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

He nodded. "If Sam has planted any ideas in my head I want you to find out what they are and kill them, do you understand?"

"Nick. " She began to pace up and down the floor slowly, her arms folded, her bare feet kicking the silk of the kimono into a rhythmic billowing pattern over the stone flags. "There are things you must understand. Posthypnotic suggestion—if that is what we are discussing—is a strange and inexact science. I don't know what your brother might have suggested. Neither do I know what safeguards and conditions he may have imposed. "

"He has suggested that I was King John of England in a previous life. He has suggested that as John I was in love with Matilda de Braose. I think he has suggested that I killed her—or ordered her death—because she rejected me, and I think he has suggested I kill Jo as some sort of crazy revenge. " He took a deep breath. "Did Jo tell you that I have already hurt her? Twice. "

Ann sucked in her breath. "No, she didn't tell me that. " She stared at him: at the handsome, strong face, the determined chin, the firm blue eyes beneath straight brows, the broad muscular shoulders of a sportsman, strong arms, slim hips. She closed her eyes. He was unquestionably a strong man. A man who could easily overpower any woman if he chose. And he was an attractive man. Very attractive.... She saw the slight smile on his lips and dragged her eyes away from him quickly. Christ! She was supposed to be the hypnotist! She shivered again.

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Yes, " she said, "I'll try. "

Quietly Sam let himself back into Nick's apartment. He put his bag down in the hall and stood still, listening. There was no sound. Even the noise of traffic was silent at this hour, the occasional cars in Park Lane muffled by the closed windows. He walked quietly forward and peered into Nick's bedroom. It was empty, as he had known it would be. A quiet check on the other rooms proved Nick wasn't there either. Smiling to himself, he switched on the lamp in the living room and walked over to the windows. For a moment he stood still, staring at his own dark reflection in the glass, thrown into relief by the single bulb, then he reached up and drew the curtains together with a sharp rattle. He turned and looked around.

It was a large rectangular room, the polished wood floor carpeted with brightly colored rugs. The walls were covered with paintings and drawings—one of them a sketch of Jo. Sam stood in front of it for a moment, considering it. It wasn't good. It did not do her justice.

Behind him the phone rang. He turned and looked at it, then he glanced at his watch. It was four in the morning.

He picked up the receiver.

"Nick? Thank God, I thought you might have gone away for the weekend. " Sam said nothing. He was smiling faintly.

"Nick? Nick, are you there?" Judy's voice rose hysterically. "Nick, did you find Jo? Pete and I have just been over at Tim Heacham's and he was saying the craziest things. He was doped up to the eyeballs, but he said Jo really was going to die and none of us could do anything about it—Nick!"

"Nick isn't here, my sweet. " Sam sat down on the deep armchair and cradled the receiver against his left ear. "I'm sorry. You must have missed him. "

There was a breathless silence. Then she whispered, "Sam?"

"The very same. How are you, Judith?"

"Where is Nick?" She ignored his question.

"I have no idea. I am not, as someone once said, my brother's keeper. " He rested his feet on the coffee table. "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