All You Desire by Kirsten Miller Page B

All Haven could see of the woman was her moving lips. Two other women leaned toward her, trying to catch every word that was uttered.
    â€œCould be,” Haven said. “I’ll check it out. You go relax. Have a swim or something. I’ll find you when I’m done.”
    â€œI don’t know.” Frances hesitated. “I promised Iain I wouldn’t let you go off by yourself.”
    â€œShe’s just an old woman,” Haven said with a huff. “What could possibly happen?”
    She didn’t wait for an answer and left Frances standing alone by the pool. She chose a lounge chair not far from the Pythia and lay down with her eyes closed and her ears open.
    â€œYou were a queen, and you were murdered by your very own husband,” Haven heard the old woman say. Her voice was deep and mellifluous and somehow familiar. “He had changed the world to be by your side, but when you gave him a daughter instead of a son, he turned against you. He may not have killed you with his own two hands, but he might as well have. He accused you of witchcraft, infidelity, and incest, and he had your head removed for the crimes he concocted.”
    â€œThis doesn’t sound like a very nice life,” the woman whined.
    â€œNot all of our lives are nice ,” the Pythia responded wearily. “But your life changed the course of history. And your daughter was one of the most powerful women the world has ever known.”
    â€œMy daughter ?” the woman whined again. “Not me?”
    â€œI’ve got it!” The woman’s friend gasped. “Oh Joan, you must have been Anne Boleyn!”
    â€œWho’s that ?” the first woman asked.
    â€œYou know, that wife of Henry VIII. He chopped off her head so he could marry someone else. Have you ever had any headaches or neck pains that you couldn’t explain?”
    â€œNow that you mention it, yes!” The first woman could barely contain herself. “I do have migraines sometimes! And I’ve always been terrified of axes!”
    â€œWell, there you go!” her friend exclaimed. “Now you know why! And don’t forget your terrible taste in men. That last husband of yours would have murdered you too, if he’d had the chance.”
    The first woman turned back to the Pythia, her enthusiasm renewed. “Can you please tell me more?” she pleaded. “What else do you see? Did I really have affairs? Were they as exciting as they sound?”
    â€œI see nothing now,” the Pythia said. “My energy is spent. You must go.”
    â€œOh no! Please! You see I’m having a little get-together this weekend, and I was hoping to invite Miranda Bennett, and she won’t even talk to people who don’t have the right pedigree. . . .”
    Phoebe held up her hand. “Stop. Come again in two days, and I will attempt to see more.”
    â€œOh, thank you!” the first woman gushed. “This has been so fascinating.”
    â€œGo,” Phoebe urged them once more.
    The two women wandered off arm in arm, whispering in each other’s ears. Once they had disappeared in the mist, Haven rose and approached the Pythia.
    â€œHow much of what you told them was true?” Haven asked.
    The woman glanced up at Haven. Half hidden beneath the towel, her face appeared old and frail, but her hazel eyes were dancing. “You’re very bold,” she noted without seeming offended. “Didn’t one of your mothers teach you that it’s not polite to eavesdrop?”
    â€œI’m sorry,” Haven said. “I just got the sense that you were telling them what they wanted to hear so they’d go away.”
    â€œYes, I doubt Ms. Mortimer would be interested to know that she’s been ignorant and useless in every life she’s led. I imagine the only notable thing she’s done is perfect the art of divorcing rich men. But these people all want to hear that they