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

and old jeans. She looked slightly harassed as she saw him standing there.

He grinned. "I hope I'm not too late. You did say any time after eight would be okay. "

"Oh, God, Tim, I'm sorry, I forgot. Come in, please. " She dragged the door wider. "I never meant you to go to so much trouble. When I asked you to do the catalogue, I didn't realize you were going abroad. "

"It's no trouble, Judy. You put quite a challenge to me. A catalogue of your inner thoughts, not just reproductions of your paintings. How could any photographer resist the temptation to photograph a lady's inner thoughts!"

She laughed. "I shall obviously have to censor them heavily. " She closed the door behind him. "Can I get you a beer or something?"

Tim shook his head. "I think I'd rather get on. I want to look at the work that's going to the gallery in Paris and the studio, and I want to look at you. " He smiled at her impishly. "You realize a lot of this will rely on the processing and I'm going to have to leave that to George, but he'll do it well. I think you'll be pleased with what he produces. " He put down the bag and pulled it open. "First I want a picture of you in front of that sunset before it fades. "

The back window of the studio was ablaze with crimson and orange. Judy glanced at it. "I'll change—"

"No! Like that. Jeans, paint stains, everything. " He caught her shoulders and propelled her toward the window, turning her in profile to the light. "That's it. You'll be almost totally in silhouette. Just the slightest aura of color around your face and those streaks of red on your shirt. They look like overspill from the clouds. "

He photographed her dozens of times against the window as the light faded to gold and then to green, then at last he turned his attention to the pictures. One by one she brought them forward into the strong studio lights.

"Are you really leaving tomorrow?" She studied his thin, tired face as he raised the light meter in front of a huge, unframed canvas.

He nodded. "Tomorrow evening. "

"And you'll be gone months?"

"At least three. " He squinted through the viewfinder and then retreated several paces before clicking the shutter.

"Are you going to see Jo before you go?"

He was suddenly very still. "I don't know. Probably not. " He stepped away from the camera and helped her replace the canvas against the wall. "I had thought I might call in on my way back from here, but I'm not sure. Perhaps it would be better if I didn't see her again. "

Judy raised an eyebrow. "You made that sound very final. "

Tim gave a harsh laugh. "Did I?" He helped her lift the next picture onto the easel. "Jo has plenty to occupy her without me intruding. I want you in this one, standing facing the painting, that's it, back to the camera with your shadow cutting across that line of color. "

"It's only a catalogue, Tim. You're turning it into a work of art—"

"If you'd wanted anything less you'd have asked your boyfriend to bring his Brownie, " he retorted. Judy colored. "My boyfriend?"

"Is Pete Leveson not the latest contender for the title?"

Judy stuck her hands in the seat pockets of her jeans. "I don't know. " She sounded suddenly lost. "I like him a lot. "

"Enough anyway to dish the dirt on your ex-lovers into his lap. "

"Why not?" she flared suddenly. "Nick hasn't been exactly nice to me. I hope he rots in hell!"

Tim laughed wryly. "I think he's been doing that, Judy, " he said.

The king rode out of Bristol three days later, leaving his prisoners behind in the custody of the royal constable. They were allowed the use of several rooms in the tower and their babies and the nurses were lodged on the floor above them, but nothing hid the fact that there were guards at the doors of the lower rooms and two men on duty always at the door out into the ward.

Matilda spent long hours at the window of their sleeping chamber gazing out across the marshes toward the Severn and the mountains of Wales beyond. Slowly the last leaves dropped from the woods, whipped off the leaden branches by cutting, easterly winds that blew gusts of bitter smoke back down the chimney into the rooms, filling them with choking wood ash. In spite of the fires they were cold, and though clothes and blankets were brought for them, Matilda seldom stopped shivering. She could not bear to allow the northern window shuttered, watching through the short hours of daylight for the sight of her husband's horse.

But he did not come.

The feast of St. Agnes passed and no word came, from William or the king. Then as the first snowdrops were pushing their way up through the iron-hard ground a detachment of men arrived escorting two of the king's household. They were lawyers.

Matilda stood before them alone, wrapped in a mantle of beaver fur, watching their gray, bookish faces for any sign of human feeling or concern.

One, Edward, held out her signed agreement. "Your husband, Lady de Braose, has failed to produce the said sum of money by the agreed date. Are you able to produce the money in his stead?" He looked up at her, mildly curious, uninterested.

Matilda swallowed. "I have money hidden. It may be enough, I don't know. I'm sure my husband is on his way. Can you not give him a little longer? I'm sure the king—"

"The king, my lady, has had word that your husband is fled to France. " It was the other man speaking. He was seated at the side of the table, idly paring his nails with a knife. "There is no mistake, I'm afraid. " He too was watching her now.

Matilda bit her lip. Now that it had