Lady of Hay

25

Nick was lying on the sofa in his apartment with his eyes closed, listening to the quiet strains of Debussy, when Sam let himself in through the front door and pulled off his raincoat, shaking it in the hall before hanging it up. He appeared in the doorway and stared down at his brother in surprise.

“I thought you were off to New York today?”

“I’ve postponed the trip until the second.” Nick did not open his eyes. “That way I can see all the top men in one go. There’s no point in going twice.”

Sam raised an eyebrow as he crossed to the tray of drinks. “That doesn’t sound like you. Do you want a Scotch?”

Nick shook his head. “I’m energetic when I need to be,” he said. “It’s just that there are a few things I want to sort out before I go.” He sounded depressed.

Sam was pouring himself a large gin. “Would one of those things be Jo?” he said softly.

Nick altered the position of his head slightly so that he could watch Sam as his brother walked to the window. Another summer storm was brewing and the light outside was sulfurous as the cloud billowed up over London from the west. “I used to think you were quite fond of her,” he said reflectively. “But you’re not, are you?”

Sam stiffened. “What makes you think that?”

“Observation.”

“Then your powers of observation must be sadly awry. I am very fond of her.” Sam was staring out at the thunder clouds. A flicker of lightning lit the sky above the park, turning the trees fluorescent for a fraction of a second in front of the bruised purple of the storm. “It’s you who seem to be having trouble working out your feelings for her. You still need my help, I think.” He turned at last and looked at Nick. “All that hostility is still there, isn’t it?”

“The hostility your hypnotism was supposed to cure? It didn’t work, did it? I never thought you’d be able to do it. I doubt if I was even properly under.”

Sam smiled. “Oh, you were properly ‘under,’ as you put it. You just don’t remember. Perhaps I should do it again.” Sam perched on the edge of the coffee table, looking at him. “Why don’t we try and see what happens?”

Nick glanced at him suspiciously, suddenly remembering his mother’s anxiety. “Why are you so eager to hypnotize me, Sam?” he asked after a moment.

“I’m not eager,” Sam said. “I’m merely offering.”

Nick put his glass down. To his own surprise he found himself putting his misgivings firmly aside. “Perhaps a bit of mental massage is just what I need one way and another.”

Nick sat back in the chair and settled his shoulders against the deep-orange cushions. Only a few moments later Sam was smiling in triumph. “Well done, Nicholas,” he murmured. “That’s it. Now you are completely relaxed. Completely asleep. But you can still hear me, can’t you?”

Nick nodded.

“Good. Open your eyes and look at me. That’s it. Now, I want you to remember who I told you you were, once before, eight hundred years ago. Who was it, Nick?”

His brother’s eyes were steady. They narrowed slightly. “John,” he said.

Sam smiled again. “Good.” He took a deep draught from his glass. “Now, Your Royal Highness.” He emphasized the words mockingly. “We discussed Matilda de Braose, did we not?”

Nick nodded. A frown appeared between his eyes.

“The woman you loved, sir,” Sam went on relentlessly. “The woman who rejected your advances and spurned you. The woman who accused you of murder before the world.”

Abruptly Nick stood up, almost knocking into Sam as he strode across the room, his face angry, his fists clenched. “She taunted me about my nephew, Arthur-”

“And that was when you first decided that she must die,” Sam said softly. “But now she has returned to taunt you again. And even in this life she still despises you. She still thinks herself superior to you-to you! You will punish her again, won’t you, sir?” he whispered. “But before you do it, you will tell me what you intend.”

“I will tell you.”

Sam smiled. “I wonder who you really were in that previous life,” he said reflectively. “If you were anyone at all. Come, little brother. Why don’t we find out, just for the hell of it.” Standing up, he took Nick’s shoulder and steered him back to the chair. “I want you to think back to when you were a child. Back to when you were a baby. Back even before you lay in the womb, back to the time before the darkness, back to the late twelfth century when Richard Lion Heart was on the throne of England. Tell me, did you have a life then too? Did you know me as William de Braose?” Nick had not moved. His face was like carved stone.

“Well?” Sam leaned over Nick and, taking a handful of his hair, pulled his head back so that his brother was forced to look up at him. “Who were you?”

Nick’s eyes were cold. His mouth moved into a half smile as for the first time he looked at Sam directly. “Can you have forgotten so soon?” he said slowly.

Sam drew back abruptly. “So.” He swore under his breath. “The trance wasn’t deep enough. You’ve been fooling me. Yet I could have sworn-” He took several steps back. “Nick? Nick, can you hear me?”

Nick nodded slowly. He was watching Sam with the half smile still on his face.

“I see.” Sam reached into the pocket of his cords and pulled out a clasp knife. “Well, let’s put it to the test, shall we? I am going to tap your hand with my finger. It is not going to hurt and I doubt if you will feel it at all.” He unfolded the knife. After grabbing Nick’s hand he held it a moment, staring at the palm, the blade poised. Nick did not seem to have noticed. Slowly Sam turned the hand over and deliberately he stroked the blade across the back of Nick’s wrist. A thin line of blood welled up, but Nick had not flinched.

“So. A deep trance still exists,” Sam murmured as he put the knife away. “And your wit comes from another time. Yes, brother, I have forgotten who you are. Why don’t you tell me?”

Nick straightened his shoulders. Slowly he stood once more. “You dare call me brother?” he said.

“Your name?” Sam said. “Tell me your name, then I shall know what to call you?”

“I am John Plantagenet,” Nick shouted suddenly. “ I am the king’s brother! I stand in England now in my brother’s stead,” he said slowly. “And one day, de Braose, I shall make you kneel to me. You, and that witch you call your wife.” He smiled coldly. “Are you deranged, man? Can it be that you do not know your prince?” He strode toward Sam suddenly and took hold of the front of Sam’s shirt. The blood from the cut on the back of his wrist was trickling across his palm and a smear of it transferred itself to the blue cotton as Sam tried to pull himself free. “Look at me!” Nick shouted suddenly. “And look well, de Braose! Remember the face of your future king!”

For a moment neither of them reacted to the sound of the front door buzzer. Nick had not heard it, but Sam, as he wrenched himself away, turned angrily and glanced toward the hall.

It buzzed again. Sam cursed. He had to get rid of whoever it was. He backed away from Nick cautiously. “I shall return in a moment, sir,” he said, trying to contain the anger and impatience that had swept through him. “Sit down, sir,” he added forcefully. “We shall continue this conversation in a moment.” He paused, reluctant to move, but Nick, after a second’s annoyed hesitation, had swung away from him and was standing in the middle of the room, his arms folded across his chest.

Sam hurried into the hall, closing the door behind him, as the buzzer sounded for a third time, and he dragged open the front door. A bedraggled figure was standing on the dimly lit landing, dressed in a fawn raincoat. It was Judy Curzon.

“Thank God!” she said, pushing past him. “I thought you were out. I’m half drowned.”

“Judy!” Sam was still holding the door. “Wait! You can’t come in! Why didn’t the janitor ring through to say you were here?”

She had unknotted her belt and dropped the soaked raincoat on a chair.

“He wasn’t in his cubbyhole, so I dodged past and grabbed the elevator. I hate being interrogated by your janitor. It makes me feel like a burglar. What do you mean I can’t come in, for Christ’s sake? Why not?”

“I have a patient here, Judy-”

“Crap! You don’t have patients. You do experiments on poor, bloody animals.” Judy pushed open the drawing-room door. “Get me a drink and a towel and let me wait until the storm is over, then I’ll go-” She stopped dead in the doorway. “Nick?” Her good humor vanished. “I thought you were supposed to be in the States.”

Nick turned slightly toward her but he said nothing, and after a moment he turned back to the window where the lightning was almost continuous behind the streaming rain.

Judy scowled. “And hello to you too, Nicholas, sweetie!” She walked across to the table and picked up the gin bottle, holding it up to the light. “You said you were with a patient, Sam. Do I gather you meant your benighted brother?”

Sam had followed her into the room. He closed the door firmly. “Sit down, Judy, and please be quiet.” His voice was quietly threatening. “Nick is deeply hypnotized. He doesn’t know you are here.”

She stared at Sam, then, stunned, she turned to Nick. “You mean it? He can’t see me? Have you made him go back into the past, like Jo?” Judy raised her hand as if to touch Nick’s face, then abruptly she moved away from him again.

Sam nodded. “I’ve been trying to do that, but he is not so good a subject as Jo. He doesn’t go deeply enough into the trance.”

Judy poured herself out an inch of gin. “But he’s deeply enough in a trance for me to come into the room and him not know it! What has he done to his hand?”

Sam smiled enigmatically. “I cut him.”

Judy stared, aghast. “Why?” she breathed.

“To see if the trance was deep enough.”

Judy had begun to feel a little sick. After staring at the blood on Nick’s hand, she turned to look at Sam. “You’re sure you didn’t have a fight?” she asked faintly.

Sam shook his head. “Of course not.”

“Wake him up, please.” She was suddenly frightened.

“I was about to when you arrived.” Sam helped himself to another drink. He was watching Judy closely, noticing the conflict of emotions as they followed one another in quick succession across her face. Fear, disgust, interest, excitement, and then something like calculation betrayed themselves in her eyes. But no affection that he could see.

“Can’t he hear us talking at all?” she said after a moment. Nick was staring out of the window at the rain.

“He can. But he’s not listening. He’s in a world of his own, aren’t you, my liege?” He walked up to Nick and slapped him playfully on the shoulder.

Nick turned. His expression was icy. “You display the manners of a peasant, de Braose,” he said.

Sam colored. “Peasant or not, brother,” he replied smoothly, “I am the one who holds the power now. I can free you or leave you locked in the past. Do you know what would happen to a man who thinks he is King John? He would be put away somewhere where he could harm no one for the rest of his days!”

“Sam!” Judy cried. She ran to him and grabbed him by the arm. “Sam, for Christ’s sake, wake him up. Stop it!”

Sam smiled at her. “Afraid of losing your handsome Nicholas to the men in white coats?”

She clung to him. “Wake him up! What you’re doing is evil. It’s vile! You’re manipulating him!”

“No, no.” Sam gently drew away from her. “He’ll be okay. I’ve done nothing to harm him.”

“What about posthypnotic suggestion?” Judy was watching Nick’s face in anguish. “What have you told him to do when he wakes up?”

“Ah, yes, the one thing every layman-or woman-has heard of.” Sam folded his arms. “Perhaps you have some good ideas for one or two posthypnotic suggestions yourself?” He stared at her, one eyebrow raised, his eyes full of amusement.

Judy glared at him. “Well, you could tell him to leave Jo alone for a start,” she snapped. “If you’d like to do something for me.”

They both flinched as another flash of lightning lit the room.

Sam was watching Nick’s profile. “I am not prepared to do that,” he said.

“I thought we were on the same side! You said you could split them up. You sent me after him to France to get him away from her!”

“And obviously it was a lousy idea.” He turned to her finally, his voice heavy with dislike. “I can’t force him to like you.” He smiled faintly. “Though he obviously does, in spite of the fact that, as I told you before, I believe you have certain habits which put my brother off. Pursuing him is obviously one of them.” He threw himself down on the sofa, pulling one ankle up to rest on his knee as he looked up at her. “Though as I recall you did not expect to see him when you came here this evening. You therefore came to see me, I presume, or was your visit really merely an excuse to get out of the rain?”

Judy scowled. “Whatever I came for, it was obviously a big mistake!”

Sam ignored the indignant words. “So. You came to discuss Nick.”

“I may have.” Judy looked at Nick uncomfortably. “But I can’t talk about him like this as if he’s not here! It’s not fair. It’s grotesque!”

“Then I shall awaken him and you can tell him your problem to his face.”

Sam stood up. He strode over to Nick and swung him around. “You remember what I told you, brother?” he said quietly. “You remember what you must do. But the rest you will forget. Whatever you have been experiencing there, in your head, you will forget for now. You will forget everything, save the fact that you are rested and relaxed and ready to receive your visitor, when I count to three. Now. One-two, three.”

Judy held her breath as she watched them. Slowly Nick’s face became reanimated and suddenly he was looking straight at her.

“Judy? When did you arrive?”

She forced herself to smile. “Only a few minutes ago. I wanted to get out of the storm.”

Nick turned to the window, puzzled, then he put his hand to his head. “What happened? Was I asleep?”

Sam grinned. “You asked me to hypnotize you, remember? I was hard at it when Judy arrived.”

Nick groaned. “Did I say anything odd?”

Judy looked away. “Of course not.”

She looked up into his face. For a long moment they stared at each other, then Judy smiled. “I’m very good at keeping secrets. Sam,” she said, “tell me, who was I in this past life you are all living so cozily together? I’d like to know.”

He shook his head. “I don’t run sideshows, and I’m not a therapist.”

“But you regressed Nick!” She colored indignantly.

“For a reason. And because he is my brother. I’m sorry, Judy. It would not be ethical for me to do it to you. But, for what it’s worth, I wouldn’t bother.”

Her mouth dropped open. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I don’t believe you’ve lived before.”

Judy laughed. “I see. Keep it in the family, eh? All nice and cozy. How convenient. Just like the way you’ve been priming Nick!”

“What do you mean?” Nick sat up suddenly.

“I mean the whole thing is a great hoax! You weren’t regressed. He told you who you were and then he told you what to do! Some past life!”

“Judy.” Sam’s voice was low and threatening. “You heard and saw nothing but the end of our session.”

“What does she mean, Sam?” Nick stood up.

“She means I was telling you to forget your worries and relax. For some reason she found that sinister.”

“You told him-”

“I told him nothing.” Sam interrupted forcefully. “ Nothing , Judy, that need be of the least concern. But in one thing you were right. It was not a proper regression. As I told Nick before, he is too tense yet to attempt it.”

The ringing of the phone punctuated the end of his sentence. Sam, who was standing right beside it, picked it up. For a moment he stood listening, a frown on his face, then suddenly he was smiling.

“Why, Jo! How nice to hear from you. How are you?” He waved Nick away as the latter tried to reach for the phone. “No, he hasn’t, as a matter of fact. He’s not going until the second now…I see. Poor Jo, where are you, then?…No, I won’t tell him. Of course I won’t.” He smiled sweetly at Nick. “Yes. Yes, I’m glad you called. Keep in touch.”

He put the receiver down gently. “That was Jo,” he said unnecessarily. “She’s at the Black Lamb Hotel near a place called Talgarth.”

Judy’s eyes blazed. “You bastard!” she said. “I distinctly heard you promise Jo you wouldn’t tell Nick where she was!”

Tim had caught a taxi from Paddington back to Covent Garden. He walked heavily up the stairs to the studio and stared around. The place was blazing with lights, the small dais surrounded by floods and spots, a wind machine playing on the girl who stood there dressed only in the finest wisps of chiffon amid a litter of straw bales.

George Chippen, his assistant, was busy with his camera, snapping the laughing girl, but he stopped as Tim appeared and walked over toward them. Tim altered the position of one of the spotlights a little and winked at George. “I’ll get hay fever if I hang around here,” he commented with a heavy attempt at a smile. “You carry on, George, you’re doing a great job. Ciao , kids. I’ll see you all later.” After humping his heavy bag into the corner of the studio he dropped it, then he climbed the spiral staircase to his bedroom, oblivious of the glances of curiosity that followed him from the studio floor. He locked the door, then flung himself on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

It had been his idea to leave. She had not argued. Subdued, scarcely speaking, she had driven him to Newport Station. There she had kissed him once, a long wistful kiss, full of kindness, but without passion.

“I’m so sorry, Tim,” she whispered. “I wish it could have been for real.”

“So do I, honey.” He had stroked her hair lightly, trying to memorize the touch of it beneath his hand. “So do I.”

With a groan he turned his face to the pillows to hide the wetness on his cheeks and he began to sob quietly, like a child.

Sometime later he heard George run up the spiral stairs and tap on the door. “Tim? Tim, can I come in?” The boy sounded excited and cheerful.

Tim did not answer. He pulled the pillows over his head and after a while he heard the patter of running shoes on the wrought-iron steps as George went down once more. Tim sighed. Sitting up, he blew his nose loudly, then he reached for the phone.

“Mrs. Griffiths? It’s Tim Heacham. Tell me, did Miss Clifford get back safely?”

At the other end of the line Margiad Griffiths untied her apron with her free hand and stretched to hang it on the back of the kitchen door. “Why, Mr. Heacham, I’m so sorry, but I wasn’t here when she came back. It was my daughter who saw her. Miss Clifford never said she’d be wanting the room again, you see, and it had gone. So sorry, I was. I’m afraid I don’t know where she went. And I had another message here to give her too…”

Tim closed his eyes wearily. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Thanks anyway. I’ll hope to see you again one day.” He hung up and threw himself back on the bed as, far below, the clang of the street door closing echoed up through the empty studio. George had gone.

Tim lay for a couple of hours staring out of the high windows that showed nothing but rooftops silhouetted against the purple storm clouds. At least it had stopped raining. His head ached and his throat was sore. He felt unbearably lonely.

Slowly he sat up at last. He leaned across the bed and unlocked a drawer in the nightstand next to it then drew out a box. He sat and looked at it for a long time, then slowly he opened the lid and pulled out the hypodermic, the narrow tourniquet, and a packet of powder.

To lose a woman twice, be it to destiny or to another man-what kind of man did that make him? What was it she had said once? That he reminded her of an Afghan hound! He laughed out loud, the bitter sound ringing around the empty room. At least he had one night to remember, one night she could never take away from him.

Methodically he went about his preparations, meticulously sterilizing the needle. It wasn’t often he resorted to this; not yet. Snorting was usually enough; that and the cigarettes. Anything to keep the shadows at bay. But tonight he wanted to crash out all the way. Out into the whirling spaces beyond his mind.

The office was full of strange noises at night. Nick lay on the long, elegant couch, staring at the Venetian blind drawn down across the curtainless window. The streetlamps outside sent weird horizontal shadows tumbling through the slats and across the white carpet toward him like the rungs of a ladder. For the fiftieth time he closed his eyes and tried to sleep. His head was spinning, but Judy’s words kept coming back to him. It’s all a hoax…He told you who you were…He told you what to do… Judy and her stupid redheaded temper! She had stormed at Sam and then at him, angry with them both for some reason, then she had grabbed her wet coat and run out into the rain.

When she had gone, he and Sam had had a furious argument.

Nick sighed and sat up slowly. It hadn’t just been Judy. In this very room his mother had warned him; his gentle, loving mother, who worshiped Sam, had tried to tell him something; as good as said that Sam was dangerous. Nick shook his head wearily. Why should Sam want to harm him? It didn’t make sense.

What had their quarrel been about? He couldn’t even remember that now. He had asked Sam about the hypnosis but his brother had refused to be drawn, saying Judy was neurotic and sex-starved, and it was then that Nick had decided to go out for a walk. He had strolled slowly down Constitution Hill, staring up at the harsh light of the electric lanterns in the streaking rain, smelling the wet flowers and earth beyond the high walls of Buckingham Palace, then on around the Victoria Memorial, the palace huge and dark behind him, down Birdcage Walk, conscious of the lightning flickering now in the distance behind Big Ben. The roads were empty; Horseguards, bare and swept with rain, the lighted windows in the Haymarket, eerie in the empty street. He made his way slowly back up Piccadilly, and then, unable to face speaking to Sam again that night, he had come back to Berkeley Street and opened the locked office.

He paced up and down the carpet. Bet had told him that Jo was in Wales with Tim Heacham. The last person on earth she would want to see was him, but now that he had her address he knew he had to go to her.

With a sigh he switched on the light, and, reaching for the percolator, he gave it an experimental shake. There was still some coffee in it and he plugged it in.

He had to see Jo; he had to make things all right with her somehow. He stared down at the glass of the pot with a frown, watching the condensation forming on its sides as the coffee began to warm. He was being torn apart. Half of him wanted to see Jo, to hold her, to comfort her and beg her to forgive him for ever hurting her. He didn’t understand even now why he had done it, or what had made him so angry. But he was angry still, and part of him still seethed quietly inside; part of him was still fanatically jealous. Part of him wanted to hurt her again.

He paced up and down the carpet a few times, listening to the occasional car roaring up the street outside, then he glanced at his watch. It was nearly three. Sitting down at his desk, he flicked on the desk light and pulled out a map. It would do no harm to work out the route to Wales. In the morning he would make the final decision as to what he should do.

When Jim walked into the office at eight, Nick was hard at work.

“Good God, Nick! Now you’re making me feel doubly guilty! What time did you get here, for chrissake?” Jim said, flinging down his briefcase.

Nick glanced up. “I’ve been here all night.” Giving a wry smile, he stretched his arms above his head. “But don’t go on with the martyr act, you’ve done your penance-and I came here for peace as much as anything else. Look, Jim, I want to be here for the meeting with Mike Desmond, then I have to go away for a couple of days.”

Jim groaned. “Nick, for God’s sake. You’re needed in the office!”

“Not if you’re here. You can handle things.”

“You still believe that?” Jim’s tone was bitter.

“We’ve all screwed things up once in a while.” Nick stood up and picked up the coffeepot. It was empty. “The secret is to get back out there fighting. Otherwise you’re dead.” He turned back to Jim. “I have a feeling you’ll handle this meeting like a master, that’s why I want to sit in on it. And, let’s face it, we’ve got nothing to lose. In fact, if we get Desco back and I win the New York accounts we’ll have to expand!” He walked to the window and pulled up the blind, then he turned to Jim and grinned. “And I’m just in the mood to build an empire at the moment, so you’ve been warned!”

It was seven-twenty that evening when at last he walked into the bar of the Black Lamb near Talgarth. He glanced around. It was empty.

“What can I get you, sir?” The bartender appeared through a bead curtain at the back as Nick hauled himself wearily onto a stool. He ordered a Scotch and soda, looking around with some curiosity. There was no sign of Jo. “You seem very quiet, landlord.”

The man shrugged. “They’ll all be in later. Friday, see. Tarting themselves up, they are, then come eight, they’ll all be here.” He pushed the glass across the bar.

“Have something yourself.” Nick flipped a five-pound note onto the counter. “Tell me, do you still have a Miss Clifford staying here?” He picked up his glass.

The man grinned. “Thank you very much. One more night, she said. She’s out now though-going to Radnor, I think she said she was, this morning.” He drew himself a pint before opening the till to look for the change. “Friend of hers, are you?”

Nick nodded. “You haven’t another room, I suppose?”

“Just for the one night is it?”

“Just the one.”

“Well, if you don’t mind somewhere a bit shabby like, maybe I could fit you in. It’s bad time of the year, see, with all the visitors.”

“I don’t mind as long as I can sleep.” Nick finished his drink and pushed the glass back toward the man. “Tell me, do you expect Jo-Miss Clifford-back for dinner?”

“Well, now, we don’t exactly serve dinner, sir. Chicken in a basket we can do you, or a nice scampi.” He leaned forward suddenly, staring past Nick out of the window. “Isn’t that her car now?”

Nick swung around. His jaw tightened as he watched Jo back the MG into the corner of the parking lot behind the pub. She climbed out of her car and he saw her stand for a moment staring at his Porsche, then she glanced over her shoulder toward the pub. Even from that distance he could see the sudden anxiety on her face. She was wearing a deep rose-color blouse with jeans, and he found himself staring at her hungrily as she stooped into the car to find her bag, then she slammed the door and walked almost reluctantly toward them.

She pushed the door open. “What are you doing here, Nick?” she cried. “Didn’t I make myself clear? I never want to see you again!”

Behind them the barman folded his arms and leaned with interest against the till.

“I told Sam not to tell you where I was,” she went on, flinging her bag down on a chair. “A gin and tonic, please, Mr. Vaughan.”

“Coming up.” He reached up to the gin bottle with a grin. “The gentleman is paying for it, is he?”

“He is.”

Nick noticed that her hand was shaking as she reached for the glass and to his surprise he felt a quick surge of pleasure.

“You should know better than to trust Sam,” he said softly. “You should know better by now than to trust Sam with anything at all.”

She did not smile. “It’s over, Nick. Finished.” She tried to drag her eyes away from his face. His handsome features were shadowed with fatigue. She looked down abruptly at her glass. “Please, Nick. Don’t make a scene here.”

“I’m not going to make a scene. All I want is to talk.” Nick made a despairing grimace at their host, who was listening with undisguised attention. “Where, by the way, is the talented Mr. Heacham? I thought he was supposed to be with you?”

She tensed suddenly and he saw the color in her cheeks. “He had to go back to town. He only came to take some pictures.”

Nick tried to hide his elation. “All the better. We can talk in peace. Look, Jo. I’m going back to London tomorrow, so you needn’t panic. Why don’t we have something to eat and a bottle of wine, then we’ll talk later. That’s all I want to do. Please-” he added as an afterthought.

Jo hesitated, then she stood up, forcing a smile. “All right. I’ll go and change out of these jeans and join you in ten minutes. But just for a meal.” She picked up her bag. “Do I gather you intend to stay here tonight?”

He nodded. “Mr. Vaughan has a closet for me, I believe.”

“That’s just as well.” She gave him a tight smile. “Because my room is single.”

“Ouch!” Vaughan said quietly as Jo swung out of the room. “Would I be right in thinking you’ve offended the lady?”

Nick gave a dry laugh. “Something like that,” he said.

In her room at the top of the steep stairs Jo shut the door and leaned against it. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then slowly she walked to the small table, which sported a square mirror, and stared at her reflection as she began to unbutton her blouse. She had known when she called Sam that he would tell Nick where she was. Was that why she had done it? She pulled off the blouse and threw it on the bed then wearily she slipped out of her jeans. As she pulled on her bathrobe, she went to the door. There would be time for a shower and a few minutes flat on her back with her eyes closed before she need go back downstairs.

“Have you gone back into the past again since you’ve been here?” Nick looked up at her across the small table. The room was noisy now, crowded and full of cigarette smoke.

She was toying listlessly with her french fries. After a minute she nodded. “You know, when I wanted to go into a trance with Tim there so that he could photograph me-nothing happened. I couldn’t do it-but then later I did.”

“And it frightened you, didn’t it?”

“It frightened me that I couldn’t control it.” She glanced up at him under her eyelashes. “I was going to Radnor today, then halfway there I stopped. I panicked. I didn’t want it to happen again; suddenly I didn’t dare go anywhere Matilda might have been. I didn’t want anything to trigger off another regression, not alone.”

Their eyes met. Nick’s face was harsh. “So your past doesn’t please you. Do you intend to forget about Matilda now?”

“How can I? I’m trapped.” She gave up all pretense of eating and reached for her wineglass. “Are you going to say I told you so?”

He ignored the question. “You need not have come back to Wales.”

“Oh, but I did have to. I’m working on a story, and I want to finish it.”

“Even though you’re afraid?”

“Even though I’m afraid,” she repeated slowly, with a rueful smile. “Remember the war correspondent.”

He was watching her closely. She had let her hair fall loosely on her shoulders and was wearing now a tan linen dress, unadorned save for a thin gold chain around her neck. As she spoke a heavy lock of her hair slipped forward onto her breast. She put down her glass. “Have you come up here to apologize, Nick?”

“For what?” He narrowed his eyes.

“For what?” she echoed. “For bloody well nearly killing me once, then last time for scaring me silly.” She stared at him. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember what happened!”

He smiled grimly. “I remember clearly. Tell me, did Tim photograph you while you were making love to one of your phantoms? Will there be pictures of you writhing in ecstasy all over the gutter press?”

Jo’s eyes hardened. “You know bloody well there won’t. Nick, if you’ve come up here to make trouble again-”

“Trouble?” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not going to make trouble.”

She stared at him. He was watching her with a strange look on his face, half wry amusement, half something harder-and more calculating, and she felt a prickle of apprehension. “Nick, you behaved like a madman,” she whispered. “I was scared.”

“With reason.” He picked up the wine bottle and filled his glass.

“You’re not even sorry, are you!” She was incredulous.

“I didn’t want to hurt you, Jo.”

“Then why did you do it? Were you drunk?”

“Perhaps.” A half smile flickered behind his eyes.

She swallowed hard. “I don’t understand you anymore, Nick. You’ve changed.”

He laughed uneasily. “Obviously for the worse as far as you’re concerned.”

“Yes, for the worse.” Her eyes sparkled angrily. “Judy Curzon may like your new macho image, Nick, but I don’t. I find it boorish. What the hell is happening to you?” She stood up abruptly. “I’m tired. I think I’ll go to bed now. I’ll see you in the morning, no doubt, before you leave.”

For a moment he thought she was going to say something else, then she changed her mind and threaded her way swiftly out of the bar without a backward glance. Nick did not move. He picked up the bottle again, refilling his glass, and sat staring out of the window at the twilit garden, his back to the crowded drinkers. What the hell was happening to him? He had no idea either, and he was beginning to feel afraid himself.

Jo lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. It wasn’t yet fully dark. She could hear the low rumble of conversation from the bar downstairs, the occasional shout of laughter, the banging of the door to the parking lot. Outside the window a bat was flitting back and forth against the yellow twilight.

She clenched her fists suddenly. “Oh, God, no. Not here. Don’t let it happen here.” She sat bolt upright. There was perspiration on her face as she pushed back the sheet, her breath coming in quick shallow gasps, and swung her feet to the polished floorboards, feeling their cool solidity with thankfulness, as she gripped the headboard and stood there for a moment, staring down at the pillows, trying to steady her breathing.

Outside there was a shout beneath her window. She half turned, trembling, not relinquishing her hold on the bed, and raised her eyes cautiously toward the evening light. It was greener now, less bright. Laughter and a scuffle in the shrubs outside was followed by the sound of car doors slamming. Somewhere an engine roared. With a sigh of relief she staggered across to the window and leaned out, feeling the cool air on her face. She could smell the sweet-scented stock in the bed beneath the window.

It had not happened after all; there were no cars in the past. Behind her the sound of someone climbing the narrow creaking stairs made her turn wearily from the window. She glanced at her watch. It was ten-fifteen.

The steps stopped outside her door.

“Jo? Are you there?”

She froze. Nick . Her lips formed the word soundlessly as her eyes flew to the key standing in the lock. Had she turned it before she climbed into bed?

She ran to the door and put her hands against the panels.

“Jo?” He sounded impatient this time. “For God’s sake, open up!” The handle rattled, and she felt the wood move slightly as he pushed, but the key held. “Jo! Stop being so bloody childish!”

She bit her lip, saying nothing as once again the handle turned.

“All right, have it your own way, Joanna mine.” His voice was slightly slurred. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

She heard him stumble as he began to climb the ladderlike attic staircase at the end of the dark landing, then there was silence.

Her eyes filled with tears. “Nick. Oh, Nick, what’s happened to you?” she murmured as she threw herself onto the bed. “What has happened to us both?”

“You didn’t mind me coming over, Tim?” Judy was standing uncertainly in the middle of the darkened studio. “I know it’s late, but I was up at an exhibition at the Barbican and I didn’t feel much like going home. Not yet.” She glanced up at him. “Life’s being a bit of a bitch.” There was despair in her voice.

Tim gave a rueful scowl. “I’m sure I can find something here to keep the bitch at bay for another few hours. Booze. Dope.” He threw himself down on a canvas chair. “Me, if you want me.”

Judy sat down on the edge of the dais, her arms wrapped around her knees. “I wouldn’t mind a drink,” she said. She was trembling slightly.

He laughed. “What else?” Hauling himself to his feet, he went into the kitchen and took a bottle of champagne out of the refrigerator.

She stood up and followed him. “Were you really in Wales?”

He swung around. “Who told you that?”

“Nick. He’s followed Jo down there, you know.”

Tim had been rummaging in a cabinet for two champagne glasses and he straightened abruptly, his face contorted with pain.

“They belong to each other, Judy,” he said after a moment, controlling himself with an effort.

She took the glasses out of his hands. “Oh, I know I’ve lost him. For now. But one day I’ll get him back. I have to get him back, Tim.”

He shook his head. “Jo and Nick have a date with destiny, Judy.”

She threw back her head and laughed. “Crap! You’re stoned already. You didn’t even wait for me.”

He picked up the bottle and tore the foil off the neck. “As a newt, my love. It helps.” After tossing the wire into the sink, he flipped the cork.

Judy picked up her foaming glass and walked thoughtfully back into his studio. “It was here I told Nigel Dempster she was going mad,” she said over her shoulder. “I thought I had won then. I really thought Nick had finished with her for good.” She ran her hand down the bank of switches by the door, flooding the huge bare room with stark light, and let out a small cry of surprise as the sudden illumination revealed a large easel in the corner of the studio, covered by a sheet. “Have you taken up painting?” She moved toward it purposefully.

“Don’t touch it, Judy!” Tim was standing in the kitchen doorway, swaying slightly, his glass in his hand.

“Why? Are you shy?” She laughed harshly.

“I said, don’t touch it!” He moved with sudden speed toward her. “If you touch that cover, I’ll strangle you.”

Judy dodged out of reach. “Tim. You’re embarrassed!” Champagne slopped onto the floor from her glass as she ducked past him and caught the corner of the sheet, pulling it from the huge board and throwing it onto the ground.

She stared at the tinted life-size photograph in silence, her eyes traveling up the tall, slim body of the woman she saw there, taking in the pale-green gown falling in heavy folds to the floor, the fur-trimmed surcoat, the wimple and veil.

“It’s Jo,” she breathed at last.

“Top marks for observation!” He picked up the sheet.

“But how-how did you get her to let you take a picture like that?”

Tim laughed heavily. “I didn’t exactly take it like that.”

“You mean it’s a mockup? But it’s so real-”

“That’s a naive remark, coming from you.”

She ignored the retort. “Her eyes are a different color. And her hair,” she went on, touching the photograph lightly. “It’s Jo, but it isn’t Jo at all. You’ve caught someone else. Someone as real as you or me. It’s not just the clothes…” There was a long silence as they both stood staring at the picture, then she turned back to him. “You’re in love with her too.” She made the statement in a flat, unhappy voice that made him glance at her sharply.

“Quite a pair, aren’t we?” he replied. He covered the picture again, meticulously pulling the sheet straight. “You love Nick and I love Jo. And they love each other.”

“Did she tell you what she looked like in the past?” Judy asked suddenly.

He shook his head. “No need. I can see her clearly in my mind as she was.” With a sigh he walked to the wall and began to turn off the lights one by one.

“I wonder if Nick can too.” Her voice was very husky.

Tim picked up the champagne bottle. “I wonder,” he echoed.

“She was very beautiful, Matilda de Braose,” Judy said as she held out her glass.

Tim filled it until it overflowed onto the floor and slopped over her shoes. “The most beautiful woman in the world,” he agreed unsteadily. “The most beautiful woman in the world!”

Nick was reading the papers at a small round table at the open French windows of the pub dining room when Jo came down for breakfast. She was wearing jeans again, with a loose white silk blouse.

He stood up as she appeared. “Coffee is on its way. How did you sleep?”

“Not too well. And you?” She surveyed him cautiously as she slipped into the chair opposite him.

Nick grinned. “It was very hot up in that attic.” He grinned suddenly with something like his old humor as behind them the door opened and Dai Vaughan appeared with a tray of coffee and cereal and toast. He slid it between them onto the table.

“Will you be wanting to stay tonight after all?” he asked Nick as he began to set their places. “Just so that I know. The room is empty if you want it.”

Nick shook his head slowly. “I have to go back to London,” he said.

Jo glanced at him sharply. “Do you have to go this morning?” she said in spite of herself.

He nodded. “I think it would be best, don’t you?”

“I suppose so.” The magnetism between them was still as strong as ever. She longed to reach across the table and touch him. But somehow she resisted.

“Perhaps-” Nick hesitated. “Perhaps I could stay until this afternoon, then we could go for a drive or something? I’d like to see a little of this Wales of yours before I leave.” He held his breath, waiting for her response.

Dai Vaughan straightened as he set the coffeepot in front of Jo. “Now there’s an idea,” he said cheerfully. “Why don’t I put up a picnic for the both of you. It’ll stay fine awhile yet, with luck!” He squinted out of the window. “Where would you like to go? I can lend you a map. Llangorse Lake? The waterfalls? Castles? Or why not go up to the mountains by here-Castel Dinas perhaps. There’s a fine view and lovely country, and it’s not too far.”

Jo frowned. She had been watching Nick’s face. “I don’t want to go anywhere that might remind me,” she said quietly. “Not today. I can’t cope with that. Castles make me nervous.”

Dai laughed. “Oh, it’s not a castle like Bronllys or Hay. It’s an earthwork, see. Celtic, I think it is.” He picked up the tray. “Will you be leaving this afternoon too, Miss Clifford?”

Jo nodded.

Nick raised an eyebrow. “Are you coming back to London?” He tried to keep the triumph out of his voice.

She watched Dai Vaughan until he was out of the room. “No. I’m going back to Hay.”

“You’re continuing with your research, then?”

She rested her chin on her hands. “I’ve got to, Nick. I told you, I can’t let it go. Not yet.”

He scowled. “But you will let it go today?”

She nodded. “I’d like that. Let’s go and see this Castel Dinas. I doubt if the de Braoses were into archaeology.” She smiled at him suddenly, the wariness lifting from her face. “Truce for today, Nick?”

“Truce.” He leaned forward and put his hand on hers.

A haze had formed over the mountaintops as they parked the Porsche in a narrow lane and climbed out. Nick was holding the ordnance survey map in his hand. “I don’t think there’s much point in taking the food with us,” he said. “It may be nice now, but the weather’s closing in fast. Do you still want to go up there?”

She nodded, staring up at the gaunt shoulders of the Black Mountains rising above them, clear and sharply defined in the brilliant sunlight, save where wisps of cloud and mist touched them and drifted down into the folded cwms.

Nick shuddered. “God, what a lonely place! That must be”-he glanced down at the map-“Waun Fach. Heaven knows how it’s pronounced!”

“It’s beautiful.” Jo was staring around her. “Quite beautiful. Smell that air. Hundreds of miles of grass and wild thyme and bilberries-and just look at the hedges down here. Honeysuckle, dog roses, chamomile, foxgloves-and a thousand flowers I don’t even know the name of… Nick! ”

After dropping his map on the car hood, he had put his hands on her shoulders, drawing her to him, feeling the warmth of her flesh beneath the thin silk of her shirt as he folded his arms around her and pressed her against him, his mouth nuzzling into her hair. Jo closed her eyes. For a moment she stood still, feeling the tide of longing rising in her as she clung to him, overwhelmed with happiness suddenly, her doubts dissolving as she raised her mouth to his for a long passionate kiss, her hands automatically reaching for the buttons of his shirt, slipping inside to caress his chest.

With a smile she drew back a little and looked up at him at last.

Then she froze. The face of the man who stood staring down at her did not belong to Nick. Her stomach turned over in icy shock as recognition hit her and she remembered the blue eyes, the arrogant brow, the imperious touch, and her own body’s helpless response as this man had drawn her, long ago, against his hard body.

“No!” Jo’s eyes were dilated with fear as she pulled away from him. “Oh, no! No! Please God, no!”

She tore herself out of his arms and began to run up the lane away from him.

“Jo!” Nick called angrily. “Come back here! What’s the matter?”

But she took no notice. After hurling herself at the gate, she scrambled over it, staring up the steep grass slope in front of her. Far above their heads she could hear the lonely scream of a circling buzzard.

Nick vaulted over behind her. “Jo, wait!”

But she had begun to run, shaking her hair out of her eyes, her heart thumping in her chest as she forced herself as fast as she could up the steep ridged grass with its scattering of sheep droppings.

Nick stood for a moment watching her. His good humor vanished, he made himself take a deep breath, trying to steady the sudden wave of anger that had gripped him. In front of him Jo had stopped again. She turned, gasping for breath, staring down at him from the slope, and he could see the fear in her eyes.

Behind her the mist was drifting down across the mountain. A patch of sunlight dimmed and disappeared. It was becoming oppressively hot again. There was no breath of wind.

Slowly he began to follow her upward.

Jo reached the earthworks first and stood panting, staring around her at the piles of fallen abandoned stones and the ditch and ramparts of the Celtic fortress, high on its hill amid the encircling mountains. The mist was growing thicker. Blind with panic, she whirled as a quiet rumble of thunder echoed round the Wye Valley in the distance.

Nick had stopped several feet from her, breathing heavily from the climb. He was watching her with a strange half smile.

“Don’t run anymore, Jo,” he said quietly. “There’s no point.”

She could feel the blood pounding in her temples as she took a few staggering steps backward, her hands held out in front of her.

Nick…help…me…

She wanted to call out to him. To Nick. Not the other man, to Nick. But the words would not come, trapped ringing in her head by the mist and the silence and by Nick’s strange implacable smile as he began to follow her again.

Turning, she started to run once more, stumbling down the steep bank of a ditch. Around her the hills closed in; the mist lapped against the grass and once more there was a rumble of thunder in the east.

Dear God, she had been here before. This place she recognized; it came into her story and was indelibly etched upon her memory.

It must not happen here. Not in front of Nick-not now, not bring her helplessly to her knees alone here, with a man who hated her-

“Jo! Stop, for God’s sake-” His voice was irritated now. “ Jo-Jo, come back… ” It was echoing slightly in the eerie silence of the hills. “Jo…”