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of the dancers.
At this point the BBC cameraman, who was standing just outside the circle, his camera trained on the dancers, began to laugh. Minnie, looking over her shoulder, frowned at him, as did the thin woman who had also been singing invocations to Sister Time.
“I’m sorry,” muttered the cameraman, trying to control himself. But it was just too difficult, and the camera resting on his shoulder began to wobble wildly. His assistant, who was holding a powerful lamp on an extended pole, began to giggle.
“Beings of Light!” intoned Minnie.
“That’s you,” muttered the cameraman to his assistant.
This brought more giggles from the lighting man.
“Stop!” shouted Minnie, clapping her hands together. “We have some very negative forces present today.” She turned and glared at the cameraman. “You’re behaving very discourteously,” she admonished, “and I must ask you to leave.”
The cameraman lowered his camera. “I’m sorry,” he spluttered. “I really am. It’s just that … You know how it is, sometimes one gets an attack of the giggles for no reason at all. It’s nothing to do with you.”
“But it is,” said Minnie, shaking a finger at him. “It’s everything to do with us. You think we’re funny, don’t you? Oh, there are plenty of people like you, you know—people who mock the spiritual lives of others. We admitted you to our dance and now you’re laughing at us.”
The cameraman looked down at the lawn.
“I think you should leave,” said Berthea from the centre of the circle. “It’s easy to laugh, isn’t it?”
The cameraman looked at her with regret. His assignment was ruined; they would never get an interview with Minnie now. He would have to explain himself to his editor. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said. “I really am.”
Berthea looked at him intently. She was the hard-bitten psychoanalyst now. She was angered by this man and his presumptions.
“I don’t think that you’re really sorry,” said Berthea. “Not really. You’ll laugh at these people behind their backs, won’t you? The moment you leave. Your type thinks it funny to humiliate people, to laugh at them.”
The cameraman turned to his assistant. “We’d better pack up, Bill.”
The assistant nodded.
“We shall resume our dance in due course,” said Minnie. “Agreed?”
The dancers all agreed.
“They’re jolly rude,” said Terence, with some force. “But then what can you expect these days? Everybody’s so rude.”
88. Through the Letterbox
IT HAD BEEN WILLIAM’S IDEA that James should take the Poussin with him.
“There’s no point my trying to find out anything more about it,” he said, pressing the painting into James’s hands. “You take it and show it to the right person.”
James looked at the painting dubiously. It was nice to hold a Poussin, but a stolen Poussin? He glanced uncertainly at Caroline.
“Or Caroline could hold on to it,” he suggested. “Then it can stay safely here in Corduroy Mansions. My place …”
Caroline came to the rescue. “Is less secure,” she supplied. “James’s building has had two break-ins recently. Or is it three, James?”
“One, actually,” said James. “The flat downstairs was broken into last month. They didn’t take much. Just some books. A literate burglar apparently.”
“Anyway,” Caroline continued, “I’ll look after it. Then we can work out what to do.”
The pair returned to Caroline’s flat and made themselves a cup of coffee.
“Well,” said James, “what are we going to do?”
Caroline picked up the painting and studied it closely. “Did you look at the snake?” she asked. “It has lovely, fluid lines. As if somebody’s just taken a crayon and drawn an S. Just like that.”
“That’s what makes a great painting,” said James. “Everything looks as if it should be there. Of course, Poussin was interested in snakes. There’s that famous picture in the National Gallery of the man bitten by the snake at the side of the road.”
“What are we going to do, James?”
“That’s what I just asked you.”
Caroline sighed. “Of course we could just do nothing.”
James frowned. “You know, I rather regret agreeing to take it. What if it is stolen? We’ll be in possession of stolen property. And who would believe us if we said that it had been found in a wardrobe?” He looked anxiously at Caroline. “I think that we should take it back to William. It’s his problem—not ours.”
Caroline agreed. “I’ll take it back to them right now.”
“I hope that you don’t disturb them.”
Caroline looked puzzled.
“I mean, they were having some sort of romantic dinner. You know …”
Caroline laughed. “But he’s ancient,” she said. “Fifty-something.”
“I’m just warning you,” said James. “You might find them having a cuddle on