“Trouble?” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not going to make trouble.”
She stared at him. He was watching her with a strange look on his face, half wry amusement, half something harder-and more calculating, and she felt a prickle of apprehension. “Nick, you behaved like a madman,” she whispered. “I was scared.”
“With reason.” He picked up the wine bottle and filled his glass.
“You’re not even sorry, are you!” She was incredulous.
“I didn’t want to hurt you, Jo.”
“Then why did you do it? Were you drunk?”
“Perhaps.” A half smile flickered behind his eyes.
She swallowed hard. “I don’t understand you anymore, Nick. You’ve changed.”
He laughed uneasily. “Obviously for the worse as far as you’re concerned.”
“Yes, for the worse.” Her eyes sparkled angrily. “Judy Curzon may like your new macho image, Nick, but I don’t. I find it boorish. What the hell is happening to you?” She stood up abruptly. “I’m tired. I think I’ll go to bed now. I’ll see you in the morning, no doubt, before you leave.”
For a moment he thought she was going to say something else, then she changed her mind and threaded her way swiftly out of the bar without a backward glance. Nick did not move. He picked up the bottle again, refilling his glass, and sat staring out of the window at the twilit garden, his back to the crowded drinkers. What the hell was happening to him? He had no idea either, and he was beginning to feel afraid himself.
Jo lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. It wasn’t yet fully dark. She could hear the low rumble of conversation from the bar downstairs, the occasional shout of laughter, the banging of the door to the parking lot. Outside the window a bat was flitting back and forth against the yellow twilight.
She clenched her fists suddenly. “Oh, God, no. Not here. Don’t let it happen here.” She sat bolt upright. There was perspiration on her face as she pushed back the sheet, her breath coming in quick shallow gasps, and swung her feet to the polished floorboards, feeling their cool solidity with thankfulness, as she gripped the headboard and stood there for a moment, staring down at the pillows, trying to steady her breathing.
Outside there was a shout beneath her window. She half turned, trembling, not relinquishing her hold on the bed, and raised her eyes cautiously toward the evening light. It was greener now, less bright. Laughter and a scuffle in the shrubs outside was followed by the sound of car doors slamming. Somewhere an engine roared. With a sigh of relief she staggered across to the window and leaned out, feeling the cool air on her face. She could smell the sweet-scented stock in the bed beneath the window.
It had not happened after all; there were no cars in the past. Behind her the sound of someone climbing the narrow creaking stairs made her turn wearily from the window. She glanced at her watch. It was ten-fifteen.
The steps stopped outside her door.
“Jo? Are you there?”
She froze.
She ran to the door and put her hands against the panels.
“Jo?” He sounded impatient this time. “For God’s sake, open up!” The handle rattled, and she felt the wood move slightly as he pushed, but the key held. “Jo! Stop being so bloody childish!”
She bit her lip, saying nothing as once again the handle turned.
“All right, have it your own way, Joanna mine.” His voice was slightly slurred. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
She heard him stumble as he began to climb the ladderlike attic staircase at the end of the dark landing, then there was silence.
Her eyes filled with tears. “Nick. Oh, Nick, what’s happened to you?” she murmured as she threw herself onto the bed. “What has happened to us both?”
“You didn’t mind me coming over, Tim?” Judy was standing uncertainly in the middle of the darkened studio. “I know it’s late, but I was up at an exhibition at the Barbican and I didn’t feel much like going home. Not yet.” She glanced up at him. “Life’s being a bit of a bitch.” There was despair in her voice.
Tim gave a rueful scowl. “I’m sure I can find something here to keep the bitch at bay for another few hours. Booze. Dope.” He threw himself down on a canvas chair. “Me, if you want me.”
Judy sat down on the edge of the dais, her arms wrapped around her knees. “I wouldn’t mind a drink,” she said. She was trembling slightly.
He laughed. “What else?” Hauling himself to his feet, he went into the kitchen and took a bottle of champagne out of the refrigerator.
She stood up and followed him. “Were you really in Wales?”
He swung around. “Who told you that?”
“Nick. He’s followed Jo down there, you know.”
Tim had been rummaging in a cabinet for two champagne glasses and he straightened abruptly, his face contorted with pain.
“They belong to each other, Judy,” he said after a moment, controlling himself with an effort.
She took the glasses out of his hands. “Oh, I know I’ve lost him. For now. But one day I’ll get him back. I have to get him back, Tim.”
He shook his head. “Jo and Nick have a date with destiny, Judy.”
She threw back her head and laughed. “Crap! You’re stoned already. You didn’t even wait for me.”
He picked up the bottle and tore the foil off the neck. “As a newt, my love. It helps.” After tossing the wire into the sink, he flipped the cork.
Judy picked up her foaming glass and walked thoughtfully back into his studio. “It was here I told Nigel Dempster she was going mad,” she said over her shoulder. “I thought I had won then. I really thought Nick had finished with her for good.” She ran her hand down the bank of switches by the door, flooding the huge bare room with stark light, and let out a small cry of surprise as the sudden illumination revealed a large easel in the corner of the studio, covered by a sheet. “Have you taken up painting?” She moved toward it purposefully.
“Don’t touch it, Judy!” Tim was standing in the kitchen doorway, swaying slightly, his glass in his hand.
“Why? Are you shy?” She laughed harshly.
“I said, don’t touch it!” He moved with sudden speed toward her. “If you touch that cover, I’ll strangle you.”
Judy dodged out of reach. “Tim. You’re embarrassed!” Champagne slopped onto the floor from her glass as she ducked past him and caught the corner of the sheet, pulling it from the huge board and throwing it onto the ground.
She stared at the tinted life-size photograph in silence, her eyes traveling up the tall, slim body of the woman she saw there, taking in the pale-green gown falling in heavy folds to the floor, the fur-trimmed surcoat, the wimple and veil.
“It’s Jo,” she breathed at last.
“Top marks for observation!” He picked up the sheet.
“But how-how did you get her to let you take a picture like that?”
Tim laughed heavily. “I didn’t exactly take it like that.”
“You mean it’s a mockup? But it’s so real-”
“That’s a naive remark, coming from you.”
She ignored the retort. “Her eyes are a different color. And her hair,” she went on, touching the photograph lightly. “It’s Jo, but it isn’t Jo at all. You’ve caught someone else. Someone as real as you or me. It’s not just the clothes…” There was a long silence as they both stood staring at the picture, then she turned back to him. “You’re in love with her too.” She made the statement in a flat, unhappy voice that made him glance at her sharply.
“Quite a pair, aren’t we?” he replied. He covered the picture again, meticulously pulling the sheet straight. “You
