As a young newsaper reporter it's not often I get noticed and it almost never happens that Bill Hay, my editor, entrusts me with an important assignment.
Interviewing a famous clairvoyant like Clare Rosmond is the opportunity I've longed for and it doesn't hurt that she's incredibly beautiful as well.
Mind you, Bill Hay warned me not to get distracted by her beauty and made it plain he doesn't believe she has psychic powers of any kind.
Well, I have a more open mind and I'm willing to give the girl the benefit of the doubt, and hope she gives me a sceond look because that would make this assigment really interesting.
For the moment though I have to concentrate on arranging a meeting with this heavenly messenger and judge the merits of her extraordinary gifts.
After a feverish search, I found Clare Rosmond at a turn of the century estate home on Austin Terrace near Casa Loma—an actual castle built on a hill.
Seems appropriate, I mused, as I parked on the circular driveway outside the Georgian manor.
A maid admitted me, and seated me in a beautiful drawing room with a floor-to-ceiling fireplace complete with fire merrily bubbling away in the grate.
Rain misted the windows and somewhere a grandfather clock softly chimed.
“Mr. Newson?” The voice was a soft whisper scarcely audible above the fluttering flames.
She was even lovelier than her pictures—soft and delicate and so vibrant it seemed the air around her held its breath.
“It’s Zach,” I said, as I stood to greet her.
She was wearing a white dress; her honey-colored hair pinned up, and was perfect—right down to a tendril of hair that strayed across her forehead and made her appear even lovelier.
“You look familiar, Mr. Newson—have we met before?”
“I don’t think we have—I’d certainly remember,” I smiled, “and it’s Zach—I prefer Zach. May I call you Clare?”
Her smile was radiant. I swear the sun came out and its beams lit the room. I held my breath and stared.
She grew self-conscious and flustered. “Would you care to interview me here—in this room? I mean, is it suitable?”
My heart melted. I was totally disarmed by her vulnerability. I wasn’t expecting that.
“Of course, the room is perfect. Please, sit down, Clare.”
I was sitting on a small couch, scarcely bigger than a loveseat, and motioned to a chair opposite me, but she came and gracefully sat down beside me.
I could smell her perfume, soft and powdery as a rose.
I felt shaky and my body seemed to tremble at having her so near.
“I have this dream,” she whispered, as if confiding a secret, “ and the man in it looks exactly like you.”
“I’m very flattered—I hope he’s not a villain.”
Again, sunlight lit the room. “A villain? Hardly.” Her eyes danced and bewitched me. I readily gave in.
“Well, what shall we talk about, Zach?”
When she said my name, it was like a caress. I felt as if she softly touched my hand or her lips gently brushed my cheek. My mind went completely blank.
I stared at her. All I could see were eyes, huge and dark with awareness—and so deep and profound their gravity pulled me in.
“Do you mind if I read you?” she asked.
“Please, do.”
She studied me for a minute or two—long enough to make me feel uncomfortable.
“You’re full of longing, Zach Newson.”
Part of me embraced what she was saying, and the other half scoffed at the banal generality. Still, the truth was, I wanted to fall under her spell.
I had done some reading about clairvoyance and the Forer Effect. Apparently, individuals will suspend disbelief if a psychic makes observations that seem plausible, even when they are in fact vague enough to apply to a wide range of people.
She must have sensed my thoughts, because she frowned slightly, as if displeased. “You need convincing, don’t you?”
I coloured and nodded mutely. There was no sense in pretending.
She brightened as a thought occurred to her. “Ask me something nobody else could possibly know.”
I thought for a moment, and then asked, “ What is my most favorite place in the whole world?”
She paused and grew pensive. The room went very still as she stared into my eyes.
“I see a cliff above a moonlit beach – there are fields nearby and a railway track. A huge blood moon has risen over the lake and left a red track in the water. This is a sacred place for you and it’s burned into your memory.”
I felt my stomach flip and my limbs begin to tingle. There was absolutely no way she could know that—nobody could.
The girl possessed what is called second sight.
She seemed pleased with herself. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“You are,” I said softly.
“Good, then this is the right place to start. Come back tomorrow evening after eight and we’ll go for a drive to your special place. Dress casually, of course.”
She stood and extended her hand. I took it and felt a surge of electricity pass between us.
She felt it too and hesitated for a moment, as if intending to say something, but then reconsidered, and glided gracefully from the room.
I drove home in a spell. This was not going to be an easy assignment after all.
