Lady of Hay

  “And Jo? Is Jo all right?”

  “Do you really care?” His tone was scathing. “Stop being a hypocrite, Judith. It is only days since you were fulminating against Ms. Clifford with all the somewhat limited invective at your command. I have told you Jo has nothing to do with you. Go back to your paparazzi boyfriend and mind your own business.”

  He put down the receiver with almost delicate care before standing up and strolling out to the hall. He picked up his bag and, dropping it on the bed in the spare room, threw back the lid. He had not turned on the lights. Outside the first tentative notes of a blackbird whistled over the rooftops, echoing in the silence of the huge courtyard at the back of the apartment block. Sam slipped his hand into the side pocket of the bag and drew something out. He carried it to the window and held it up to the gray dawn light. It was a carved ivory crucifix.

  ***

  “I’m sorry, Nick.” Ann threw herself back into the chair wearily and closed her eyes. “I’ve used every technique I know. It’s not going to work.”

  “It’s got to work!” Nick clenched his fists. “Please, try again.”

  “No. It’s no use.” She stood up. “Look, it’s nearly dawn. We’re both exhausted and, as you said, you’re probably suffering from jet lag. Why don’t we get some sleep? We can try again tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow might be too late.” Nick reached forward and caught Ann’s wrist. “Don’t you realize that? Please, just once more. Then, if it doesn’t work, we’ll give up.”

  Ann sat down on the edge of the coffee table facing him. “You’re too tense, Nick. You’re fighting me and I don’t have the experience to get round that.”

  “Have you got some tranquilizers or something I could take?”

  She laughed. “In this house? Ben would divorce me if I took anything stronger than feverfew tea for my migraine!” She sighed. “Look, I’ll try once more. Sit back, put your feet up, and relax. I’ll go and make that tea we’ve been waiting for and I’ll put a slug of brandy in it. Try to unwind, Nick. Close your eyes. Let your mind go blank.”

  She stood looking down at him for a moment, surprised by the sudden surge of almost maternal affection she felt for the man lying so helplessly before her. Quickly she turned away.

  She made two cups of tea and poured a double measure of brandy in each, then she carried them back to their chairs.

  “There, that should do the trick.” Sitting down opposite him again, she slid the cups onto the coffee table.

  “Nick?”

  His head had fallen sideways on the patchwork cushion. Gently she touched his hand. There was no response.

  With a sigh she took the woven blanket from the sofa and drew it over him, then, after turning down the lamp, she blew out the flame. The room was no longer dark. The still, eerie, predawn light was filtering in between the curtains. She drew one back silently and stood, sipping her tea, looking at the dim, colorless garden and the white cauldron of luminous mist beyond them in the valley. Suddenly she shivered violently.

  She turned and looked at Nick.

  Whatever devil he was going to have to fight inside himself, she was not going to be able to help him. He and Jo were going to have to face it on their own.

  34

  With the dawn came rain; heavy, soaking rain from gray clouds drawing their soft bellies over the mountaintops, drenching the thirsty ground. Ben came in from the cows, dressed in a bright yellow sou’wester and cape, as the others were having their breakfast.

  Nick was pale and drawn, watching moodily as Jo spooned cereal into the bowls of the two little ones. Feeling his eyes on her, she glanced up. “You look tired,” she said gently.

  “I didn’t sleep too well.” He glanced at Ann, presiding over the coffeepot. The room was fragrant with toast and new coffee and the spitting apple logs Ben had thrown into the stove. It seemed very normal and safe.

  “Are the kids going down the hill this morning?” Ben hung up his wet oilskins and began to wash his hands.

  “I’m running them down in half an hour.” Ann poured her husband his mug of coffee and pushed it over the table toward him. “I take turns with our neighbor at the bottom of the track on Saturday mornings to have each other’s kids,” she explained as she filled up Nick’s cup. “That way every other weekend we can get into Brecon and do a bit of shopping or whatever on our own. Not this morning, though. I’ll just be glad to get them out from under.”

  Ben laughed. “She doesn’t mean that. Ten minutes after she gets back she starts to worry about them.”

  Ann smiled at him affectionately, then she looked at Jo and Nick. “What would you two like to do this morning?”

  “Walk,” Jo put in quickly. “Walk in the rain.”

  Ann raised an eyebrow. “That whim I think we can accommodate. And you, sir?” She turned to Nick.

  “Why not? Some fresh air will do me good, and we don’t want to get under your feet either.”

  “You’re not!” Ann said sharply.

  There was an awkward silence. Abruptly she pulled Bill off his chair and began to bundle him into his anorak, ignoring his vigorous protests that his mouth was still full and he hadn’t finished. “Are you sure one of you wouldn’t rather come down with me?” She glanced from Jo to Nick and back. “You can’t both want to go out in the rain.” She saw Jo’s knuckles whiten for a moment on the corner of the table.

  “I think there are things Nick and I should talk about,” Jo said after a moment. She bit her lip. “We’ll be all right. We won’t go far.”

  Ann was watching Nick’s face again and she saw the tiny movement of the muscles at the corner of his jaw. She sighed. “Right. Well, help yourselves to mackintoshes or whatever on the door there, and when you get back we’ll have coffee and cakes, okay?”

  “And for Christ’s sake, don’t get lost!” Ben put in. “This is a real mountain, not Hyde Park. Stay within sight of the wall. It will lead on down the hill for about three miles if you want a decent walk and then bring you back past all the best views.” He cocked an eye out of the window at the uniformly gray murk of the low cloud and gave his rumbling laugh. “See you when you get back.”

  The mist was cold and wet on their faces when they stepped out into the silent white world. Jo put her hands firmly in the pockets of her mac. “I’d forgotten what it was to feel cold. It’s hard to believe the weather can change so much after last night.”

  “It’s the cloud.” Nick pulled up the collar of his jacket. “It’s probably bright sunshine down in the valley.”

  Ten paces behind them the farmhouse was already barely in sight, dissolving and drifting, its gray slates and white walls the perfect blend of mist and cloud.

  Jo stopped. “Where is the wall?”

  “Here. Beside us. Ben was right, it would be easy to get lost.” Nick touched her elbow, guiding her a little to the left.

  Jo moved slightly away from him. Her heart had begun to beat in a quick, uneasy rhythm. She glanced back. The farmhouse had gone; they were completely alone.

  She pushed her hands further into her pockets. “How did the trip to the States go? You haven’t told me yet.”

  Nick was walking a couple of paces behind her, his eyes on her slim figure in the tightly belted raincoat and black rubber boots. Somewhere deep inside himself he felt a sudden awakening of anger.

  She turned, pulling off the blue scarf Ann had lent her and shaking her hair free. “Do you think you’ll get the new account? What is it, Nick?” She had seen it at once in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  He shook his head desperately. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I didn’t sleep, that’s all. Yes, I think there’s a good chance. I’m flying a team out to New York next week to discuss things with the marketing director out there; then, if all goes well, we’ll take over the launch of their product in the UK early next year.” He stopped and picked up a loose stone from the ground beneath the wall, hurling it into the whiteness. “If we get the account I’ll be taking on
new staff because it looks as though Desco has had a change of heart.”

  “Oh, Nick, I am pleased.” Unobtrusively Jo put several feet more between him and herself. “I knew it was just a temporary hiccup.”

  Nick gave a strained laugh. “Firms larger than mine have gone under through losing one account.” He did not look at her. “Jo, I didn’t come up here to discuss the problems or otherwise of Franklyn-Greerson.”

  “No.” Jo glanced across at him. Now that the moment had come she didn’t know what to say. She clenched her fists, aching to touch him and yet not daring to move. In anguish she turned away. “What do you think of the Clementses, Nick?” she asked softly.

  “I like them.” He grimaced. “And I think we need them. Dear God, we need someone.”

  Jo frowned. She could see the faint outline of a group of trees near them now and hear the distant bleating of a sheep. Below on the hillside the mist was graying but above their heads it seemed brighter and there was a hint of glare in the air. She tensed suddenly, realizing that Nick was standing beside her again.

  “Listen, Jo—”

  “No, please, Nick.” She backed away. “Please—don’t touch me—”

  “Don’t touch you!” His anger overflowed suddenly. “Always the same! You sleep with my brother, but I must not touch you!”

  He reached out toward her, but she edged away from him, her boots slipping on the wet, muddy grass.

  “I haven’t slept with your brother! That’s a lie!”

  “How do you know?” Nick’s voice was dangerously quiet.

  She stared at him in horror. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, he hypnotized you. He told me all about it, Jo. William de Braose—my brother! How strange that he should choose to be a man like that!”

  “Perhaps he had no choice,” Jo cried.

  Nick raised an eyebrow. “Or perhaps that identity gives him all the chances he wants to screw Matilda and by proxy her latter-day descendant!”

  “He didn’t—” She backed away from him until she felt the rough stones of the wall against her back. “He…he wanted to, but he couldn’t manage it—”

  “So he beat you instead? And I gather you thought you deserved it. Perhaps you even enjoyed it?”

  “No, I damn well didn’t!” Jo exploded. “If I ever set eyes on your brother again I’ll kill him with my bare hands. He’s a sadistic, twisted psychopath!”

  Nick laughed coldly. “But you have to admit he had a point. You were unfaithful to your husband.”

  “You of all people should know about that,” she retorted defiantly.

  He smiled, his eyes hard. “I remember only one occasion,” he said slowly, “when you lay with your prince.”

  “I was raped by my prince,” Jo said forcibly. “He nearly killed me!”

  “He loved you, Jo, but you made him angry. You kept on making him angry—”

  “Not me,” Jo cried wildly. “It wasn’t me, Nick! And what Matilda did was none of your business. Nor Sam’s. Nor even mine, perhaps! Oh, God, this whole thing is a nightmare!” She pushed at him desperately. “Let me pass, please. I want to go back to the house.”

  Nick did not move. He caught her wrist and, forcing her arm backward, held it pressed for a moment on the top of the wall. Lichen streaked the white sleeve of the raincoat.

  “You may or may not have slept with Sam, but you did sleep with Tim Heacham while you were in Raglan, I hear. You’ve been having quite a time, haven’t you, Jo?”

  She shrank back. “I can sleep with whom I damn well please, Nick Franklyn, you don’t own me! Let me go—”

  “Your husband was right. You do need to be punished—”

  “I haven’t got a husband!” Jo shouted. “For God’s sake, you’re mad as well! Don’t you see, it’s not real, none of it is real!” She stopped struggling as his grip on her wrist tightened and pain shot through her shoulder. “Nick, please, you’re hurting me. Nick!”

  For a moment he didn’t move. Closing his eyes, he felt the sweat standing on his forehead. Then his stomach heaved and, dropping Jo’s wrist, he staggered a couple of paces back, retching into the grass.

  “Nick?” Jo was staring at him, frightened. His anger had gone as quickly as it had come and in its place was a blank, uncomprehending terror. “Nick, what’s happened? What has Sam done to you? Oh, God, what are we going to do?”

  Straightening, Nick wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. He was shaking violently as he turned back toward her. “I’ve hurt you.” He gasped. “God, Jo, I’ve hurt you—” He caught her arm again, but gently this time, and looked down at it. There was blood on the back of her hand, welling between the streaks of green from the mossy stones.

  “It’s only a graze.” She snatched it away from him.

  Nick stood motionless. He felt dizzy. “He’s manipulating me! He’s made me believe I’m someone I’m not. Jo, he’s turned me into a killer!” He leaned forward on the wall and put his head in his hands.

  Jo was trembling so violently she could hardly stand. “Let’s go back inside—”

  “Ann can’t help me.” He didn’t move. “She tried last night.”

  Jo had turned away toward the house. She stopped in her tracks. “When?”

  “Neither of us could sleep. We had some tea, and I told her what I was afraid of. She tried to regress me, but she couldn’t.” Taking a deep breath, he grasped the top of the stone wall so tightly his nails splintered.

  “I love you, Jo,” he whispered suddenly, his voice husky with despair. “Whatever happens, I want you to know that.”

  The kitchen smelled of baking. “Well, you two weren’t long,” Ann said cheerfully. “I thought you’d wait till the sun came out at least.” She glanced up and the smile faded from her lips. “What happened?”

  Nick hung up his jacket on the back of the door and threw himself on the sofa. “You’ve got to help me, Ann. For pity’s sake, help me!”

  Ann glanced at Jo, who had walked to the sink and was running warm water over her hand, her back to them both. She took a deep breath. “I’ll try again,” she said. “Jo, will you leave us alone? Take a couple of mugs of coffee out for you and Ben. He’s in the cowshed.”

  She waited until Jo had let herself out of the kitchen door, then she turned. “What happened?”

  “Nothing. But it nearly did. I could feel him, Ann, inside me. Cold, calculating, angry, bitter. I knew that I—he—could do anything. Anything! I fought it this time but another time I might not be able to.”

  “Sit down. Here.” She pointed to the kitchen table. “I’m going to light the oil lamp. You said Sam uses lights to induce hypnosis. There—now, look at the flame. Don’t blink. Occupy your mind totally with that speck of fire. That’s fine.” Her voice had lost its tension as she gained confidence. “Good, now relax. Relax, Nick, and listen. Just listen to my voice. Don’t shut your eyes—you can’t shut your eyes. Good.” She saw the strain on his face begin to fall away as he stared at the light. “Good, that’s fine. Now, I want to go back in time, Nick, back to when you were a child…”

  ***

  Ben looked up from the leg of the cow over which he had been bending. He ran his hand gently down it, then stood up and smacked the cow affectionately on the hindquarters.

  “Is that my coffee? Bless you, my dear.”

  Jo sat down on a hay bale, her own mug cupped between her hands. “Ann is trying to hypnotize Nick.”

  “She told me she tried last night to no avail.” Ben sat down comfortably next to her. “What have you done to your hand?” His sharp eyes had missed nothing.

  “I caught it against the wall, that’s all.” She looked away from him. “Oh, Ben. What’s happened to him?”

  Ben patted her shoulder. “He confided in Annie last night, my dear, that he is very worried. If Ann cannot help him we both feel he should consult your hypnotherapist without delay. He is, after all, a professional, and he knows the background to your case.” He smiled.
“I think it would be best if Nick went back to London, Jo.”

  She nodded slowly. “I suppose so.” She was about to drink the last of her coffee when she lowered the mug again. “He thinks he’s going to try to kill me, Ben. But why? Why should Sam do this to us? Why? He can’t really believe he was Matilda’s husband. And if he does, why should he want Nick to hurt me? It just doesn’t make sense.”

  “Things that make sense to the insane mind are seldom obvious to others,” Ben said soberly. “And it sounds to me as if Nicholas’s brother must be insane.”

  He put down the mug at his feet. He was about to stand up when from the house they both heard the sound of a frightened scream.

  Ben was on his feet first. With Jo close behind him he raced toward the kitchen door and flung it open.

  Ann was lying on the floor; there was no sign of Nick.

  Ben flung himself on his knees beside her as she struggled to sit up, her face white. “Ann, for God’s sake, are you all right? What happened?”

  “I-I annoyed him,” she said shakily. She clung to the table leg for support. “It was my own fault. I shouldn’t have attempted to regress him. I don’t know enough about it—”

  “What did he do, Ann?” Jo had gone cold all over. She stared at Ann for a moment, incapable of moving, then, galvanized into action, she found a cloth. After wringing it out under the tap, she knelt beside Ann, holding it gently to the bruise that was rising on her temple.

  “He didn’t attack me or anything. He just pushed me, that’s all, and I slipped. I must have caught my head on the table or something. It was my own silly fault.” Ann took the cloth from Jo’s hand and pressed it more firmly against her head. “I shouldn’t have interfered. It was crass stupidity. I should have known his brother would be too clever for us, but I still thought I could somehow cancel out the hypnotic suggestion. I had Nick under—he was responding well and I took him back to his childhood. I asked him one or two questions about when he was little. He seemed to realize Sam’s hostility when he was a child and he steered clear of him—worshipping from afar. Then I took him back further. I wanted to find out if the idea of his being King John came from deep within his own unconscious or from his brother’s suggestion.” She shook her head. “He regressed easily. Once he was under he went into what seemed like total recall of a succession of lives. I wasn’t prompting him. He was one man who lived around the turn of the century and who died at the age of twenty-four from typhoid.” Ann, still sitting on the floor, hugged her knees. “Then he said he had lived in the reign of Queen Anne as a sailor, and he said…he said he’s waited for Matilda, but the time was wrong.” She glanced up as Jo caught her breath. “He said he waited again and again and then he produced another incarnation some one hundred and fifty years before that and he talked what sounded like French. That time he died of plague in Paris. Then there was a long gap.” Ann paused. For a moment she didn’t seem able to speak. “Then there was John, the youngest son of King Henry II of England.”