known to produce milk for their babies, you know. Anyway, you mustn’t worry about it. It’s perfectly natural. Just leave things well alone and it will calm down on its own in a day or two.” He leaned forward and tipped some more whisky into her glass. His hand was shaking slightly.
“Our dog had a phantom pregnancy once, when I was a child. Is that what I’ve had?” She managed a grin.
He laughed. “Something like that. But I don’t expect you to produce any puppies.”
“You are sure Nick wasn’t there?” Her smile had vanished already as she turned away from him. “You checked in his room?” She paced up the small kitchen and then back, her arms wrapped around herself to stop herself shaking, the glass still clutched in one hand. “I still love him, Sam. That’s the stupid thing. I love the bastard.” She stopped in front of the sink, staring at the pink geranium in its pot on the draining board. Absently she leaned forward to pick off a dead leaf and so she did not see Sam’s face. The cords in his neck stood out violently as he stared at Jo’s back.
With a little laugh she went on without turning. “You won’t tell him I said that, will you?”
“No, Jo.” Shaking his head, he recovered himself with an effort. “I won’t tell him. That I promise you.”
Sam was whistling softly to himself as he nodded to the janitor at Lynwood House, where Nick had his apartment, and let himself into the elevator. It was still not quite eight o’clock. He pushed open the apartment door and stood for a moment, listening.
“You’ve been out early.” Nick appeared at the bathroom door, razor in hand. “Pour out some juice will you? I’ll be there in a minute.”
Sam smiled. “Whatever you say, little brother. I trust you slept well?” He pulled Nick’s jacket off and hung it up.
Nick was looking at his watch. “I’m going to give Jo a ring to see if she is okay. I half expected her to phone last night, the state she was in-”
“No!” Sam said sharply. He withdrew the copy of the
Nick had turned back to the bathroom. He unplugged the razor. “I suppose you’re right…”
“I know I’m right.” Sam raised his eyes for a moment from the paper to give his brother a penetrating look. “I suggest you go down to see our mother this morning as arranged and let Jo alone for a couple of days. In fact, leave her alone until you get back from your wanderings across Europe. She does know you are going away?”
Nick shrugged. He was buttoning his shirt. “Scotland I can’t cancel, but the trip to France I could postpone.”
“Don’t.” Sam walked into the kitchen and rummaged on the shelf for the jar of coffee. “It isn’t worth it. Jo has made it clear enough it is over between you. Don’t let a temporary wave of sentiment because you saw her unhappy and emotional undo all the good you achieved by walking out on her. You’ll just make the poor girl more neurotic than she already is.”
“Why did she ask me to go with her yesterday then, if she doesn’t want to see me anymore?” Nick followed him into the kitchen, tucking his shirt into the waistband of his trousers.
“Did she, though?” Sam glanced at him.
He fished a loaf out of the bin and began to cut meticulously thin slices, which he tossed into the toaster. “Have you any marmalade? I haven’t been able to find it.”
Nick sat down at the kitchen table. He reached for the paper and stared at it unseeing. “She shouldn’t be alone, though, Sam,” he said at last.
“She won’t be,” Sam replied. “I’ll call her later. Remember, I am a doctor as well as a friend. I’ll give her a quick check over, if necessary, and make sure she’s in good spirits and while I’m at it read her the riot act about ignoring our warnings.”
“And you’ll phone me if she wants me?”
“She won’t want you, Nicholas.” Sam looked at him solicitously. “Get that into your thick head before you are really hurt.”
Judy stared morosely beyond the reflection of the dimly lit bar, through the indigo windows, at the rain-washed Pimlico Road. “I never thanked you for giving me such a good write-up,” she said at last to Pete Leveson, who was sitting opposite her. She turned her back on the window. “I’m sure it was thanks to you that the exhibition went so well.”
“Rubbish. You deserved success.”
Pete was watching her closely, noting the taut lines between her nose and mouth, the dullness of her eyes. “It is a bit of an anticlimax, now that it’s over, I suppose,” he said tentatively.
Judy sighed. She picked up her glass, staring around the wine bar with apparent distaste. “That’s probably it.”
“And how is Nick?” His voice was deliberately casual.
She colored. “He’s in Scotland, on business.”
“And Jo? Is she still dabbling in the paranormal?”
Judy drank her Buck’s Fizz, then with a grimace she asked, “Does the name Carl Bennet mean anything to you?”
Pete raised an eyebrow. “Possibly. Why?”
“Jo went to see him on Friday afternoon, and the thought that she was going there was enough to scare Nick to death. He shot off after her as if she had left a message that she was having tea with the devil himself. Can I have another of these?”
Pete raised his hand to beckon the waitress without taking his eyes off Judy’s face. He gave the order and tossed a five-pound note on the table. “Bennet is a hypnotherapist,” he said. “One of the best, I believe. And among other things he takes people back into their previous incarnations to treat them for otherwise incurable phobias.”
Judy’s mouth dropped open. “You mean that is what Jo is doing? Jesus! She doesn’t believe in that sort of thing, does she?”
“You are not a believer, I take it?” Pete was looking amused.
“No, I am not! No wonder Nick is worried for her sanity. Anyone who believes that kind of thing is certifiable. No wonder she freaked out when I told her Sam thought she was schizoid.”
Pete was sitting back, still watching her closely. “She is doing it for a story, Judy,” he said tolerantly. “I think you should watch what you say, you know.”
Judy laughed again. Her third Buck’s Fizz on an empty stomach was going to her head. “I don’t have to in front of you, do I?” she said archly. “Or do you think there is a gossip columnist under the table? But seriously, who needs one of those when I’m having a drink with one of the most prestigious reporters in Fleet Street.” She glanced at him provocatively under her eyelashes. “You had a thing going with Jo once, didn’t you?”
Pete leaned back in his chair. “I don’t believe it was a secret.”
“And you still like her. Everyone who has had an affair with Jo seems to still like her. What a likable person she must be!” she added sarcastically. “Well, why don’t
“Jo is researching her own story, Judy.” His voice was carefully neutral.
“It sure as hell wouldn’t be the same story if you told it, though, would it?” She ran her finger round the inside of her glass and sucked it pointedly. “Yours would be much more…sensational!”
She had huge eyes-light gray, with radiating streaks in the irises, fringed with dark-red lashes. Pete contemplated them for a moment as he thought over what she had said. Jo was a friend and yes, he was still fond of her, but the story, if there was a story, would not hurt her. On the contrary, it would counteract that bit in the
