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him.

“It’s extraordinary,” said Terence, gazing at the bull nose of the vehicle. “It’s extraordinary how an engine can be humming along in a spirit of perfect contentment one moment and then the next it is silent. As if the energy fields have all suddenly dissipated. Cars, you see, have chakras, just as people do.”

Berthea spoke quietly. “How about calling the AA?”

Terence shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said. “I’ve called them rather a lot, you see. They know my car. They are quite pure beings, but I don’t know if I should bother them again.”

“When did you call them last?” asked Berthea.

Terence hesitated. “Not all that long ago, I’m afraid.” He sighed. “Well, to be precise, I called them on the way to the station. We had a little episode just a little bit further down the road. Not far from here, in fact.”

“Not far from here?” repeated Berthea.

Terence nodded.

“Do you think,” Berthea began, “that it may be something to do with the energy fields round here? Perhaps we’re on a ley line.”

Terence looked at her with sudden interest. “Do you really think so? They said something about petrol, you know, but I wonder …”

29. Berthea’s Project

BY THE TIME her brother’s leek pie was ready, Berthea had largely recovered from the irritation she had felt during the longish walk from the collapsed Morris 1000 Traveller to Terence’s Queen Anne house just outside the bounds of the town. He had helped her with her luggage—a small overnight case—but she had been obliged to carry her own briefcase, which was stuffed with papers and books for weekend perusal. Terence’s library, although extensive, was full of books that she found vague and unsatisfactory, gaseous indeed—there would be no intellectual meat for her there.

“And what are you going to do about your car?” Berthea asked as they began their walk. “Are you proposing to get a new one?”

Terence, who was oblivious of irony, replied, “Oh no, certainly not. That car is not all that old. Thirty-nine years, or thereabouts, I think. There’s still a lot of energy left in it. It’s amazing. It’s as if the energy fields of the men who made it are lodged in its soul.”

“I assume that it will start again when you put some petrol in,” observed Berthea.

Terence nodded. “Quite possibly. Indeed, I might go so far as to say that’s probable.”

“Because cars do require petrol,” Berthea continued. “They need it for … for their energy fields.”

“Yes,” said Terence, simply. “That’s largely true.”

“No, Terence,” hissed Berthea. “It’s not just largely true, it’s absolutely and completely true. It’s a truth which is verifiable in the physical world. It is the actual case.”

Terence looked at her in surprise. “No need to get shirty,” he said. “It’ll only take us half an hour or so to walk to the house, and I am carrying your bag for you.” He paused. “Do you remember A Town Like Alice? We saw it when we were small and we went to stay at Uncle Ted’s. He took us to the cinema and that’s what we saw.”

“Vaguely.”

“Well, I remember it very well. They had a long march after the Japanese captured them. Remember? All those British ladies had to march along the roads and jungle paths. It was frightfully hard work and the Japanese guards kept shouting at them if they slowed down. It must have been jolly hot too.”

Berthea frowned. “And what has that got to do …?”

“What I’m suggesting,” said Terence, “is that you treat this in the same spirit. Those ladies didn’t complain all that much—they just got on with it. Imagine that you’re in Malaysia and I’m a Japanese soldier and—”

“No, thank you,” said Berthea grimly. “It might be better, you know, to walk in silence.”

“Oh, surely not,” said Terence. “You should know that, as a psychologist.”

“Psychoanalyst.”

“Of course. You should know that there are little mood-changing tricks you can use if you want to make an unpleasant experience more bearable. You could try whistling. Remember that popular song, the one about whenever you feel afraid, whistling a happy tune? And then there’s Maria. Remember? Remember how she sang to the children when they all came and jumped on her bed, about her favourite things?”

Berthea bit her lip. “I really don’t think that we need to do any of that, Terence. As you yourself observed, the walk should not take long. Perhaps we should just walk it in silence. That, I suspect, is what any Beings of Light in the immediate