The Soul Whisperer

A Tale of Hidden Truths and Unspoken Possibilities

John Hunt Publishing Ltd.

Contents

Rain

In the cobbled square of the normally serene and welcoming village of Saint-Guilhem-le-Désert, darkness had arrived. In the fading light of the Languedoc day two hundred and sixty-five people – men, women and children – silently huddled together. They were surrounded by a horde of mounted, heavily armed mercenaries, whose leader now commanded them to speak, 'Ignorant fools ... do you really think you can stop us? This ... is your final warning. I will not ask again. For the last time ... tell me where it is!' His rage and frustration were as clear as the reddening of his face and the sweat pouring from his steed's breast, as he drew his large sword high above his head for all to see. But still no one spoke.

Turning his attention to his men, he bellowed out what was to be the final, ominous command, 'Get these heretics into the Abbey. As they will not speak when I demand, then I charge you to make sure they will never speak again!' It was like a battle cry that unleashed hell. The villagers were kicked and beaten as they were herded into the abbey. With the doors sealed behind them, the debauched, horrific slaughter began.

Men, women and children were ferociously attacked; arms, legs and heads were hacked off with such force that fountains of blood spurted high into the air, causing warm showers of red viscous rain to fall, splattering across the cold grey stone floor. Their body parts piling up in the aisle, their blood now flooding the abbey, spilling out under the doors into the market square, until it looked as if the building itself was haemorrhaging. Shrill, stomach churning screams pleading for compassion fell upon deaf ears, as the bloody faced army of Christ descended into hell. Pity, shame and mercy were abandoned as babies and children small enough to fit in the font were drowned, in full view of their mothers, before, in turn, each of the women's throats were slashed open in the name of the Father Almighty. The poisonous stench of evil was suffocating, causing one frail old woman to cough and choke so violently that she suffered a fatal seizure. And still, through all this, no one gave up the secret.

'No!' Sara sat bolt upright in her bed. Heart racing, sweating profusely and tears streaming down her flushed crimson cheeks, she struggled to clear her head of the terrifying vision she had just witnessed. Memories of the awful nightmare lingered in her mind, and then the pain hit. Like a lance to the stomach, a wave of hot, searing cramps pierced her womb as the agonising memory of last year's trauma reared its ugly head. Sara relived the heartbreaking moment when the precious lives she was carrying inside her were unforgivingly torn away, as she became consumed by the excruciatingly painful realisation that her precious, unborn twins were well and truly gone.

Standing there, unshaven and barefoot in torn jeans and old sweatshirt, a tall, dark haired figure looked down at the world around him. In the murky street below, he caught sight of a boisterous group of teenagers smoking, giggling and texting, an old man half bent over with arthritis struggling to see where he was going, and a hooded youth running at full pelt along the pavement, holding what looked like a large jar of change in one hand. What a crazy mixed up world, thought the man as he shook his head and turned away from the window. It began to drizzle for the umpteenth time this week. Depressing. 'Bloody rain!' he exclaimed aloud, in typical English fashion. The last ten months of Alex Brunton's life had left him feeling very frustrated.

From being a successful musician, making jingles for TV and radio stations, he now found himself reluctantly selling his Victorian apartment as the economic slump drained him of all work and what little savings he had. The latest financial crisis had just about squeezed the very life out of him; he was barely hanging on when suddenly a highly aggressive cancer reduced his beloved mother to a shell, before stealing her away in the night like a thief ... no warning, and precious little opportunity for goodbyes.

And then there was the seizure. With the worries of losing his income, his home and his mother, Alex had collapsed on the bathroom floor. The resulting out-of-body experience shocked him to the core. He didn't fully understand it, as in some inexplicable way it had changed how he looked at life, radically altering his thoughts and beliefs. Consequently, it was a subject he preferred to avoid, rarely talking about it even with his nearest and dearest.

Alex's saving grace was Sara, his blonde, blue-eyed wife of two years. She too had suffered when, having strived so hard for her dream job, it failed miserably to live up to expectations. Today was her last day at the office. She was quitting her civil servant post following too many disappointments and ethical inconsistencies, having undergone a general loss of faith in her fellow beings. But for Sara the real blow had been the miscarriage of their twins at twelve weeks, and they never talked about that either.

And yet here they both were, still together, now realising it was time for a change, time for a new beginning. Using what equity they could muster from the sale of their home, Alex had finally convinced a rather reluctant Sara to travel the 'Way of St. James', the pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostela in north-western Spain, where it was said that the remains of the apostle Saint James were buried. Not that they were religious, but since his seizure Alex felt pulled by the undeniable simplicity of a pilgrimage. And since the miscarriage, he thought the change of scenery would do them both good ... and perhaps offer a little adventure along the way.

Alex's mobile phone vibrated in his pocket. Tightening his neat ponytail, a habit he employed when deep in thought, upset or anxious, he moved away from the window, passed the map of their 'Spanish adventure' lying on the coffee table and slumped himself down on the sofa, before finally retrieving the phone to answer it. The warm, comforting voice of his grandmother, Lucette greeted his ear, 'Hello mon chéri, just seeing how you're both doing ...'

'Oh, we're okay thanks Lucy,' replied Alex, sounding unconvincing, and tired.

'Well listen, I've got an idea, I've been thinking about it, and I'm going to treat the two of you to a break in France. You both need it. I've made contact with old family friends near Clermont, and they have a lovely little gite ... you know ... cottage, which you can stay in for a month. I've looked into flights and car hire, all you need to do is to say "yes" ...' she paused for breath, awaiting his response. 'Oh go on ... it'll do you both so much good.'

'But Lucy it's too much, we couldn't ...'

'No dear, I can afford it, and I'd much rather see to it that you have whatever you need now, than not be able to help you when I'm gone. Just say yes and I'll take care of everything.'

'Oh, it's such a generous gesture Lucy, but I've planned this trip across northern Spain. It took Sara a little convincing, but I think this pilgrimage might be just what we need, you know ... a breath of fresh air, take our minds off stuff, meet new people and see new places.'

As soon as he had uttered the words he knew Lucette wasn't buying it. Just as Sara hadn't bought it when he sprung the idea of the Compostela pilgrimage on her two weeks back. She'd left the apartment, needing to clear her head, having told him in no uncertain terms she thought the idea a selfish form of escapism for him at best, and torture for her, being left to walk in the bloody heat with only her thoughts of 'the loss' to keep her company.

After a short pause, Lucette responded calmly but firmly, 'Eh oh Alex, don't tell me you really think Sara's happy to traipse around the baking Spanish countryside, day in, day out. A relaxing holiday is what she needs and deserves ... what you both deserve. You two have been through so much.' She paused a moment, moved by the thought of the loss of Alex's mother – her daughter, dear sweet Marguerite, 'Now come on be a good lad and let me indulge your happiness ... just for a little while, ah?'

Now come on ... be a good lad, the words rang in his ears, triggering memories of his mother's voice when she wanted his agreement on something. The room temperature appeared to drop, something Alex was more aware of since his seizure, and he saw his mother standing before him, a vision of comfort, and support, filling him with an overwhelming sense of love. Her arms outstretched and her smile lighting up her whole soft beautiful face, her warm brown eyes engaging him once more as she nodded her head ... Then she faded away. But in that brief moment he understood Lucette's invitation made absolute sense. Besides, who in their right mind would turn down such a kind offer? Alex accepted there and then.

Putting the phone on the coffee table he gathered up the map and other 'pilgrimage artefacts', scrunched them up and tossed them into the paper recycling bin, letting go of the idea of the Spanish trip completely. His mood was finally lifting, he even managed a little smile to himself, and in that moment even the constant rhythmic assault of the rain mattered very little. He got up and, almost in defiance, left his coat on the banister as he made his way out and headed for the local store.

Alex bought all Sara's favourites, part of his plan for a delicious meal to celebrate her last day at work. With the sale of the apartment almost complete, they would have a lump sum soon enough to allow a little splurge right now, so he put the Cava back and picked up the Champagne. Coming out of the store, he narrowly avoided bumping into a couple of Muslim women completely masked by their burkas, their anonymous eyes barely peeking through the fine dark linen mesh, as they struggled to control an uncooperative umbrella. Now running down the street in the torrential rain, with two plastic bags full of shopping, he really wished he'd grabbed his coat after all.

Sara slid her key into the lock, having to jiggle it slightly because it was such a poor copy. Once inside, she noticed the dimmed lights and the scent of flowers in the air. She almost smiled when her eyes caught sight of a huge 'Congratulations' banner hanging along the mantel in the living room.

Alex saw her half-hearted response in the mirror above the mantel, and, admiring his partner not only for her athletic appearance but strong mind too, jumped out.

'Surprise!' said Alex, tap dancing and waving both hands like Al Jolson performing 'Toot Toot Tootsie!' Sara tried to keep a straight face. They hugged and he planted a loving kiss on her full pink lips, leaving her unable to hold back a smile any longer. She shook her head and giggled (a rare sound over the past few months). Handing Sara a glass of bubbly, Alex looked her in the eye and offered a toast, 'Here's to new beginnings.'

'To new beginnings,' she echoed in relief, desperately hoping the clear 'ping' of their glasses was heralding in better times ahead.

Over the celebratory dinner, Alex explained Lucette's French remedy. Like Alex, Sara thought it was a wonderful opportunity to get some autumn sunshine, revitalise, and maybe uncover some of Alex's ancestry too. Why not, and anyway, they both knew how determined Lucette was once she'd made up her mind. And it was a far better idea than a long distance hike across Spain. They chatted happily about the future and their hopes and dreams. It was a touching and romantic way to bring the London chapter of their life to an end.

As they were enjoying dessert, Sara slowly put her spoon down and looking intently at the man she loved with all her heart asked, 'What will we do when the holiday ends?'

Not wanting the happy spell broken, and seeing her genuine concern, Alex took her hand and answered, 'Well let's just wait and see, let's live in the moment and not in fear of what may or may not happen next.'

'But it's not that easy, is it?' queried Sara, as a little disbelief crossed her striking face.

At which point Alex took hold of both her hands and very slowly and steadily explained, 'When we experience fear in ourselves we will attract people and situations in our lives that reflect that fear in order to make us conscious of it. When we are aware, and allow ourselves to experience those fears, we begin to clear our system, so that fears gradually have less impact on us because we're empowered with the love from within.'

'Where did you read that?' Sara was now less unsure, but rather surprised and a little bemused.

Alex's eyes had glazed over a little, and he let her hand go. 'I'm not sure.' He paused a little while as if pondering the meaning of life, then just as suddenly his eyes refocused and he continued, 'maybe it's the Champagne!' They both laughed. Their laughter was combined with such a deep sense of relief that it was the real therapy they had been craving for months. Later that night Alex and Sara made love for what seemed like the first time in an age, it was sweet and tender and filled Sara with new hope ...

The next day, following breakfast, Lucette rang saying she would email the details of the trip. Alex put the call on loudspeaker and thanked her once more, as did Sara. It was a welcome blessing, to feel so spoilt and cared for. 'Oh, by the way, if you get the chance, please go and visit Jean-Michel, he's an old childhood friend, and, er ... maybe you could send him my love.'

Alex and Sara agreed without hesitation. But unbeknown to them Jean-Michel was the real reason Lucette had booked the holiday cottage. When she was a young girl living in southern France, Jean-Michel had helped her, well more than that ... he had healed her. Lucette also never mentioned that Jean-Michel was her childhood sweetheart, and her first love. Deep down Lucette really hoped he would now be able to help Alex and Sara in the same way. 'And maybe, if I get the chance, I'll come out and visit you too!' Lucette added, as Alex and Sara gave each other a knowing glance.

A week later, the estate agent called, informing them that completion of the apartment was due in a matter of days. They would be coming away from the sale with a reasonable enough sum which would allow them to live for the next few months, maybe a little longer, but once they had spent that, there would be nothing left. Nonetheless the French trip was approaching and Alex and Sara's woes and frustrations began to give way to a feeling of excitement. Lucette's email was full of details, maps and explanations, they were sure to never get lost and it seemed they would have plenty to do too!

The synchronicity of the sale meant that they would be out of the apartment the very same week they were due to leave for the self-catering holiday in France. There were three nights between the completion of the sale and the departure of their flight, and Lucette offered to put them up for as long as needed before taking them to the airport. She really had thought of everything, but that was how she was, and how she loved to be. She had an uncanny ability to know what was going to happen, it was almost as if she could foretell the future.

Leaving the smog and mental chaos of the city on the National Express coach bound for Bournemouth (neither Alex nor Sara owned a car) seemed to take hours, weaving in and out of rain and traffic jams. By early evening they were nearly at their stop, a place called Ringwood. Lucette found it easier to pick them up there, as she could take the quiet country lanes and not have to go into the hustle and bustle of Bournemouth. The coach was slowing down, approaching their stop. Alex put his hand up to the coach window to peer out, and in the arising darkness and drizzling rain, he caught sight of her.

Lucette was there as promised. They clambered down the steps of the coach, took their suitcases from the large boot in the side of the coach, and walked across to the waiting Lucette, who having recognised them, leapt out of the car like a vivacious teenager. You would never have guessed she was now well into her sixties.

Following hugs and kisses, Lucette opened the boot of her little black Volkswagen Golf, and Alex put the cases inside.

'About fifteen minutes and we'll be there,' said Lucette joyfully. The car was warm and peaceful, just what the doctor ordered. Lucette could sense they were tired, so she didn't bombard them with too many questions during the journey down the winding country roads. Crossing the speed humps, they entered part of the New Forest, at one point slowing down to a stop to allow a small band of wild ponies to cross the road. Twenty minutes later they finally arrived at 'The Lodge', Lucette's idyllic little rented cottage. It was a round thatched property, once the gatehouse of the large stately manor, which lay hidden somewhere farther down the old carriage driveway. This lovely 'hobbit-like' dwelling looked like it had just jumped off the pages of a fairy tale, and although not grand by any means, it beckoned you to stay. Sara and Alex felt right at home.

Over the next couple of days, Lucette prepared everything for them, just like staying in the most wonderful country hotel. She pre-planned all the meals, whilst at the same time giving them the space to do whatever they wanted. And it was while she was engrossed in her patisseries that she got an unexpected phone call. Hearing the phone ring in the living room, she wiped her floury hands on her apron and went to pick it up.