Lady of Hay

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.”