Lady of Hay

by Barbara Erskine

  With a little laugh she went on without turning. “You won’t tell him I said that, will you?”

  “No, Jo.” Shaking his head, he recovered himself with an effort. “I won’t tell him. That I promise you.”

  ***

  Sam was whistling softly to himself as he nodded to the janitor at Lynwood House, where Nick had his apartment, and let himself into the elevator. It was still not quite eight o’clock. He pushed open the apartment door and stood for a moment, listening.

  “You’ve been out early.” Nick appeared at the bathroom door, razor in hand. “Pour out some juice will you? I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Sam smiled. “Whatever you say, little brother. I trust you slept well?” He pulled Nick’s jacket off and hung it up.

  Nick was looking at his watch. “I’m going to give Jo a ring to see if she is okay. I half expected her to phone last night, the state she was in—”

  “No!” Sam said sharply. He withdrew the copy of the Daily Telegraph he had under his arm and held it up to scan the headlines. “Leave her in peace, Nicholas, for God’s sake. If everything you told me last night about her session with Bennet is true the last thing she will want is to be wakened at this hour of the morning by the telephone.”

  Nick had turned back to the bathroom. He unplugged the razor. “I suppose you’re right…”

  “I know I’m right.” Sam raised his eyes for a moment from the paper to give his brother a penetrating look. “I suggest you go down to see our mother this morning as arranged and let Jo alone for a couple of days. In fact, leave her alone until you get back from your wanderings across Europe. She does know you are going away?”

  Nick shrugged. He was buttoning his shirt. “Scotland I can’t cancel, but the trip to France I could postpone.”

  “Don’t.” Sam walked into the kitchen and rummaged on the shelf for the jar of coffee. “It isn’t worth it. Jo has made it clear enough it is over between you. Don’t let a temporary wave of sentiment because you saw her unhappy and emotional undo all the good you achieved by walking out on her. You’ll just make the poor girl more neurotic than she already is.”

  “Why did she ask me to go with her yesterday then, if she doesn’t want to see me anymore?” Nick followed him into the kitchen, tucking his shirt into the waistband of his trousers.

  “Did she, though?” Sam glanced at him.

  He fished a loaf out of the bin and began to cut meticulously thin slices, which he tossed into the toaster. “Have you any marmalade? I haven’t been able to find it.”

  Nick sat down at the kitchen table. He reached for the paper and stared at it unseeing. “She shouldn’t be alone, though, Sam,” he said at last.

  “She won’t be,” Sam replied. “I’ll call her later. Remember, I am a doctor as well as a friend. I’ll give her a quick check over, if necessary, and make sure she’s in good spirits and while I’m at it read her the riot act about ignoring our warnings.”

  “And you’ll phone me if she wants me?”

  “She won’t want you, Nicholas.” Sam looked at him solicitously. “Get that into your thick head before you are really hurt.”

  ***

  Judy stared morosely beyond the reflection of the dimly lit bar, through the indigo windows, at the rain-washed Pimlico Road. “I never thanked you for giving me such a good write-up,” she said at last to Pete Leveson, who was sitting opposite her. She turned her back on the window. “I’m sure it was thanks to you that the exhibition went so well.”

  “Rubbish. You deserved success.”

  Pete was watching her closely, noting the taut lines between her nose and mouth, the dullness of her eyes. “It is a bit of an anticlimax, now that it’s over, I suppose,” he said tentatively.

  Judy sighed. She picked up her glass, staring around the wine bar with apparent distaste. “That’s probably it.”

  “And how is Nick?” His voice was deliberately casual.

  She colored. “He’s in Scotland, on business.”

  “And Jo? Is she still dabbling in the paranormal?”

  Judy drank her Buck’s Fizz, then with a grimace she asked, “Does the name Carl Bennet mean anything to you?”

  Pete raised an eyebrow. “Possibly. Why?”

  “Jo went to see him on Friday afternoon, and the thought that she was going there was enough to scare Nick to death. He shot off after her as if she had left a message that she was having tea with the devil himself. Can I have another of these?”

  Pete raised his hand to beckon the waitress without taking his eyes off Judy’s face. He gave the order and tossed a five-pound note on the table. “Bennet is a hypnotherapist,” he said. “One of the best, I believe. And among other things he takes people back into their previous incarnations to treat them for otherwise incurable phobias.”

  Judy’s mouth dropped open. “You mean that is what Jo is doing? Jesus! She doesn’t believe in that sort of thing, does she?”

  “You are not a believer, I take it?” Pete was looking amused.

  “No, I am not! No wonder Nick is worried for her sanity. Anyone who believes that kind of thing is certifiable. No wonder she freaked out when I told her Sam thought she was schizoid.”

  Pete was sitting back, still watching her closely. “She is doing it for a story, Judy,” he said tolerantly. “I think you should watch what you say, you know.”

  Judy laughed again. Her third Buck’s Fizz on an empty stomach was going to her head. “I don’t have to in front of you, do I?” she said archly. “Or do you think there is a gossip columnist under the table? But seriously, who needs one of those when I’m having a drink with one of the most prestigious reporters in Fleet Street.” She glanced at him provocatively under her eyelashes. “You had a thing going with Jo once, didn’t you?”

  Pete leaned back in his chair. “I don’t believe it was a secret.”

  “And you still like her. Everyone who has had an affair with Jo seems to still like her. What a likable person she must be!” she added sarcastically. “Well, why don’t you find out exactly what it is she is doing? It would make a good story, surely?”

  “Jo is researching her own story, Judy.” His voice was carefully neutral.

  “It sure as hell wouldn’t be the same story if you told it, though, would it?” She ran her finger round the inside of her glass and sucked it pointedly. “Yours would be much more…sensational!”

  She had huge eyes—light gray, with radiating streaks in the irises, fringed with dark-red lashes. Pete contemplated them for a moment as he thought over what she had said. Jo was a friend and yes, he was still fond of her, but the story, if there was a story, would not hurt her. On the contrary, it would counteract that bit in the Mail. In fact, why not sell this one to the Mail? Give the real version of what was going on. Sensational, Judy had said. It was a word Peter could not resist.

  Leaning forward, he put his hand over Judy’s and squeezed it gently. “Why don’t I get you another of those,” he said quietly. “Then you needn’t lick the glass. Later I’ll drop you back at your place and we’ll talk about this some more.”

  ***

  Two days later Dorothy Franklyn rang the bell of the apartment in Lynwood House. “I hope you don’t mind, Sam, dear. I did so want to see you before you went back to Scotland.” She dropped three green-and-gold Harrods bags on the floor of the hall, then she straightened, looking at him for a moment. Reaching up to kiss him, she rumpled his hair affectionately before walking past him into the living room. “When are you going back?”

  Sam followed her. “I’ve a few things to do in town and Nick said I could use the flat while he’s in France, so I’ll be here a week or so, I expect.” He threw himself into a chair and looked up at her. “You’re looking very spry, Ma.”

  She smiled. “Thank you, dear,” she said. “Now tell me, how is Jo?”

  Sam raised an eyebrow. “What did Nick tell you?”

  “Enough to make me very worried. This reincarnation business, Sam, it
is all rubbish, isn’t it? I don’t like the sound of it at all. I didn’t like it when you were working on your thesis under that creepy man Cohen, and I don’t like it any better now. I think it’s dangerous. It’s got nothing whatsoever to do with medicine, or science. And to think that Jo has got involved with mumbo jumbo like that!” She shuddered visibly. “Can’t you do something, Sam?”

  Sam turned away from her and looked out of the window. In the distance he could see a solid wedge of traffic sitting in the broad sweep of Park Lane. “I’m not sure that I can,” he said slowly. “I think Jo has already become too involved to extricate herself even if she wanted to. I believe that we are dealing with a genuine case of total recall of a previous incarnation. There are too many facts, too many details.” He sighed. “Too many things fit into the picture, Ma.” He glanced down at the books on the table. “I’ve been thinking about all this very hard over the past week. When I heard the tapes of Jo’s first regression a lot of things began to make sense.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “It has forced me to change my views. I believe now that maybe, once in a while, if a person—or people—have left things undone, or perhaps made a terrible mistake in one life, it is possible that when they are reborn they are given a second chance.”

  “And you think Jo is being given a second chance?” Her face was inscrutable as she watched him.

  Sam smiled. “Jo. Or someone else.”

  “You don’t really believe that?” she said after a moment. “That there is some kind of karmic replay?” She frowned. “That is an Eastern philosophy, Sam, not one that sits easily on Western shoulders.” She paused. “But how is Jo in herself, Sam? Nick was very worried about her. Especially when you called and said she didn’t want to see him before he went off to France. She did say that?” She was watching him carefully again.

  “She was badly shaken by what happened last Friday and a bit confused. I think she felt she had made rather a fool of herself in front of him. It will all have blown over by the time he gets back and they will both be glad they didn’t meet again to prolong the embarrassment.”

  “This theory of yours.” She went to stand near him. “Does Jo believe it too?”

  “Jo is still fighting it.” Sam frowned. “And until she accepts it she is unlikely to accept the wider implication that others must have been reincarnated with her, so that they can work out their destiny together with hers. It has to work like that.”

  “So you think now that Jo is not the only one.” Thoughtfully she walked back into the living room. “Do you think Nick is involved?” She looked at him suddenly. “He wasn’t someone in this past life of hers?”

  “Oh, yes, Nick is involved.” Sam’s voice had suddenly lost its lightness.

  “How do you know?” she asked sharply. She sat down, putting her cup on the coffee table. “And you?” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “Are you involved too?”

  “I rather think I am.” Sam sat down opposite her. “Crazy, isn’t it?” He gave her a disarming smile.

  “And do you have any proof for this theory?”

  “Proof?” He looked at her in astonishment. “How can there be proof? Don’t be obtuse, Ma.”

  “I mean, have you or Nick had this hypnosis thing done to you, to find out?”

  He shook his head. “Some things one knows. One remembers…”

  She shuddered. “You’re giving me the creeps, Sam! I have never heard such a load of nonsense in my life. You’ve let your imagination run away with you. I suggest you go back to Scotland and imbue yourself with a good dose of Scots common sense!” She looked at Sam. “Who do you think you are—or were—in her story?”

  Sam grinned. “Never you mind, Ma. I think we should stop talking about this.” His tone changed. “Now, what have you been buying? Are you going to show me?”

  She refused to be distracted. “Did this Matilda have many men in her life?”

  Sam grimaced. “At least two. Probably three.”

  Dorothy was watching him closely. “Were they brothers?” she asked bluntly.

  He laughed. “No, they weren’t brothers! Come on. Let’s stop talking about this.”

  She continued, irritated. “Have you told Nick about this idea of yours?”

  “No.”

  “Are you going to?”

  Sam shrugged. “That depends. I think it would be better if Nick concentrated on his advertising at the moment—and the delectable redhead in Fulham. There is no point in stirring things up needlessly.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” Dorothy stood up briskly, trying to ignore her increasing panic. “Sam, I have to go. I’ve got one or two things to do before I catch my train.” She reached up to kiss him on the cheek, then she hesitated. “But tell me one thing first. You said you thought you had remembered things from the past. That is such a strange, frightening idea. What have you remembered?”

  “It was when I was listening to the tape of Jo’s first regression,” he replied slowly. “I remembered a ring. A ring on the finger of a man.” He stared at the ceiling over her head. “I have remembered that ring for eight hundred years.”

  There was silence in the room.

  Dorothy licked her lips uneasily. “Why?” she whispered at last.

  “Because he was my guest. And I murdered him.”

  ***

  It was several days before Jo’s breasts returned to normal. Grimly she worked, typing up her notes, using every ounce of willpower she possessed to put Carl Bennet and Matilda de Braose out of her mind. She springcleaned the apartment, filled the storage closets, arranged to go back to Suffolk by train on Saturday morning to collect the MG, and less and less often had to remove the soggy tissues from her bra. Sam had told her that Nick was in France and she was glad. Nick was a complication she could not handle at the moment. Dutifully each night she took the two sleeping pills Sam had prescribed, went to bed at eleven, and slept heavily. Unpleasantly heavily.

  She saw Sam only once more. He checked her over with quiet professionalism, ruffled her hair as if she were a naughty child, and went. She wished he had stayed longer.

  When Pete Leveson called out of the blue she accepted his invitation to dinner with alacrity. He took her to the Gasworks and they sat in the huge, dimly lit reception room idly playing with the ornate chess pieces laid out in front of them while they waited for their table. Pete watched her covertly as he sipped his gin and tonic. “You’re looking great, Jo. Really great. How is work?”

  She smiled. “It’s going quite well actually.”

  “How did you get on with Carl Bennet? I hope the introduction was useful.” He moved a king’s pawn, not taking his eyes from her face, and saw her wary look at once.

  “It was very interesting. Thank you, Pete.”

  He waited for her to say more as she leaned back, staring idly around the room.

  “Did you find out anything revealing?” he prompted at last.

  She reached for her glass. “The woman never turned up that first time.”

  “First time?” He picked her up at once. “So you’ve been again? Did he use hypnosis on you?” He moved one of her knights for her with a malicious grin.

  “Three times now.” Gently she took it back from him and replaced it. She moved a bishop instead.

  “And?”

  She laughed uneasily. “It appears I have an alter ego. I still don’t believe I am her reincarnation—I can’t bring myself to accept that—but this woman is living a life somewhere there inside my head and it is so real! More real in some ways than the life I’m leading here and now.”

  “Check.” Pete drained his glass. “You always were useless at chess, Jo. Why didn’t you let me help you? We could have made the game last at least ten minutes. Tell me about her, this lady who lives in your head.”

  Jo glanced at him. “You’re not laughing?”

  “No. I told you. I find it fascinating. I have always hankered after the idea of having a past life. It’s romantic, and comforti
ng. It means if you fuck this one up, you can have another go. It also means that there might be a reason why I’m so unreasonably terrified of water.”

  Jo smiled. “I expect your mother dropped you in the bath.”

  “She swears not.” Pete raised his hand to the young man hovering in the background and ordered fresh drinks. “So shoot. Tell me about your other self.”

  It was a relief to talk about it again. Relaxed and reassured by Pete’s quiet interest, Jo talked on. They finished their drinks and moved to their table in the grotto dark of the restaurant and she went on with the story. She kept back only one thing. She could not bring herself to mention her baby, or what had happened after his birth. When at last she had finished Pete let out a long, low whistle. “My God! And you’re telling me that you intend to let it go at that? You’re not going back?”

  Jo shook her head. “If I go back again, I’ll go a thousand times. I’ve got to make myself drop it, Pete.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with knowing what happened? For God’s sake, Jo!” He grinned. “I wouldn’t stop. I’d go back again and again till I had the whole story, whatever it cost. To hell with where she comes from. Whether she’s a spirit from the past or a part of your own personality fragmenting for some reason, or you in a previous existence, she is a fascinating woman. Think of the people she might have known.”

  Jo smiled wryly. “She knew King John.”

  “Bad King John?” He rocked back on his seat. “What a story that would be, Jo. Think—if you could interview him, through her! You can’t leave it there. You can’t. You must see that. You have to go back and find out what happened next.”