Lady of Hay (60 page)

Painfully she dressed. Then she wandered, still feeling strangely disoriented, to the front of the apartment. The balcony doors were open, the remains of a meal spread on the coffee table. She must have gone into a trance quite suddenly after Nick had left. She picked up the three placemats—then she frowned again. Sam. Sam had been there too. When had he left? He had not gone with Nick—she had made him some coffee—or had she? Frowning, she carried the things through into the kitchen and stared around. All the paraphernalia for making coffee was spread around on the worktop, the jar of instant still open. She screwed the lid on automatically; she would never normally have left a coffee jar unsealed. Had it happened then, while she was busy? It didn’t make sense. Nor did the spoonful of coffee in the bottom of each cup, the kettle unplugged, full, standing on the worktop, the milk—sour—out of the refrigerator. She sighed and plugged in the kettle again, then thoughtfully she made her way to the phone.

She dialed Nick’s apartment.

There was no reply. She glanced at her watch. It was after nine. Nick could already be on his way to the airport and Sam must have gone out. As she slammed down the receiver, she winced at the pain in her shoulder.

After making herself a cup of coffee, she carried it back to the bedroom thoughtfully. At least there would be no baby crying today; he had gone, faded, like the strange discarnate dream he must have been, now that her children were all grown up.

She put the cup down on the mahogany chest of drawers in the corner, then she frowned. Her tape recorder was sitting there beside a pile of magazines and she distinctly remembered putting it in the drawer in the living room the day before, after they had come back from Devonshire Place. She clicked it open and looked down at the unfamiliar tape. Then, puzzled, she slotted it back into position and switched it on. For a moment there was silence, then the haunting, breathy sounds of a flute filled the room.

“
No!
” She clapped her hands to her ears. “No, it’s not possible! It was in the castle, not here! No one could have recorded it! Not from my dream!”

The sound filled the room; the sound the old man had made, sitting in the corner of the bedchamber as William humiliated her; the sound that had gone on without ceasing even when he had raised the leather thong and brought it down across her shoulders. Shaking her head, she desperately tried to block out the sounds, then she grabbed the tape recorder and switched it off, ejecting the cassette and turning it over and over with trembling hands. It wasn’t a commercial recording. On the blank label someone had written
perpetuum mobile.
Nothing else. There was no clue as to the player or the instrument. Dropping the tape as if it had burned her, she stared around the room, trying to calm herself. Was this some joke of Sam’s? Some stupid trick to make her regress even when she had no wish to? Some way of hypnotizing her without the preliminaries—even without her knowledge? She pushed her hair out of her eyes with both hands and took a deep breath. But surely he wouldn’t do such a thing! Why should he want to? And if he had, why hadn’t he stayed with her and woken her himself? Her eyes fell suddenly on the torn dress in the corner where she had thrown it across the chair, and she felt the breath catch in her throat. “Oh, no,” she whispered out loud. “No, Sam, no! You wanted to help me! Why should you want to hurt me, Sam? Why?”

For a moment she thought the sharp sound of knocking was from inside her head and she winced, putting her hands to her ears, then she realized suddenly that the noise came from the hall. There was someone knocking on her front door. For a moment she couldn’t bring herself to move. Then slowly she turned.

It was Sheila Chandler from upstairs. The woman smiled tightly. “How are you, dear? We haven’t heard the baby lately.”

Jo forced herself to smile back. “The baby has gone,” she said.

“I see. Look, I don’t want always to seem to be complaining”—Sheila looked down sideways as if overcome with embarrassment—“and we never would on a weekend, of course, that would be different, but, well, it is only Wednesday, and it really was so terribly loud—and it was one in the morning!”

Jo swallowed. “I know. I’m terribly sorry. I don’t quite know how it happened.”

Sheila nodded. “I expect your boyfriend had had a bit too much to drink. He doesn’t seem to have been himself lately, does he?” she said pointedly. Her eyes were busy, darting past Jo into the apartment. “Harry said he heard him leave. He must have missed his footing on the stairs, Harry said, because he swore so dreadfully! So it echoed up and down the stairwell. My dear, I know blasphemy doesn’t mean anything to you younger people these days, but really, to swear by Christ’s bones! What in the world is it, dear? Are you all right?”

Jo had grabbed at the door jamb for support as the blood drained from her head and a strange roaring filled her ears. She felt the other woman’s fingers on her elbow, then an arm was around her shoulders as slowly Sheila helped her back inside the apartment and pushed her gently down onto the sofa. She realized Sheila was bending over her, her face full of concern. Her mouth was moving; she was still talking. With an enormous effort Jo tried to understand what she was saying. “Shall I get you some water, dear?” The words seemed to come from a huge distance away. Weakly Jo shook her head.

William! William had been there in the flat with her! Like the baby, other people had heard him. He had shown himself as a real presence.

She sat up with a terrific effort of will. “I am sorry.” She took a deep steadying breath. “I—I saw a doctor yesterday about these dizzy spells. They’re so silly. I’ll—I’ll try to make sure there isn’t any noise in future. I am sorry you were disturbed, only William—” She bit off a hysterical laugh. “William doesn’t understand about apartments. He’s not used to them, you see. In fact, he’s not really used to neighbors at all.”

Sheila stood up and with a little automatic gesture twitched her skirt straight. “I see. He lives in the country, does he? Well, we’ll say no more about it.” She glanced around the room. “Do call upstairs, dear, if you are feeling poorly, won’t you? I’m always in. Would you like me to make you a nice cup of tea now?”

Jo shook her head. “That’s kind but I’ve some coffee, and I was just going to get dressed.” She pulled herself upright. “Once again, I am sorry about the noise.”

Obviously reluctant to leave, Sheila backed slowly toward the hall, but at last she was once more out on the landing and resolutely Jo closed the door behind her.

Slowly she walked back toward the bedroom and picked up her cold cup of coffee. Sipping it with a grimace, she sat down on the end of the bed; she hadn’t even the energy suddenly to go and warm it up.

On the floor something touched her bare foot.

Looking down, she saw, half hidden by the folds of the bedspread, a broad leather belt.

***

“Look, Jo, I can only take a short break.” Tim tucked the receiver closer to his ear as he looked over his shoulder at the two models on the dais. He sighed. “I tell you what. I’ll meet you at Temple subway at twelve. We’ll go for a quick walk along the Embankment. That really is all the time I can spare today. Are you sure you’re okay, Jo?” he added. She sounded strangely tense and breathless.

“I’m fine, Tim. See you at twelve.”

As he picked up his camera, he turned back to George with a grimace. “I’m going to have to go out in a couple of hours, so let’s get this show on the road. Now,” he said.

Jo was sitting on a bench in the Embankment Gardens near the statue of John Stuart Mill, staring reflectively at the pigeons pecking around her feet. She glanced up with a smile when she saw him. “Have you ever tried to photograph that incredible color in their necks? I’d love an evening dress like that.”

“Try shot silk,” Tim said dryly. He was looking down at her intently. “You look very tired. What’s the matter, Jo?”

“Can we walk up through the Temple?” She stood up and he saw her flinch slightly as she hitched the strap of her bag onto her shoulder. “It’ll help to keep moving.”

“Anything you like.” With a half-regretful glance at the roses in the beds behind them, he fell into step beside her in silence, from time to time glancing at her. He was puzzled and a little apprehensive.

“I had to talk to someone, Tim,” she said at last as they climbed the steps up into Essex Street slowly. “I’m going to give it all up. The book, the articles, the whole idea. I’m not going to follow it through anymore.” She hesitated. “I thought I might fly over to the States.”

“With Nick, you mean?” His voice was carefully neutral as they walked slowly down Devereux Court and turned into the Temple.

“He left this morning—” She stopped, then she began again, fumbling for words. “I can’t cope, Tim. Last night something happened.” She eased her bag on her shoulder uncomfortably as they stood staring at the fountain. The high jet of water glittered in the sunlight, spattering slightly out of the circular base. Where they stood the grass had been walked away, save here and there where a few blades stuck up through the dusty soil, but in the shade of the trees the air smelled cool and fresh from the water. There was a yellow iris in the corner of the pool. She stared at it in silence for a moment.

“Sam came over.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed.

“Some strange things happened, Tim, and they frightened me.” She began walking again and he followed her. “I had a regression, but I don’t think it was spontaneous. And I don’t think I was alone.”

“You think Sam hypnotized you?”

“He’s done it before. I asked him to. But this time I hadn’t, and I wanted him to leave, but I don’t think he did. I think he hypnotized me without my even knowing it. This morning I found—” She bit her lip. “I found a tape of music that I remember from the trance. Flute music, and I don’t think they even had flutes at that period—or at least not that kind of flute. It’s the only anachronistic thing that’s happened. And there was something else—” Again she stopped. This time she couldn’t go on. Glancing at her, Tim saw her face was pale, the skin drawn tight with fatigue and worry. He drove his hands into the pockets of his trousers, his fists clenched.

“What else, Jo?” he said softly.

She shook her head. “Tim, I think Sam may have somehow been directing the whole thing. I don’t think any of it was genuine after all. I think he’s behind it all—even you and Nick. Somehow he’s manipulated us all into believing that it was all real. Do you know, this morning when my nosy neighbor came down to complain about the music in the night, she said she’d heard someone leave the apartment and I thought it was William! I thought somehow he had manifested himself into a physical presence, like a ghost! Then I realized it must have been Sam they heard. It was Sam all the time. Sam still somehow pretending to be William…”

Slowly they had walked on toward the Temple Church, and on impulse Tim pushed open the door and gestured to Jo to go in ahead of him out of the hot brilliant sunlight into the cool of the interior.

“I have a feeling the whole thing is some sort of horrible hoax,” she went on, scarcely noticing where they were going. “I think Sam might even somehow have initiated the whole thing all those years ago when I was a student. None of it is real, Tim.” Her whispered words echoed around the silent church. “And I can’t bear it. I wanted it to have happened.” She took a deep breath, trying to steady the shakiness in her voice. “I know I’m not being objective! I know I’m being stupid and sentimental and I should have my head x-rayed again, but I can’t bring myself to believe it’s a hoax! I don’t want to believe it’s a hoax!”

“It’s not a hoax, Jo,” Tim said softly. “In some ways I wish to God it were. But you are right in one thing. Sam is involved. He came to see me last week and I knew it then. He is part of it, Jo.”

She stared at him. “How?” she breathed.

“There were three of us, Jo, three men who all loved you as Matilda. And who all love you now.”

In the silence that followed they looked up, startled, as a tourist, walking slowly around the church behind them, raised his camera and took a flash picture over Jo’s shoulder. He grinned at them apologetically and moved on.

Jo stared down unseeing at the stone effigy of a knight lying before them on the ground. “Three men?” she echoed in a whisper. “Who?”

Tim shrugged. “The only one I know about is Richard,” he said sadly. “Only Sam and Nick can tell you who they were, if you don’t know yet.”

There was a long silence.

“Sam hates Nick,” Jo said softly. “I never realized it until Mrs. Franklyn told me, then suddenly it was so obvious, in everything he does and everything he says.”

“How well do you know Sam?” Tim put his arm around her shoulder.

Gently Jo moved away from him. “I’ve known him about fifteen years. I like him. He’s fun and he’s kind and he’s very attractive. If Nick hadn’t come along I suppose I might have—” She stopped abruptly. “Oh, Tim—” Her voice shook.

Tim took a deep breath. “Don’t let him hypnotize you again, Jo. Don’t ever trust him.”

“No,” she whispered. “No. But it doesn’t matter now, because it’s all over. Whether it’s real or not, it is over. And I wanted you to know because…because you are…were…involved.”

Tim bowed slightly. “Thanks.” He gave a rueful grin suddenly. “How strange! Do you see where we are, Jo?” He indicated the effigies at their feet.