Читать книгу Lady of Hay: An enduring classic – gripping, atmospheric and utterly compelling - Barbara Erskine - Страница 10

‘Why did you do it, Judy?’

Nick pushed open the door of the studio and slammed it against the wall.

She was standing in front of the easel, once more dressed in her shirt and jeans, a brush in her hand. She did not turn round.

‘You know why. How come it’s taken you nineteen hours to come round and ask?’

‘Because, Judy, I have been at work today, and because I wasn’t sure if I was going to come round here ever again. I didn’t realise you were such a bitch.’

‘Born and bred.’ She gave him a cold smile. ‘So now you know. I suppose you hate me.’

Her face crumpled suddenly and she flung down the brush. ‘Oh Nick, I’m so miserable.’

‘And so you should be. Telling Jo in front of all those people what Sam and I had talked about in confidence. Telling her at all was spiteful, but to do it like that, at a party – that was really vicious.’

‘She didn’t turn a hair, Nick. She’s so confident, so conceited. And she didn’t believe it anyway. No one did. They all thought it was just me being bitchy.’

She put her arms around his neck and nuzzled him. ‘Don’t be angry. Please.’

He disengaged himself. ‘I am angry. Very angry indeed.’

‘And I suppose you followed her last night?’ Her voice was trembling slightly.

‘No. She told me to go to hell as you well know.’ He turned away from her, taking off his jacket and throwing it down on a chair. ‘Is there anything to drink?’

‘You know damn well there is.’ She retrieved her paintbrush angrily and went back to her painting. ‘And get me one.’

He glared at her. ‘The perfect hostess as ever.’

‘Better than Jo anyway!’ she flashed back. She jabbed at the painting with a palette knife, laying on a thick impasto of vermilion.

‘Leave Jo alone, Judy,’ Nick said quietly. ‘I’m not going to tell you again. You are beginning to bore me.’

There was a long silence. Defiantly she laid on some more paint.

Nick sighed. He turned and went into the kitchen. There was wine in the refrigerator. He took it out and found two glasses. He had not told Judy the truth. Last night, at midnight, he had gone to Cornwall Gardens and, finding Jo’s flat in darkness, had cautiously let himself in. He had listened, then, realising that there was still a light on in the kitchen, he had quietly pushed open the door. The room had been empty, the draining board piled high with clean, rinsed dishes, the sink spotless, the lids on all the jars, and the bread in the bin, when he had looked, new and crusty.

‘What are you doing here?’ Jo had appeared behind him silently, wearing a white bathrobe.

He had slammed down the lid of the bread bin. ‘Jo, I had to talk to you –’

‘No, Nick, there is nothing to talk about.’ She had not smiled.

Staring at her he had realised suddenly that he wanted to take her in his arms. ‘Oh Jo, love. I’m sorry –’

‘So am I, Nick. Very. Is it true what Judy said? Am I likely to go off my head?’

‘That’s not what she said, Jo.’

‘Is that what Sam said?’

‘No, and you know it isn’t. All he said was that you should be very careful.’ He had kept his voice deliberately light.

‘How come Judy knows so much about it? Did you discuss it with her?’

‘Of course I didn’t. She listened to a private phone call. She had no business to. And she didn’t hear very much, I promise. She made a lot of it up.’

‘But you had no business to make that call, Nick.’ Suddenly she had been blazing angry with him. ‘Christ! I wish you would keep out of my affairs. I don’t want you to meddle. I don’t want your brother to meddle! I don’t want anything to do with either of the Franklyns ever again. Now, get out!’

‘No, Jo. Not till I know you’re all right.’

‘I’m all right. Now, get out.’ Her voice had been shaking. ‘Get out, get out, get out!’

‘Jo, for God’s sake be quiet.’ Nick had backed away from her as her voice rose. ‘I’m going. But please promise me something –’

‘Get out!’

He had gone.

Nick took a couple of gulps from his glass and topped it up again before going back into the studio.

Pete Leveson was standing next to Judy, staring at the canvas.

Nick groaned as Pete raised a hand. ‘I thought I’d find you here. Has anyone told you yet that you are five kinds of shit?’

Nick handed him one of the glasses. ‘You can’t call me anything I haven’t called myself already,’ he said dryly.

Judy whirled round. ‘All right, you guys. Stop being so bloody patronising. I’m the one who said it all, I’m the one who told her, not Nick. If you’ve come here to reproach anyone, it should be me, not him.’ She put her hands on her hips defiantly.

Pete gave a small grin. ‘Right. It was you.’

‘Was Jo very upset later?’ she was unable to resist asking after a moment.

‘A little. Of course she was. She didn’t believe anything you said, but you chose a pretty public place to make some very provocative statements.’

‘No one heard them –’

‘Judy.’ Pete gave her a withering look. ‘You were heard by virtually every person in that party, including Nigel Dempster. I’ve been on the phone to him, but unfortunately he feels it was too juicy a titbit to miss his column. After all, he’s got a job to do much like mine when you think about it. “Well-known columnist accused of being a nutter by blonde painter at Heacham party …” How could he resist a story like that? And he was there in person! It’ll be in Friday’s Mail.’

‘Hell!’ Nick hit his forehead with the flat of his hand. ‘They’ll crucify Jo. She’s trodden on too many toes in her time.’

‘She’ll be OK,’ Judy broke in. ‘She’s tough.’

‘She’s not half as tough as she makes out,’ Nick replied slowly. ‘Underneath she’s very vulnerable.’

Judy looked away. ‘And I’m not, I suppose?’

‘We are not talking about you, Judy. It is not your sanity that is going to be questioned in the press.’

‘She can always sue them.’

‘If she sues anyone, it would be you. For defamation or slander. And it would serve you right.’

Judy blanched. Without a word she took the glass out of Nick’s hand and walked with it to the far end of the studio where she stood looking out of the window to the bare earth and washing lines of the garden below.

Pete frowned. ‘Just how much truth is there in any of this story?’ he asked in a low voice.

‘None at all. Judy misunderstood completely.’ Nick compressed his lips angrily. ‘Squash the story if you can, Pete. It’s all rubbish anyway, but if it wasn’t –’ he paused fractionally, ‘– if it wasn’t, think how much damage it could do.’

Pete nodded. ‘I had a reason for asking. You are sure that hypnosis can’t hurt her in any way?’

‘Of course not.’ Nick gave an uncomfortable little laugh. Then he looked at him sharply. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘No reason. No reason at all …’

Pete drove straight to Cornwall Gardens from Judy’s studio. It was nearly seven and almost certainly Jo would be at home. He scowled, thinking of the news he must break: probably the lead story in next morning’s Mail Diary. He leaned his forehead against the steering wheel for a moment as he paused at the lights in Brompton Road. If Nick preferred that red-haired cow to Jo it was he who needed his head examining. And soon.

He backed the car into a parking space in three fluid movements and climbed out, stretched his long legs for a moment, then sprinted across the road.

There was no answer. He tried again, louder, but still the flat was silent. Cursing quietly to himself he felt in his pocket for a pen and, tearing a page from the back of his diary, he scribbled a note and put it through her door.

‘Come on, Jo. There’s something wrong, isn’t there?’

Tim put a double Scotch on the table in front of her and sat himself down in the chair facing her.

Jo summoned up a tired smile. ‘I’m exhausted, Tim, that’s all. This’ll put me right.’ She picked up her glass. ‘Thanks for arranging everything this evening.’

‘But Walton worried you, didn’t he, and not just because you thought he was a fake?’

She shook her head slowly. ‘He wasn’t a fake. At least, I don’t think so. A telepath perhaps – I don’t know –’ She was silent for a minute. ‘Yes, he did worry me, Tim. The stupid thing is I don’t know why. But it’s something deep inside me. Something I can’t put my finger on, floating at the edge of my mind. Every minute I think I’m going to remember what it is, but I can’t quite catch it.’ She took a sip from her glass and grinned suddenly, her face animated. ‘Makes me sound pretty neurotic, doesn’t it? No Tim, I’m OK. I think I’ve been letting Nick get to me more than I realise, with his fearsome warnings. He’s a bit paranoid about hypnosis. He told me once that he has this fear of losing consciousness – even on the edge of ordinary sleep. I think he thinks hypnosis is the same – like an anaesthetic.’

‘And it is true he’s been on to his trick-cyclist brother about you?’ Tim asked gently after a pause.

She drew a ring on the table with her finger in some spilled beer. ‘I could kill Judy.’ She looked up at him again and gave a rueful grimace. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if what she said was true. Nick told me he’d been in touch with Sam.’

‘You knew Sam well of course.’

She nodded. ‘He became a friend after –’ She hesitated. ‘After they tried to hypnotise me, he and his boss, in Edinburgh, that first time. But we were never lovers or anything. The coup de foudre came with his kid brother.’

Tim raised an eyebrow. ‘And the foudre has not yet run to earth, has it?’

‘Oh yes. After last night it has. Finished. Caput. Finis. Bye bye Nicholas.’ She bit her lip hard.

Reaching over, Tim touched her hand lightly. ‘Poor Jo. Have another drink.’ He stood up and picked up her glass without waiting for her reply.

She watched him work his way to the bar, his tall, lanky frame moving easily between the crowded drinkers. She frowned. Tim reminded her of someone she had known when she was a child, but she could not quite remember who. Someone she had liked. She gave a rueful grin. Was that why she could never love him?

She held out her hand for her glass as he returned. ‘I’ve just thought of who it is you remind me of.’ She gave a quick gurgle of laughter. ‘It’s not someone from one of my previous lives. It’s my Uncle James’s Afghan hound. His name was Zarathustra!’

Tim poured himself another whisky as soon as he got in. He had dropped Jo off at her flat, declining her offer of a coffee. Throwing himself down in one of his low-sprung easy chairs, he reached for the phone.

‘Hi, Nick. Can you talk?’

He shifted the receiver to his other hand and picked up his drink. ‘Listen, have you seen Pete Leveson?’

‘He was here earlier.’ Nick sounded cautious.

‘Did he manage to call off the press?’

‘Apparently not. Have you warned Jo?’

Tim took a long drink from his glass. ‘I was hoping I wouldn’t have to. Shit, if he can’t do it no one can. And I don’t think Jo has a clue what is in store for her. She doesn’t seem to realise anyone else heard at all. As far as she was concerned there were only two people in that room at that moment – Judy and herself. I hope that dolly of yours is really proud of herself. Listen, Nick, what is this about Jo and hypnotism? Is it serious?’

‘Yes. It’s serious. So if you’ve any influence with her, keep her away from it.’

‘We went to see a hypnotist tonight.’

‘Christ!’

‘No, no. Not for Jo. Or at least only for her to watch other people being regressed. It was fascinating, but the fact is that Jo did behave a bit oddly. She didn’t seem to be the least bit susceptible herself when he did his tests on everyone at the beginning, but afterwards Walton said she was really, but she had been fighting it, and it upset her.’

‘It would.’ Nick’s voice was grim. ‘Look, Tim, is she going to see him again? Or anyone else, do you know?’

‘I don’t think so. She did say that maybe she’d got enough material to be going on with.’

‘Thank God. Just pray she doesn’t feel she needs to pursue any of this further. Sorry, Tim. Judy’s just coming in. I’ve got to go.’ His voice had dropped suddenly to a whisper.

Tim grinned as he hung up. The henpecked Lothario role did not suit Nick Franklyn one bit.