editor? Rouse them, satisfy them, give them their medicine, kiss them better, and send them away!”
She laughed. “So you think I sleep with my staff as well?”
“It’s the general word. And all your ancillary acolytes-like me. But only the men, of course, as far as I know.”
Bet reached forward and tugged his hair. “Listen, Tim! If you want to talk shop, tell me how you are getting on with Jo’s pictures. Have you started on them yet?”
“Of course. But I thought the deadline wasn’t for months.”
“It isn’t.” Bet inserted her legs beneath the sheet next to his and ran an exploratory finger across his solar plexus.
Tim flopped back against the pillows and pushed her hand away. “No go, love. Don’t even hope. I’ve had it!” He grinned at her fondly. “I took some super pictures of a woman being hypnotized to think she was a nineteenth- century street girl. I’ll show you the contacts. The only trouble with that article from my point of view is that however glamorous and exciting the stories these people are telling, basically they are still just Mr. and Mrs. Bloggs sitting there in a chair. But it is a tremendous challenge-to catch those faces and make your readers see in them the reflection of whatever character is inhabiting the person’s mind at that moment.”
“If anyone can do it, you can.” Bet lay back on her elbow beside him and reached for her cup. “You know Jo was regressed herself once?”
“No. She told me about it. It was a failure. All that guff Judy sounded off was jealous rubbish.”
Bet shook her head. “Not so. Nick talked to me about it a couple of weeks back. He begged me to kill the article. According to him Jo nearly died under hypnosis.”
Tim sat up. “For Christ’s sake-”
Bet smiled. “He overreacts. It would make a better article, you must admit, if Jo could say it had happened to her. Jo is nothing if not honest. If something strange happens to her she’ll write about it.”
“Even if it’s published posthumously?” Tim swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. “My God, Bet! I thought you were Jo’s friend! Would you really want something awful to happen to her just to make a good story?” He reached for his trousers and pulled them on. “Bloody hell!”
Bet laughed. “Don’t be so dramatic. I want some action. I want to see Jo up against something she can’t debunk, just for once. I want to see how she handles an article that really stirs her up. It’ll do her good. I suspect Nick resents her success. He’s jealous of her independence. That’s why they split up, so a plea from him to call off the article comes over to me as very suspicious. She doesn’t need his help-or his hindrance. Oh, yes, I am her friend, sweetie, probably her best friend.”
“Then God help her.” Tim tugged open a drawer and pulled out a black cashmere sweater, drawing it down awkwardly over his head. “With you and Judy Curzon for friends, who else does she need!”
“Well, there’s always you, isn’t there? You wouldn’t be entertaining me so enthusiastically if you thought you could lay your sticky little hands on our Jo, would you, my love?”
Tim flushed a dusky red as he turned away. “Crap. Jo’s never had eyes for anyone but Nick since I’ve known her.” He stared into the mirror and ran his fingers through his hair.
“More fool her then, because Nick is playing the field. Where are you going?”
“Sunday or not, I have work to do. Are you going to cook my lunch?”
Bet stretched, snuggling back under the covers. “Why not? Who were you in your previous life, Tim, do you know?”
Tim turned and looked down at her. “Funnily enough, I think I do.”
Bet’s eyes grew round. “You are
“No.”
“Well?” She sat up, the sheet pulled up tightly around her breasts. “Who were you?”
He grinned. “If I told you that, my love, I’d regret the indiscretion for the rest of my life. Now, you may go back to sleep for exactly forty-one minutes, then get up and put the roast on. I should be finished in the darkroom in an hour.” With a wave he ducked out of the bedroom and ran down the spiral stairs to the studio below.
The north London traffic was heavy, and Jo was impatient, but she was so preoccupied she barely noticed the cars and the heavy pall of fumes under the brassy blue sky. It was not until the road finally widened and the cars began to thin that she started to relax and look around her. The air became lush with country summer: blossoms, thick and scented on the trees, rich new green leaves, hedgerows smothered in cow parsley and hawthorn while overhead the sky arched in an intensity of blue that never showed itself in London. Jo smiled to herself, turning off the main road to make her way through the lanes toward Long Melford. She always felt light-headed and free when she arrived in Suffolk. Perhaps it was the air or the thought of seeing Ceecliff, or perhaps it was only the fact that she was nearly always faint with hunger by the time she reached her grandmother’s house.
She turned down the winding drive that led toward the mellow pink-washed house and drew up slowly outside the front door. Nick’s Porsche was parked in the shade beneath the chestnut tree. She sat and stared at it for a moment, then angrily she threw open the car door and climbed out.
Nick must have heard the scrunch of her car tires on the gravel for he appeared almost at once around the corner of the house. He was in shirt sleeves, looking relaxed and rested as he grinned at her and raised his hand in greeting. “You’re just in time for a drink.”
“What are you doing here?” Her anger had evaporated as fast as it had come and there was a strange tightness in her throat as she looked at him. Hastily she turned away to pull her bag out of the car. She held it against her chest and wrapped her arms around it defensively.
“I needed to talk to your grandmother, so I called her up and came down last night.” He stopped six feet from her, looking at her closely. She had unfastened her hair, letting it fall loosely over her shoulders in an informal style that suited her far better than her usual severe line, and she had changed into a soft clinging dress of peacock blue silk before leaving home. She looked, Nick thought suddenly, very fragile and very beautiful. He resisted the urge to reach out and touch her. “She’s in the garden at the back with the sherry bottle. Come on around.”
“What was so important you suddenly have to drive out to Suffolk to talk about it?” Jo asked mildly.
Nick was silent for a moment, still staring at her. Than he shook his head slowly. “I thought I’d do some research for you.” He grinned. “Guess who came from Clare, just around the corner?” He began to lead the way across the gravel.
Jo followed him. “You came here to check on that?” she said in disbelief.
Nick shrugged. “Well, no, not exactly. I wanted to talk mainly. And I admit it, I told Ceecliff not to say anything about me when she called you. I wanted to talk to you too and I thought you might not come if you knew I was here.”
“It’s a pity she didn’t mention you,” Jo retorted. “Your girlfriend was with me when she called. You could have had a word with her and put her mind at rest. She clearly thought I had hidden you under my bed.”
“Judy was at your apartment this morning?” Nick frowned.
Jo had begun to walk toward the garden at the back of the house. The grass was soft, scented beneath her sandals, with patches of damp velvety moss and strewn with daisies. “She was just telling me that your brother had confided to her that I was schizophrenic and would need to be locked up soon.”
Nick laughed. “I hope you didn’t believe her. I’m afraid you seem to bring out the worst in Judy.” He was following her now, around the corner of the house. “Jo, I think there’s something I should explain. Wait a minute, please.” He caught her arm.
“There’s no explaining to do, Nick.” Jo turned on him, pulling herself free. “You and I have split up. You have a new woman in your life. The night before last you were kind enough to help me out for old times’ sake, when I was feeling a bit frayed, but as soon as someone else turned up to sort me out, you went back to Judy. End of story. Lucky Judy. Only I wish you would explain to her she need not feel so insecure.”
She could feel a sudden warm breeze stirring her hair as she walked on toward the walnut tree near the willow-shaded pond where her grandmother was sitting in a deck chair. On the horizon white cumulus was beginning to mass into tall thunderheads. She bent and kissed Ceecliff’s cheek.
“That was unfair to trap me into coming here. Nick and I have nothing to talk about.”
Ceecliff surveyed her from piercingly bright dark eyes. “I would have thought you had a great deal to talk about.
