the steam off his glasses. “Get rid of him, darling, then come down and eat.”
“Eat, she says.” Bennet snorted as his wife ran down the stairs. “What the hell else does she think I did on that plane?” He picked up the receiver. “Yes?” he barked. His glasses had steamed over again.
Within seconds he was reaching for his notepad. “You are right. I should see her as soon as possible. I could fit her in tomorrow here.” He listened again for a few minutes, frowning with irritation as Nick paused to slot more money into the phone.
“Very well, Mr. Franklyn. Monday at ten. I agree a break would do her good. But should this happen again- anything that worries you-I want you to promise to call me, here, at once.”
He hung up at last and sat still, chewing the inside of his cheek. He sighed. Posthypnotic suggestion was always a dangerous field. To do as Nick Franklyn asked and wipe out the girl’s memory of Matilda forever-that was a sad request. But the man was right. The past had to be controlled. It had to be relegated to where it belonged, otherwise it threatened to take Jo Clifford over and, in so doing, destroy her.
17
Sam opened the front door of the apartment to Judy that evening with a scowl. “I’m packing to go to Edinburgh,” he said curtly. “I’m afraid I can’t spare you much time.”
“You can’t?” Judy threw herself down on a chair. “That’s good, because I don’t require much time. You know of course that by now Nick and Jo are back together.”
“I know they’ve gone down to the boat.” He was watching her closely as he sat down opposite her.
“She doesn’t want him. She is using him. You know that as well as I do, I expect.”
Judy was wearing a pink flying suit that clashed violently with the bitter orange of the upholstery in Nick’s apartment. She threw herself back in the chair, pushing her hands deep into her pockets. “I want Nick back and you want Jo.” She studied his face under her eyelashes, but his expression gave nothing away. “I think we should pool our resources, don’t you?” she went on after a moment.
Sam got up and went to the drinks tray. “Assuming you are even remotely right,” he said slowly, “exactly what resources, as you call them, do you have?” He poured out a stiff gin for each of them and began carefully to slice up a lemon.
Judy smiled. “Information. And a suggestion. You have a clinic or something in Edinburgh, don’t you?”
Sam handed her a glass. “You mean I should whisk Jo off and hospitalize her somewhere, preferably behind locked doors, no doubt, thus leaving the field free for you?”
“Something like that, yes.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have a clinic, Judy. Nor am I attached to one.” He took a sip from his glass reflectively and went to stand in his favorite position by the window. “Besides, Jo doesn’t need hospitalizing.”
“Yet.”
He turned. “What does that mean exactly?”
“She’s going crazy.”
Laughing, he turned away again. “No, not crazy. A little confused, perhaps. A little frightened. But that is all.” He picked the lemon out of his glass and sucked it. “There is no need for Jo to leave London to aid your plans.” He paused. “I can drive a wedge between her and Nick that will put them farther than four hundred miles apart, I can assure you. I can make Jo hate him. I can make her afraid of him.” He hadn’t raised his voice, but Judy stared at him. His tone had been full of venom.
“You don’t like your brother very much, do you?” she said cautiously.
He grinned. “What makes you think that? I would be doing it for you!”
There was a long pause as they looked warily at one another. “I don’t think so,” Judy said at last. “I don’t think you’re even doing it because you like Jo. I think you’re doing it to hurt Nick.”
Sam laughed out loud. “Maybe. Maybe not. But you’ll be there to pick up the pieces and kiss him better, won’t you!”
Nick was sitting in the cockpit of the
“Happy?” He glanced at Jo, who was lying on the cabin roof. She was wearing white jeans, rolled up above the knees, and a striped bikini top. She rested her chin on her hands and grinned at him, her hair blowing across her face. “Happy. Better. Sane. Thanks!”
“And hungry?”
She nodded. “Are we going to stop at Bosham?”
“I don’t see why not. Lunch at the Anchor Bleu and back out on the tide. Or we can spend the rest of the day there. Leave tomorrow. Whichever.”
He adjusted the sheet a little, watching the mainsail wing out before the wind as the huge orange spinnaker flapped for a moment, then ballooned full once more.
Jo licked her lips, tasting the salt from the spray. “Let’s wait and see.” Already she could see the little pointed roof on the tower of Bosham church at the head of the creek. The tide was nearly high, brimming to the edge of the saltings, where a cloud of terns danced over the sparkling ripples. She turned to watch a huge ocean racer draw smoothly past them under power. “I haven’t thanked you for last night,” she said suddenly.
“For what? As I remember, nothing happened.”
“Exactly.” She pushed her sunglasses up into her hair. “You gave me space, Nick. It was what I needed. A super meal, enough Scotch to float the
He laughed. “You certainly look a little less tense.”
“I am. Once out of that apartment I seem to be able to think straight. I’ve behaved like an emotional idiot, allowing myself to be influenced by all this business. Can you imagine? Jo Clifford, cool, businesslike, imperturbable Jo Clifford, allowing herself to be so affected that my body reacted psychosomatically. I shall write the story next week and get it out of my system completely, then I intend to forget all about it.”
Nick glanced at her. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said quietly. “Welcome back, Jo Clifford.”
They anchored in Bosham creek and paddled ashore in the inflatable dinghy. After walking across the long lush grass of the quay meadow, they strolled past the church, breathing in the air heady with honeysuckle and roses, intoxicatingly sweet after the sharp salt of the sea wind, laughing as they dusted aside drifts of white petals from the hedge. They ate a ploughman’s lunch sitting outside the pub in the sun, then walked on slowly through the village hand in hand, watching the tide lap up over the road and slowly draw back, leaving a shining trail of mud and weed. They hardly spoke at all as they walked along the point then back across the causeway to lie for a while side by side on the grass, dozing in the sun.
It was dark before they once more found their dinghy and paddled out beneath the stars to find
Nick looked up. “I used to. I’m always meaning to brush up on my astral navigation in case
“Seriously?” She raised her head and looked at him.
“Why not? I can think of worse things to do for a year. Let Jim take over the business.”
She bit her lip silently, watching as he came alongside the boat and reached up to knot the painter to a stanchion. They climbed on board and Nick opened the hatchway to the cabin. Jo did not follow him below. She stood for a moment quite still in the cockpit, staring across the darkly gleaming water. Then she shivered.
Nick had turned on the lights. “A nightcap before bed?” he called.
She did not answer. She was watching the line of orange lights strung like beads along the main A27 at the end
