Lady of Hay by Barbara Erskine (reading an ebook TXT) 📕

Staring up at him, she was overwhelmed suddenly by pity as she recognized the deep unhappiness in his eyes behind the closed, hard mask.

"Nick, " she said, trying to keep the ache of longing out of her voice. "What has happened to you? Where are you? You never used to be like this. "

"Maybe you weren't two-timing me before. " He turned away from her and stood in the middle of the room, his back to her, his arms folded across his chest. "And maybe I hadn't just lost my biggest client before. Losing that account could mean we fold. Desco more or less carried the firm. "

"I told you, I'm sorry, " she whispered. "But you'll find other clients. Look, I'm tired out. Can we talk tomorrow perhaps? I could meet you for lunch or something. "

"I'll take you out to dinner this evening. Please come, Jo. "

She hesitated, then shrugged. "Okay. Give me a few minutes to change. "

When she emerged at last Nick was sitting waiting for her, a book in his hands. Recognizing it, she glanced at her bag, still lying where she had dropped it in the doorway. Sure enough it was open and a pile of guidebooks and maps had spilled across the floor.

"You've been to Hay-on-Wye?" Nick asked, slowly flipping the book shut and letting it fall onto the coffee table. She nodded mutely.

"Why on earth didn't you say so? What happened?"

She shrugged. "Nothing much. I went to Abergavenny first, where"—she hesitated—"where Matilda spent so much time, to stay with an old school friend, and then they sent me on to Hay. I wanted to make notes for the article. "

"And did you recognize anything?"

"Not even vaguely familiar. It had all changed so much. " She was watching him while she was talking. The tension in his face had eased.

He walked across to the French windows. After drawing back the curtains, he threw them open and walked out onto the balcony. "I'm going to have to go to the States in a week or two, " he said over his shoulder, "to see if I can win that other account we've been angling for. If I could get that, it would more than make up for losing Desco. And I haven't totally given up on Mike Desmond yet—if I can only concentrate. " He frowned. "Oh, God, Jo. What is the matter with me? I know I'm behaving crazily. " He ran his fingers through his hair.

Jo followed him outside. "You're tired, I expect, " she said at last.

He shook his head. "It's more than that. It's as if—" He tightened his lips angrily. "No, no excuses. It's me. Some foul-tempered, vicious part of me. A part of me I don't understand. " Absently he picked a bloom from the passion flower that trailed from an ornamental urn across the stone railings around the balcony. He scrutinized it carefully. "There is something rather horrible about these, " he said after a moment, thoughtfully. "They're like wax. So perfect; so symmetrical, they don't look real. And all that symbolism. Nails, whips, blood, and wounds. " He flicked it with his finger. Then he looked up suddenly with another lightning change of subject. "You remember your meeting with Prince John?"

Jo nodded, trying to ignore the sudden tightening of her stomach muscles at the mention of John's name. She watched as Nick leaned over the balcony and let the flower drop. It spun crazily as it fell, hit the railings below, and disappeared into the dark basement area.

"You didn't like him much, as I recall. "

"Not me, Nick. Matilda, " Jo corrected him gently. "No, she didn't. He was an utterly obnoxious child. "

Nick picked off another flower-head. "Look, they're beginning to close for the evening. " He held it in his palm for a moment before dropping it after the first. "Have you come across him again yet?"

"Who?"

"John. "

Jo shook her head. "Don't let's talk about Matilda anymore, please. She doesn't bring out the best in either of us. " Jo glanced at her watch. "Why don't we walk up the road slowly? I'm ravenous. "

She was very tired. She glanced at Nick across the table in the dim candlelight, watching the shadows playing on his face as he ate. He reached for his glass and raised it so that the candle reflected ruby glints off the Valpolicella. "Shall we drink to new beginnings?" he said, looking at her at last.

She smiled. "To your new account. May it be so huge you can afford two more Porsches!"

He laughed. "To that also. But I really meant to us. I didn't mean to hurt you the other night, Jo. "

She looked away abruptly. "You damn well did, though. "

"Will you give me another chance?" His eyes sought and held hers. They were almost transparent in their clarity in the candlelight. Unwillingly she put down her fork and almost without realizing she had done it, she moved her hand slowly across the table. He grasped it, his eyes still fixed on hers. "Can you forgive me, Jo?"

The touch of his fingers sent little tingles of excitement up and down her spine. With an effort she tore her gaze away. Between them the candle guttered violently above its strangely shaped sculpture of dripped wax. "I don't know, " she said after a moment. "Nick, I don't know what to do. "

"I'll make it up to you, Jo. I make no excuses. I don't know what happened. " He moved his thumb slowly across her palm toward her wrist. "But I will make it up to you, if you will let me. "

She was shaken by the wave of longing that flooded through her as his hand moved on lightly up the inside of her forearm, touching the rough scab that had formed over the gash there.

Slowly she shook her head. 'It won't work, Nick. We don't belong together, " she whispered. Her hand still lay beneath his on