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

story. Don't fight it. Take this hypnotist man with you if you want to. WIA will pay. I'll draw you up a contract giving us exclusive rights. You can have three consecutive months. Maximum publicity, TV advertising—cover line, of course. It's possible a TV series might come out of it—who knows? I'll talk to one or two people I know at the B. B. C. and see what they think. Come on, Jo. We're talking about a lot of money apart from anything else. " She paused, giving her a sideways glance. "It'll get you away from Nick for a bit. That can't be bad either. "

Jo took a deep breath. "True, " she said. She was torn. The journalist half of her wanted to do it; it was the other half, the deep-rooted private half, which resented Bet's intrusion, and that half of her was still afraid. She looked thoughtfully past Bet out of the windows toward the river. "What about the rest of my series if I agree?"

"We'll do one of your other articles on its own if you've finished it. Drop the rest of the series for the time being. We can go back to them later. " Bet stood up. She walked around the desk and took the brandy bottle out of Jo's hand. "Come on, I'll take you out to lunch. You have to admit it, Jo, it's a bloody good story. You're too experienced a journalist not to see that. You once told me you'd like to have been a war correspondent, remember? Now is your chance to prove it. Okay, so you're taking some risks, but think of the experiences you'll be having. There is a book in this, Jo. You can base it on our series. " She scooped the strap of her tote bag onto her shoulder. Then she paused. "Listen, why not see if Tim Heacham will meet you down in Wales?" She dropped the bag and turned the phone on her desk to face her. "I'll call him now. "

"I haven't agreed yet, Bet. " Jo stood up.

"Yes you have. " Bet grinned as she dialed. "You wouldn't have come to see me this morning if you'd really wanted to stop. You would have gone straight to your hypnotist. Here" —she held out the phone—"the number is ringing. "

Bet met Pete Leveson for lunch at Langan's the following Monday. They sat downstairs, both greeting other diners for a few moments before they turned to one another. Pete grinned. "Perrier with a slice of lemon at this time of day, right?"

Bet raised an eyebrow. "That will do for starters. " She sat back in her chair and looked him straight in the eye. "I'm prepared to bet you know why I asked you to meet me here. "

"Hands off Jo Clifford?" Pete leaned back and crossed one long leg over the other. He stared up at the ceiling. "Do you intend to make it worth my while?"

"You mean you want me to trade stories?" Bet glanced at him quizzically.

"Possibly. If you know anything exciting that I don't. "

Bet laughed out loud. "Touche. Supposing I promise to keep my ear to the ground?" She took up the menu and began to look at it thoughtfully. "There is one favor you might do for me, though, Pete, " she said, not taking her eyes from the list of hors d'oeuvres. "Spend a little time with la petite Curzon. I think you'll find her grateful. "

"You mean Jo will be grateful if Judy has less time for Nick. "

Bet concealed a smile. "No, that's not what I meant, " she said. She raised a languid hand to greet a colleague who had appeared in the doorway.

Peter gave her a sharp look. Then he grinned. "I see—and while the cat's away... She's gone to Wales, you said?"

Bet nodded. "Tim has gone with her. He's going to photograph the locations—ruins and mountains and things, and also try and catch Jo while she's in a trance. You'd be amazed how quickly he agreed to go. He dropped everything —left his entire diary to that dishy George chappie and whatever his other assistant is called, packed his knapsack and went. "

Pete gave a silent whistle. "So that's the way the wind blows. Does Nick know what is happening?"

She shrugged. "I don't know and I don't care. Nick Franklyn is Jo's worst enemy in some ways. He distracts her from her work. He turns her neurotic when I want her incisive and militant. He blunts that acerbic edge that makes Jo Jo. "

"Besides which, you've fancied him yourself for years. "

Bet gave an enigmatic smile. "Have you tried the nest of quails' eggs they do here?" she said innocently. "If not, I'd recommend it. "

There was a knock on Jo's bedroom door. She stood back from her suitcase and stared for a moment out of the dormer window toward the trees that screened the River Wye from her view. "Come in, Tim. I'm just about ready. "

Tim appeared, stooping beneath the low sloping ceiling. "You were right about Mrs. Griffiths, " he said in an undertone. "What a gem. I'm glad she had rooms for us. " He wore an open-necked checked shirt and jeans. There was a camera case slung from his shoulder. "Shall we walk up into Hay?"

Jo nodded. She slipped her notebook into her tote bag and followed Tim down the creaking staircase and out onto the sun-baked pavement.

They walked slowly up the road past the church, stopping to stare at the grass-covered tump where once the first castle of Hay had stood, then they made their way toward the bridge that spanned the river. Leaning on the blue-painted railings, they stared down into the water far below.

"You say it happened here the first time?" Tim asked.

Jo nodded. "I was sitting on the shingle down there. "

"And it happened completely spontaneously?"

"I think I knew something was wrong. Things went strange—a bit jerky, as