinging her legs. 'At least when lain starts yelling, his accent gets thicker, so you usually can't understand a word he's ... No, don't pull that one,' she stopped me suddenly. 'That one I do recognize. It's some sort of a daisy, or something.'

I withdrew my hand obediently and sat back On my heels, surveying my handiwork with satisfaction. The garden did look neater, I told myself, and happier, free of the creeping green tendrils that had been choking out beautiful flowering mounds of columbine and peonies and purple iris.

'It really is a pretty garden,' I said aloud, and Vivien nodded.

'Built on several centuries of pigeon droppings,' she rationalized. 'There must be heaps of nitrogen in this soil.'

'I hadn't thought of that.' I rose to my feet, gathering my stock of weeds into a neat pile for disposal. "When did this stop being used as a dovecote?'