“Of course some people only want yoga lessons,” Xander admitted. “We cater for them, too.”
Esme perched on the edge of the reception desk and studied Xander.
“So, Xander,” she said in an overly casual manner. “Are you, ahem, one of us?” She looked at me. “What’s it called when men do it?”
“Some people say warlock,” I said. “But that’s got a bit of bad history attached to it – mostly now men are just witches too.”
Esme nodded and looked back at Xander.
“So are you a witch?” she asked.
A shadow crossed Xander’s face.
“No, unfortunately,” he said. “I just look after the business side of things.”
“You can learn,” Esme said. “Harry says anyone can learn. I’ll teach you.”
There was a pause.
“Are you serious?” Xander and I asked together. I knew I sounded disbelieving – after all, it wasn’t that long ago that Esme herself was the pupil. Xander, however, was more enthusiastic.
“Can you do that?” he asked.
“Of course she can’t,” I said abruptly. “She’s busy. She’s got a job and a fiancé and a wedding to plan.”
Grumpy suddenly – it was always weird when two friends got on and left you out – I stood up straight.
“I’m going for a wee.”
But when I came back to reception, Xander and Esme were chatting, their heads close together.
“I’m going to give Xander some lessons,” she said, a hint of defiance in her eyes.
I looked round me.
“Have you started already?” I asked. I could sense some magic in the air.
Esme looked alarmed.
“No,” she said, looking at Xander. “We’ve just been sorting out a date to get started. I’ve not done anything.”
She lifted her head and sniffed the air like a bloodhound.
“There’s something here, isn’t there?” she said. “A feeling.”
I nodded. I felt very uneasy.
“You want to learn the basics?” I said to Xander suddenly. “Why don’t we go over some now? I want to do a rebalancing spell.”
“What do you want me to do?” Esme asked. I didn’t really want her to do anything; I was quite capable on my own. She was obviously trying to prove she was able to teach Xander so because of that, I said: “Just stand there and look pretty.”
Esme rolled her eyes at me and I nudged her.
“I was joking,” I said, though I hadn’t been, not really. I picked a piece of chalk out of Star’s pen pot and drew a pentangle on the floor. A rebalancing spell had no need for a pentangle – in fact in all my years of casting spells I’d never come across a spell that needed one – but Xander looked impressed and I felt it was important to instil a sense of theatre into the proceedings.
I sat on the floor next to the pentangle and Esme sat opposite me. We held hands over the chalk outline and I murmured the words, quietly and softly. As I spoke, the air above our heads shimmered and soft drops of invisible rain fell onto our shoulders.
Xander breathed out. I caught Esme’s eye and winked. And then her phone rang. With the Bewitched theme tune.
Embarrassed, she jumped to her feet and scrabbled in her bag, trying to find it while I laughed.
“Jamie’s idea of a joke,” she said as she grabbed it and answered.
I watched as she spoke to Jamie, turning away from us as she told him she was coming home now.
“Put the wine in the fridge,” she said. “I’ll be home in half an hour.”
She kissed me on the cheek, threw her phone in her bag and picked up her coat. Then, awkwardly, she kissed Xander on the cheek too.
“Nice to meet you finally,” she said.
“I’ll call you,” he said, giving her a wink.
She giggled like a schoolgirl and stumbled out of the door, gawky and blushing.
I had a very bad feeling about this.
It was strange going back to work the next day, knowing Star wouldn’t be sitting at reception, her blonde curls bouncing and her smile welcoming. She wouldn’t bring me a cup of tea, or tell me about her weekend. I got to the spa early, so early it was still dark outside, and printed out a notice. I found a photo of Star taken at our opening party – she was laughing and looking over her shoulder at whoever had taken the photo – and she looked lovely. I added it to the poster and wrote a brief announcement explaining Star had suddenly passed away. Then I pinned copies on the front door, the reception desk and in every treatment room. I wanted to make sure people saw it; I couldn’t face having to tell clients over and over again that Star was dead. Then I looked in the stationery cupboard and found a new notepad and a nice pen, which I left on the reception desk so people could write messages of condolence in there. I thought I could pass it on to Star’s parents later.
I took over on reception that morning. But I didn’t have the smile, or the ability to remember every last detail about clients’ children/husbands/parents/dogs that Star had. By lunchtime I was convinced I was actually putting people off so I rang a temping agency and asked them to send me a receptionist.
“We’ve got a lovely lady called Nancy,” the consultant said. “She’s free all week. She’s very experienced – one of our more mature temps.”
“How mature?” I said suspiciously. “Is she healthy?” I couldn’t bear the thought of having another receptionist expire.
She assured me Nancy was in fine fettle and I booked her for a fortnight. She arrived within an hour, a neat woman in her fifties with a sleek grey bob and a pale pink cardigan buttoned all the way up and I almost kissed her, because I was so pleased to see her.
The rest of the day went in a blur. I was so busy I didn’t have time to fret about the photos we’d found in Star’s house. I didn’t even have time to look at them until the next day. I worked late on Tuesdays, so I started late too.
I did yoga every day. If I missed it, I was grouchier, pricklier and generally more unpleasant than usual – and I was quite aware that was bad. Sometimes I took a class at the spa, other days I just did my own exercises at home. I found I had some of my best ideas when I was upside down.
That morning I spread Star’s photos out on my bedroom floor so I could see them, then I put my yoga mat down and began.
As I went through my sun salutation, I looked at the pictures, peering at them through my legs in my downward-facing dog pose. By the time I’d been through my regular routine, my mind was clearer and one thing was certain – I had to phone DI Baxter.
Gently I eased myself into a headstand, just as my phone rang. It was on the floor next to the photos. I squinted at the display – it was DI Baxter. I grinned to myself, not entirely surprised. It wasn’t the first time I’d thought of someone and they’d phoned straight away.
I lowered my legs, sat back on my haunches and answered.
“Harmony,” she said. Again I felt a flutter of butterflies in my stomach. Now that did surprise me. Since Natalie left I’d shut myself off from any thought of romance, concentrating all my energy on work and my family. Had DI Baxter broken through the shield I’d