laughter, the straight, slightly long nose, the determined chin, its strength emphasized by the fine white linen of the headdress. His eye ran slowly down the photo, resting for a moment on her hands, then on down the heavy folds of the scarlet surcoat and pale-green gown to the point of one shoe that showed at her hem. He would have recognized her anywhere, the woman whose image had haunted him, tormented him, for eight hundred years, the woman with whom a prince had fallen hopelessly in love, the woman for whom his passion and longing had grown twisted and sour.
Abruptly he turned away, feeling the bile rising in his mouth. “So that was how she looked to de Clare,” he breathed. “She never looked at me like that. She kept only sneers for me!”
Without another word he strode back across the studio.
“Where are you going?” Tim’s voice was suddenly harsh.
Nick stopped. He half turned. “Where do you think I’m going?” he said. His eyes were hard.
He groped for the door, then flung himself down the stairs and out into the street, leaving Tim standing by the photo.
“Don’t hurt her, Nick,” Tim said softly as he heard the street door close. “For pity’s sake, don’t hurt her.”
36
Jo pushed away the typewriter and stood up. She was too tired to work and too tired to eat. Sam had upset her, and she was angry and agitated, and her thoughts kept on going back to Nick. She wanted to see him so badly it was like a physical pain.
When the phone rang she stared at it for a moment before picking it up.
“Jo, dear? It’s Ceecliff. How are you?”
Jo’s face relaxed into a smile. “Tired and grumpy. It’s lovely to hear from you. How are you?”
“Agog to hear some more about your Matilda. Is she still with you?”
Jo managed a laugh. “You make her sound like a tenant. Yes, she is still with me.”
“Good. Then you must tell me all about her. I’m going to ask a great favor, dear. I’m coming to town tomorrow. I have to see my dentist and I want to go to Harrods. Could I possibly stretch my poor old carcass on your sofa tomorrow night? I’m so ancient these days I can’t face the journey both ways in one day.”
“Of course you can.” Jo’s spirits had lifted at her words.
“Splendid. Now, don’t chase poor Nicholas out if he’s there. I’d like to see him and I’m not naive! I’ll see you about five, my dear, if that’s all right,” and she hung up without giving Jo the chance to reply.
Jo smiled. “Naive. You!” she murmured to herself. “Never!”
She stood up and went out onto the balcony, staring down at the tub of geraniums at her feet. She had deluged the plants in water and already they were responding, the sharp, sweet-sour smell of sooty London earth filling her nostrils, as, suddenly, her eyes overflowed with tears. Don’t think about Nick. Don’t. Desperately she tried to concentrate on the scarlet petals of the flower, but they blurred and swayed before her eyes.
Before he left the Clementses’ farm he had taken her hands in his. “I don’t want to see you again, Jo. Not till this is over,” he had said. “Don’t call me. Don’t let me come near you. Not for any reason whatsoever, do you understand?”
Abruptly she retreated indoors. She turned on the stereo and threw herself down on the sofa. If only Nick were here for Ceecliff to find tomorrow. If only he were here…
She closed her eyes, trying to force herself to listen to the music. Ten minutes of Vivaldi to try and unknot the tension behind her eyes, then she would go to bed.
As they dismounted in the castle ward at Carrickfergus, Matilda found herself looking upward at the solid keep glowing ruggedly in the evening light, and she shuddered in spite of the warmth of the evening.
Word had come on Midsummer’s Day that King John, together with an army of men, had sailed from Pembroke and landed at Crook on the southeast corner of Ireland. From there he had ridden to Kilkenny and been received with all honor by the Earl Marshall.
“But what’s happened? Where’s William? Why haven’t we heard anything? Why has the king come to Ireland?” Matilda had looked wildly from Walter to his brother Hugh and back, after they had heard the news from the marshall’s messenger. In the spring King John had at last agreed William could return to Wales, where he would grant him one more audience.
“I don’t understand.” Walter rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“I have a letter, my lord.” The messenger fumbled in his pouch. “I was told to deliver it secretly to the Earl of Meath and no other.”
“Well then, give it to me, man.” Walter slid his finger under the seal, a worried frown on his face. Hugh and Matilda waited in silence, watching as he scanned the closely written lines. At last he let out a deep breath. He looked up at Matilda. “It’s the worst news, I’m afraid. You’d better sit down while I tell you.”
Matilda went pale, but she did as she was told, sitting upright on a narrow stool. Hugh put his hand protectively on her shoulder. He cleared his throat nervously. “Go on, Walter. Tell us.”
Walter glanced down at the parchment. “It appears that William went to Hereford but at the last moment he refused to meet the king. Instead he began to rally men with a view to recapturing some of his lands by force.” He glanced up as Matilda drew in a quick painful breath. “The king promptly set off for Haverford as he had been threatening, where his host was already gathering for an invasion of Ireland.”
“An invasion?” Hugh repeated, appalled at the word.
“That’s what it says here. Lord Ferrers apparently tried very hard to act as an intermediary and somehow persuaded William to ride to Pembroke after the king and there William actually saw John. According to him he offered him forty thousand marks to be paid at once if the king would restore him to favor.”
Matilda gasped. “Forty thousand? He’s out of his mind. Where would we get that kind of money!”
Walter licked his lips. “I gather that’s what the king said. He also commented that it wasn’t William anyway, but you who really headed the de Braose family now.” He paused and glanced up quickly. “If anyone could raise any money it would be you and not your husband, and he intended to hold you and you alone responsible for the debt.”
Matilda closed her eyes for a moment, conscious of Hugh’s reassuring hand gently squeezing her shoulder. After another quick glance at her, Walter went on, his finger tracing the lines of writing that grew smaller and more cramped toward the bottom of the parchment. “The king offered William the chance of accompanying him here to Meath, where they could together confront you, but William refused. He has ridden to the March, intent on raising an army of his own. It seems the king let him go.”
“Courage, Mother. We’ll be safe here, you’ll see.” Will half turned, watching as his wife and children with the nurses trailed disconsolately after Walter and Margaret toward the stairway that led up into the keep at Carrickfergus.
Matilda tried to smile. “I keep thinking about your father, Will. Why did he do this to us? Why didn’t he try to make peace with the king? It is almost as if he did it deliberately to set the king against me.”
Will’s mouth was set in a grim line. “It was unforgivable of him. He must have known that the king was going to try to find you, although Hugh reckons the king was coming anyway-and”-he hesitated-“well, Father has been behaving erratically, you must admit. I’m not sure all the time that he really knows what he’s doing anymore.”
They stood watching as the last of the party climbed the wooden stairs into the keep. Only a few attendants remained hovering behind them, waiting to escort them in. The last of the horses was being led off toward the stables. Overhead two gulls, their wings pink in the last light of the setting sun, wheeled and called over the high walls.
“The king has followed us across Ireland, Will.” Matilda put her hand on his arm. “There is no safety for us
