Lady of Hay

by Barbara Erskine

  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 her
e 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.