William crossed to the bed and laid a tentative hand on his wife’s shoulder, but, clutching the fur even closer to her, she rolled away from him, her eyes closed, and William, shrugging, turned back to the fire.
He did not mention Arthur again, but the next morning he called for his clerks and stewards, and after several hours closeted with them before piles of parchments he sent for the prior from St. John’s at Brecknock. “I intend to build you a fine new church on your hill, Father Prior,” he said when the old man arrived, mudstained from his furious gallop at the heels of William’s messenger.
When the astonished man, speechless with surprise and gratitude, had bowed his way out of the room, William sat back at the table and smiled at Matilda, who had been summoned with peremptory haste to the meeting.
“Do you remember, years ago I planned this, Moll? A beautiful new church, to the glory of God? It will be the greatest church in the land when I’ve finished.” He swaggered across the room and poured himself a cup of wine. “People will remember me for hundreds of years for the beauty of the building, and my piety and generosity in paying for it.” He sat down again, smiling. Matilda could see he was already very drunk.
Wearily she rubbed her hand across her eyes. She had slept little, the image of the boy prince in his terror and loneliness rising before her every time she had tried to sleep. She forced herself to give her husband a wan smile. Did William really think that he could atone for his complicity in the murder of a child by building a church? Watching him drink the last dregs from the goblet and turn once more to the parchment on his table, she realized that indeed he did.
32
Judy opened the door and stared. “So, it’s you. How was New York?”
Nick followed her to the studio. “Very hot.” He walked over to her easel and looked at the sketch she had pinned there. “Would I be right in thinking you had been seeing something of Pete Leveson while I’ve been away?” Turning back toward her, he surveyed her grimly.
Judy looked defiant. “Is there any reason why I shouldn’t?”
“None at all.” He was tight-lipped. “I should say you were made for each other. Your idea of loyalty is strange, to say the least, Judy.” Folding his arms, he waited for the outburst he knew would come. He was not disappointed.
Judy narrowed her eyes. “I owe you no loyalty, Nick. Nor allegiance! I’m not part of your jolly little charade. It is you and Sam and Tim. So fight it out between you. I’ve joined the spectators. Have you seen your brother yet?” she added suddenly.
Nick shook his head. “I’m on my way back to the apartment now.”
“Well, he’s been busy while you’ve been away, and he’s damn lucky he’s not in prison. He came here, drunk, and smashed up my studio. So I called the police and the bloody fool took a swing at one of them.”
“Christ!” Nick stared at her. “What happened?”
“Your friend Alistair got him off with a fine and being bound over. But I’ll tell you something right now. If you come here making trouble, you’ll get the same treatment. I really was fond of you, Nick, do you know that? You and I could have been great together, but not now. I think you’re mad, all of you. Jo’s welcome to whichever one of you wins. If she’s alive to find out!”
She walked across to the window and slammed it down, cutting out the noise of the traffic.
“What do you mean, if she’s alive?” Nick’s voice was sharp.
“Sam is setting you up, Nick, I told you, only you’re such a blind fool you can’t see it. He hates Jo, and he’s jealous of you. He’s been programming you to hurt her. He’s been feeding you these stupid ideas-you don’t really believe you’re King John, for God’s sake? You’ll end up in a funny farm if you do!” Impulsively she clutched his arm. “Nick, I do still care about you-and I’d hate to see you get hurt, and whatever I feel about Jo, I don’t want to see her end up Sam’s victim. He’s mad, Nick. I really believe he’s mad. Do be careful. Please.”
Stunned, Nick said nothing for a moment. Then: “Is Sam still at my apartment?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t inquire-he called after he got out of court, but I told him to go to hell, so he’s probably out to get me as well by now.”
“And Jo? I tried to call her from New York but she never replied.”
Judy raised an eyebrow. “Then let’s hope he hasn’t got at her already. He came from her apartment that night he came here, Nick. That’s all I know.”
It took Nick seven minutes to reach Cornwall Gardens. He sprinted up the stairs. Jo’s apartment was empty. It had the feel of a place that had been deserted for several days. On the mantelpiece a bowl of roses had faded, their petals scattered up the carpet; otherwise the place was unnaturally tidy.
He wandered over to the balcony doors and glanced out, noticing that the plants in the tubs outside had wilted in the heat, then he turned away. The kitchen was spotless, everything in place. In the bedroom the curtains were half drawn. He noticed the tape recorder on the chest of drawers and idly switched it on, listening as the thin, haunting strains of the flute filled the room. For a moment he stood quite still, puzzled; he had heard that music before when Sam was here, alone with Jo. He snapped off the music and was about to leave the room when his eye was caught by the belt lying across the chair. He recognized the engraved buckle. It was Sam’s.
His eyes suddenly murderous, he raced up the passage and dragged open the front door. After slamming it behind him, he descended the stairs two at a time and dived into his car. He pulled out into the traffic with only a perfunctory glance in his mirror, then tore up Gloucester Road and turned right toward Queen’s Gate.
Sam was writing at Nick’s desk. He looked up when he heard Nick’s key in the lock.
“So, the wanderer returns. How did you enjoy your bite at the Big Apple?”
Nick strode across the room and confronted him across the desk. “Where is Jo?”
“Jo? I have no idea, Nicholas. At home perhaps?” Sam’s breath smelled of Scotch.
“You know damn well she’s not at home.” Nick produced his hand from behind his back. In it was the belt. “Do you know where I found this?”
Sam stared at it. He gave a half smile. “The instrument of chastisement,” he said almost thoughtfully.
“The what?” Nick froze. He leaned across the desk and gripped the front of Sam’s shirt, half dragging him out of his chair. “What the hell are you trying to say, Sam? Have you gone crazy?”
Sam smiled. “Someone had to beat her, Nick. And it was less than she deserved. Many men would have killed their wife for what she did. She admitted it, you know, in the end, and she submitted to her punishment on her knees. She wanted it. It must have helped to ease her conscience.”
Nick let go of him abruptly. He was staring at his brother in complete horror. “You are crazy,” he whispered. “God in heaven, you are crazy! Where is she, man?” His blue eyes narrowed furiously. “If you’ve hurt her I swear to God I’ll kill you!”
Sam laughed. He pushed his chair back slightly and shifted in it sideways, draping his arm across its back, totally relaxed.
“John,” he said softly. “John, King of England. She betrayed you too. She scorned you. She mocked you publicly. Kings do not stand for treatment like that from anyone, never mind from the women they desire. You killed her before, brother mine, and you’ll kill her again.” He leaned forward suddenly. “Remember? You want her to suffer. And you want me to see her suffer. You are going to tell me what you intend to do to her, Nick, and you will beg me to come and watch you take your revenge.”
“Stop that crap, Sam! I know what you’re up to.” Nick clenched his fists till the nails bit into his palms. “You get out of this apartment. Get out and go back to Scotland, and leave us alone.” His voice had sunk to a hiss.
Sam stood up. “It’s too late, Nick. I began to plant the seeds in your brain the first day I realized who I was. I remembered that massacre at Abergavenny, you see. I remembered stabbing that Welsh quisling till his warm blood ran up my arm. I remembered I was William de Braose and Matilda was mine.
Nick kept an icy grip on his temper. “You are talking pure melodrama, Sam. What you’re implying is not possible and we both know it. Pack your things and get out.”
