It was not yet daylight when the clairvoyant, dressed in a dark hooded anorak, drove her car to Steeple Norford. No one was about in the few streets that made up the small village. Driving slowly, she wended her way past the main street, the old gothic church, the hall, the two pubs and the large famous private school. There she lingered for a few moments, suppressed a sense of nostalgia and drove on to a secluded meadow just behind the large grounds of the hunting lodge where the annual fete took place. There, out of any body's sight, she parked her car.

Passing through a gap in the hedge that surrounded the premises, she made her way to a small tent. A sign post stated: "MADAME GERALDINE reads your FUTURE" and "Buy your voucher at the gate". Two chairs and a small table stood in the middle of the darkened tent. The woman took out a small candle and put it on the table. It would give little light when lit. That was as it should be. For once, the identity of the fortune-teller was not to be revealed. Grimly she smiled to herself and sat down. She had a long wait before her first customer arrived, but she did not mind. She was sure that in the end it would be worth it.

Steeple Norford was a small village. However its annual fete was always well attended. People from the surrounding villages considered it quite quaint for a day out, whilst its inhabitants and the parents of school children would not have missed it for anything.

The clairvoyant knew that volunteers had carried out all the necessary works. Committee members would complete the finishing touches. The gates would open at ten sharp. Lights would be tested, loudspeakers checked, background music prepared and small flags securely tied. The weather was clement and everyone was sure of success.

Hearing the first hustle and bustle, the woman rose and peeped out. Not far away she could see the thin figure of Mrs Hunt, as always an eager and avid organiser of the fete. Mrs Hunt would have a good opportunity to indulge in her favourite pastime that day: eavesdropping on her neighbours. There was no sign of her husband. The clairvoyant knew he had to stay at home, having been assigned some despicable chore. With an air of authority Mrs Hunt strode enthusiastically to the book stall to meet her assistant Miss Bregton, the new teacher.

The stall and the tent were not far from each other. Straining her ears, the clairvoyant heard bits of conversation. Mrs Hunt pointed at the books.

"We have better books," replied young Miss Bregton. "Once the council managed to get their hands on that derelict old house....."

"Good job the village won the court case...."

"Was it abandoned or was... she forced to leave?"

Mrs Hunt's sharp voice rose a few decibels. "You haven't been living here long, have you? It's best to bury the past. Some persons are best forgotten."

Miss Bregton clung to a book she wanted to buy. The fortune-teller knew what was written on its flap. "To Miss Marina, our affectionate teacher." Miss Bregton stared at the book, obviously wondering why Miss Marina had left, but no one was prepared to discuss it in public.

The clairvoyant's piercing eyes wandered towards the food stall where Mrs Reed and the cherubic faced Mrs Agron, the two fattest women in Steeple Norford, were in charge. It gave them the opportunity to stay together and taste every cake on the sly.

A bell clanged, the gates opened and background music blared, interrupted for short announcements. In the tent the clairvoyant lit the candle. She took a waxed stick out of her bag. This too was lit, but not for light. A faint smell of incense filled the tent. Some even seeped outside into the fresh air. People always noticed the smell of incense. Somehow it increased their interest.

The first customers arrived. "Please give me your voucher," she asked, but not to helpers. Those had free vouchers.

The woman considered herself the best of clairvoyants. She had a knack of learning new crafts. It was something inborn. She knew what to say, how to make lives happy, how to instil hope, how to give some bad news with a touch of grace, always adding that things would improve. It was extraordinary how everyone expected some bad news from her. Somehow it made her prophecies more credible.

Like the oracles of old, she had the knack of tempering her predictions. If you do this.... Should that were to occur....! She would take some time over a hand, deliberating over every contour of the palm. Always she studied the cards. They were her favourites. She even had a special set given to her by a friendly gypsy, but these were used only on special occasions. Today she was prepared to bet even her life she was going to use them. She was not to be disappointed.

Mrs Hunt was the first to enter the tent, displaying all the authority of a committee member. She was not asked for her voucher. Neither was she asked to upturn her hand. The special cards were deftly produced. Mrs Hunt was invited to shuffle them. Then she was asked to choose some and place them on the table.

"I thought that was your job." The old woman's tone was biting. She peered at the clairvoyant but it was too dark to see.

Ignoring her, the clairvoyant spoke softly: "What is it you want to know?"

"What about my future? I know my past well enough."

"You have no future. Your husband is in love with someone else. You'll not find him at home today. Henceforth you'll spend your days alone. Each day will be a repetition of the day before. People will talk. No one will respect you again. Alas, nothing can change this situation."

Mrs Hunt stood up, upsetting her chair. "Do you expect me to believe you?" Her hoarse voice jarred in the quietude of the tent.

The clairvoyant remained calm. "Why, it's written in the cards!"

"Other woman! He wouldn't dare!"

"There are other forces at work. See this card. It is plain an enemy seduced your husband. I can almost read her name. No, it's not clear. Marian perhaps. Alas I'm not sure!"

The clairvoyant grinned as the woman left the tent in a huff. She saw her going straight to the telephone. Mrs Hunt dialled a number, but got no reply. She tried again. Still no one replied. Music blared cheerfully but Mrs Hunt seemed in a bad mood.

Another customer entered the tent but soon Mrs Argon's cherubic face peeped inside the darkened tent.

"Come in. I was expecting you. It's in the cards, see. I turn this card and behold a nice plumb woman. However this card does not count. Shuffle them yourself, please."

Mrs Argon, quite red in the face, settled mesmerised in her chair. "I see you're a widow. You're still young. Pity. You wish to marry again. Alas, it is impossible. A past scandal. People talk. No man would dare marry you."

"But.... I ....I didn't do nothing wrong. It was another..."

The clairvoyant ignored the stuttering and bad grammar. Mercilessly she stuck to her subject. "Yes, I see a person. A teacher! You were involved. People know you were involved. People suspect ulterior motives. No, the cards are plain. You will never marry again. Try not to be too unhappy. You are not that bad."

Mrs Argon left, her face no longer cherubic. The clairvoyant saw her return to her stall where an indignant Mrs Hunt was whispering something to Mrs Reed, who immediately walked out of the stall and wobbled to have her fortune read.

"Shuffle the cards." The inviting voice was low and sweet. Surely, thought Mrs Reed, Mrs Hunt must have exaggerated. Madame was always a nice person.

"You live in a divided house. This happened because of a woman. Marina? Your husband has done his utmost to drive you away. You will never be reconciled. Alas you will remain as lonely as ever. This war of nerves makes you eat much more than you need. It could be the end of you, you know!"

"Who are you?"

"I am Madame Geraldine, no?" Indignantly Mrs Reed left. Quickly the clairvoyant left the tent for her car. At the gap in the hedge she looked back. An investigating committee member found the tent empty. He would phone Madame Geraldine. Madame would be indignant. After all, someone had cancelled her appointment.

Her replacement waited no longer. She was not to be identified. She got into her car and sped away. She smiled in a cat-like way. Soon she was sure she would feel the thrill of satisfaction for what she had done. Instead she felt only a strange sadness. She was not feeling as elated as expected! "Why?" she thought. For all her fortune telling, she would never understand why!

Copyright Victor Buhagiar 1998-2001

 [More of My Short Stories]

[My other short stories]

[Back to Writers Haven fiction and writing pages]

Back to Main Writers Haven page

Copyright Katherine West 2001