morning. He brought his wrist up in front of his face and stared at his watch. Christ Almighty! It was eight-fifteen. He was due at the office at eight-thirty. He leapt to his feet, then he stopped in his tracks.
The bed beside him was empty, the bedspread still in place, save where it showed the imprint of his sleeping body. And he was fully dressed.
Slowly, with a leaden heart, Nick walked up the passage to the living room. Jo lay where he had left her, on the sofa, very still beneath the blanket he had tucked around her.
“Nick? What time is it?” She opened her eyes slowly.
“After eight.” He went and sat down beside her.
“What happened? Why did I sleep here? When did you arrive?” She pushed the hair out of her eyes.
Tenderly Nick leaned forward and kissed her forehead.
“Jo, I’m flying back to the States this morning.”
She sat up. “Why?”
“I have to go, Jo. I have to get away from you, don’t you see?”
Pushing herself up onto her elbow, she stared at him. “But why the States?”
“Because it’s far away. I came here last night, Jo. I hypnotized you. I don’t even know how, but somehow I frightened you into a trance against your will. I made you tell me some more of the story, Jo, knowing it was dangerous for you, knowing you were afraid. By rights I should be locked up!”
“Nick, that’s not true.” Jo stood up shakily. “I don’t remember-”
“You don’t remember because I told you you wouldn’t remember. You were crying, Jo. You started to cry as you talked, and it brought me back to sanity. I told you to go to sleep and I told you to forget.” He clenched his fists. “Until this is over I am not going to trust myself even in the same city as you. Somehow I’ve got to find Sam and get him to straighten out this mess, if he’s capable of doing it. I’ll see if he’s still down in Hampshire.” He strode grimly to the phone and glanced without comment at the pad with his mother’s number on it, then he began to dial.
Dorothy Franklyn answered at the second ring.
“He’s just left, Nick,” she answered in response to his curt inquiry. “He said he had to get back to town later today. Is anything wrong, Nick? He really was very on edge all weekend.”
“Nothing’s wrong, Ma.” Nick drummed his fingers on the desk. “I’ll call you again soon.” He hung up. “He’s on his way back to London. Jo, I don’t want you staying here alone. You’ve got to keep away from both of us.”
Jo bit her lip. “There’s no way I’d ever let him in.” She gave a tired smile. “Ceecliff is coming to stay with me tonight.”
Nick’s face lightened. “That’s good news. I wish I could see her.”
“So do I,” Jo said sadly. “So do I.”
The apartment was empty. Nick walked around it twice, alert for any sound, before he slid the deadlock on the front door and went toward the phone.
He booked a flight on the afternoon jumbo jet, then he called Jim Greerson.
Jim was desperate. “For crying out loud, old son! You were supposed to be here!”
“I’m sorry, Jim. I’m sure you are handling everything brilliantly.”
“I doubt it. And if it’s screwed up, it’s no one’s fault but yours! Mike Desmond was furious when you didn’t turn up again. I’ve told him you will personally go over to his office tomorrow and grovel and lick his shoes.”
Nick stared up at the ceiling. “Jim, I’m flying back to New York this afternoon-”
“Like hell you are!” It was the first time Nick had ever heard Jim sound really angry. “This is your firm, Nick. If you want to save it, you fucking will show up and pull your weight! There are other people’s jobs on the line too, you know. You’ve got twenty people working for you, in case you’ve forgotten, and they all rely on you!”
Nick passed his hand over his forehead. “Jim-”
“No. No more excuses, Nick. Just get here, fast.” Jim slammed down the phone.
“Damn!” Nick looked down at the memo pad on the desk where he had written down his flight number, then he ripped off the page and, screwing it up, flung it into the wastepaper basket.
As he did so something lying in the bottom of the almost-empty basket caught his eye. He stooped and picked it up. It was a cheap wooden crucifix with, nailed to it, a plastic figure of Christ.
Bet looked up from the flat-plan on her desk. “You want to work here? In the office?”
“Just today, Bet. Please. I have a reason for not wanting to be at home. I can finish the article off and leave it with you.” Jo hitched herself up on the edge of Bet’s desk. She leaned over and picked up the box of cigarettes lying by the telephone. Her hand was shaking slightly.
Bet marked up a couple more sections on the plan, then she threw down her pen and stood up. She went over to the coffee and poured out a cup. “You’d better drink this.” Deftly she took the unlit cigarette away from Jo and tucked it back into the box. “I’m sure I can find you a desk here, love. In fact, there’s one here permanently for you if you want it. You know that.”
Jo shook her head. “Only for today, Bet, thanks all the same. Then I’m going home. And I’m going back to Matilda. I’ve finished all the research I’m going to do.” She took a deep breath. “Now I want to write it all down quickly and get it out of my system once and for all.”
Bet smiled. “I’m glad you’ve changed your mind. It would have been the end of a beautiful friendship if you’d let me down on that one. I’ve provisionally scheduled you three main feature slots starting in March. That gives you three months to write it. Will that be enough?”
“It’ll be done in three weeks.” Jo’s voice was dry.
“Whenever.” Bet raised her hands in an expansive gesture of compliance. “I’ve spoken to Tim. He’s sending all the photographs to you direct before he leaves.”
“Leaves?” Jo glanced up.
“He’s going to Sri Lanka on Sunday, for six months or so, with the delectable Caroline.” Bet carefully avoided Jo’s eyes. “It’s best, Jo. He’ll destroy himself if he stays here.”
Jo looked away, taken aback at the sudden, suspicious prickling behind her eyes.
“He’ll get over it,” Bet went on gently.
“Of course he will.” Jo forced herself to smile.
“Will you put him in the articles?”
“No.”
“But he is part of the story-”
“So is Nick, but I won’t include him either.” Jo stood up suddenly. “Don’t worry, you’ll get your money’s worth. I shall pillory myself for my avid readers, but not my friends.”
Bet shrugged. “As you wish, but you’re omitting some of the most extraordinary parts of the story, Jo. And don’t forget, the big bad world has already read about Nick and Sam.”
“Then let them make their own connections.” Jo picked up her file of notes. “I’m working on the Clements story now, so please, tell me where I’ll find a desk, and I’ll start.”
Ceecliff paid off the taxi and walked slowly up the steps to ring Jo’s bell. It was several seconds before the intercom buzzed into life.
“It’s me, dear.” She stooped toward the disembodied voice in the wall.
“Are you alone, Ceecliff?”
Celia Clifford stared around her carefully. “Totally. And I haven’t been followed! I changed taxis twice to make sure,” she said solemnly.
There was a gurgle of laughter from the wall. “Enter then and be recognized!”
“What on earth is all this about?” Panting after her climb up the stairs, Ceecliff watched as Jo bolted the front
