Mystical Circles Read Online Free Page A

thought things through. You wait and see.”
    They both turned as they heard the garden gate being unlatched.
    “Ah, Llewellyn,” said Don. “Welcome.”
    “Our in-house poet,” he explained to Juliet.
    A young man approached. “Don,” he declared, brushing a thick wing of hair back from his forehead in a theatrical gesture. “Just the man I wanted to see. I need marketing advice.” He drew up sharply at the sight of Juliet. “I do apologise. Hadn’t realised…”  He regarded her with lively interest. “Hope I haven’t interrupted anything.” He stuffed an apple into the rucksack he carried over one shoulder.
    “See you’ve fixed yourself a packed lunch,” said Don.
    “That’s right. I’m off up to the ridge for a few hours.” He extended his free hand to Juliet, and grasped hers firmly. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
    “No.” His accent put her in mind of the Welsh hills.
    Don moved forward. “Juliet, meet Llewellyn. From Anglesey.”
    “Pleased to meet you,” she said.
    They shook hands.
    “So, you’re Zoe’s sister. And you hope to make a documentary?”
    She nodded.
    “I’m surprised he’s agreed to it.” He glanced at Don.
    “Me too,” said Don.
    “As I’m sure you both realise,” she said, “I aim to be fair and accurate.”
    Don grunted. “I’ve spent thirty years doing that with Craig. And look where it’s got me.”
    “You sound jaundiced, Don.”
    “Juliet’s right there.” Llewellyn laughed. “If only you had as much faith in people as I do, Don.”
    “Hmm,” said the Yorkshireman.  “Well, you must think something of them, else you’d write no poems at all.”
    “Ah yes.”  Juliet looked at Llewellyn. “Don did say you were a poet.”
    “That’s right.”
    “Turn your back, and he runs up a verse,” said Don.
    “I’ve had a fair measure of success,” the Welshman conceded modestly. “Won a couple of poetry slams. Performed at literary festivals – Cheltenham, Hay-on-Wye, Oxford… Brought out two slim volumes so far.”
    Juliet wondered why someone with such a record of achievement had turned up in a group like this, which promised tools she fully expected he, as a poet, already possessed.
    But before she could ask, Don intervened. “Did you want marketing advice?”
    “Yes,” said Llewellyn.
    “What’s your product?”
    The Welshman opened his rucksack again, and pulled out what looked like a rolled-up news sheet.
    “Take a look. And you too, Juliet.”  He handed it to her. “Delighted to have the thoughts of a newcomer like yourself.”
    She spread it out on the table and glanced at the front page. The image of a saffron pathway winding up a viridian green mountainside to a sunlit peak, enclosed within an electric-blue sphere, made her think of something one might produce in a creative visualisation workshop. She could almost see the legend scrawled beneath it: I am choosing to be successful.
    Pulling herself smartly back to the matter in hand, she read the masthead:  Wheel of Love Weekly News.
    Don came and glanced over it with her. “Might work,” he said. “Planning to run off a few copies? Got a mailing list?”
    “No,” said Llewellyn, “Thought I’d sell it on the street.”
    “What’s your cover price?” asked Don.
    “One pound ninety-five pence.” The Welshman moved close to Don, massaging his shoulder in a matey manner. “So, the two of you, just imagine you’re window shopping in Cirencester, and I pounce on you with this. Would you buy it?”
    Don and Juliet leafed through it together. The centre page spread was entirely taken up with The poems of Llewellyn Hughes.
    “A money spinner, I do assure you,” murmured the Welshman.
    “It’s a fundraising idea. I’ll give it that,” remarked Don.
    “What do you think, Juliet?” asked Llewellyn. “Could it sell?”
    “People might well be attracted to it.”
    “I thought so too,” cried Llewellyn. “It’s bright, it’s positive, it’s life-enhancing.