woolly romantic head in your direction?”
Jo nodded emphatically. Then she frowned. “You think it will?”
He nodded, not smiling. “I think it already has, Jo. I think the cast is assembling. We know that something pretty grim happened to Matilda. She was betrayed by her husband and by her friends and she was murdered, probably at the king’s orders. Maybe-just maybe-her soul has been crying out for justice.”
“Tim!” Jo stared at him, appalled. She shuddered. “You’re not serious!”
For a moment he said nothing, his eyes fixed on the road ahead of them as they turned out of the churchyard and followed the wall toward the town center, then he grinned. “It’s a hell of a dramatic theme for your book!”
“It’s horrible. It’s grotesque. You think you’re here for me to get my revenge on you? You and who else, for God’s sake? Who do you think Nick was?”
“I told you, I don’t know. Forget it, Jo! Calm down. I was only joking.”
“You weren’t. You were damn serious. So tell me. Who else is involved?”
He shrugged. “I really can’t even guess. Perhaps Judy? Perhaps Bet? People you know. Pete Leveson?”
“And Nick.”
He nodded. “And Nick.”
“And you think Matilda is out for revenge, through me?”
Tim stopped. He caught her arms and spun her around so the sun was shining directly into her face. For several seconds he stared at her intently, then released her. “No. No, I don’t think she is. I think you are as helpless in this as the rest of us.” He touched her cheek gently with his finger.
“I was sorry to hear about the Desco account.” Bet met Nick’s gaze challengingly in the dim light of the saloon bar. Behind him along the edge of the canopy over the beer pumps a line of pewter tankards gleamed softly. They swung gently in unison as a tall head brushed against one and the burnished surfaces winked and rippled.
Nick inclined his head slightly. “I hope to be replacing it almost at once.”
Bet smiled. “I’ve no doubt you will. But you must keep a tighter rein on that partner of yours.”
Nick frowned. There were taut lines of strain around his eyes. He looked pale and tired. “It was bad luck, Bet. No more.”
“There’s no room for bad luck in this game, Nick. You know that as well as I do. Tell me.” She changed the subject almost too abruptly. “How is Jo?”
She was watching him closely but his expression gave nothing away. He raised his glass slowly. “As far as I know she is well.”
“Some time ago you asked me to suppress an article she wanted to write.”
Nick swallowed his drink and put the glass down, fitting it meticulously into the wet ring it had left on the table. He smiled coldly. “A request you saw fit to ignore.”
“I am Jo’s editor, Nick. Not her wet nurse. If she wants to write something and I think it is good, I’ll publish it. It is good. Damn good. And you know it.”
“Good for the circulation of
“No. I’m a damn good editor.”
“Maybe. I’m glad I’m not one of your writers.”
“You could be.” She held his gaze steadily. “Your version of what’s happening to Jo.”
For a moment she thought he hadn’t heard her. His eyes seemed to be looking straight through her, then abruptly he beckoned the bartender. He ordered new drinks for them both.
“Where is Jo?” he said at last.
She drew her new glass toward her. “Out of London.”
“Did she tell you what happened?”
“Between you? Yes.”
“And you believed her, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Are you going to tell me where she is?”
“No.”
“I’ll try to find her, you know.”
“She’s working, Nick. Give her a break. She’s a first-rate journalist and her work is important to her. So is finding out about this Lady Matilda. You can’t stop her. She is going to the top and either you’ve got to learn to live with it, or you’ve got to find yourself another woman.”
Nick was watching her thoughtfully. “And you are available?”
She smiled. “I could be.”
“What about Tim Heacham? I thought you and he were living together.”
She shook her head. “I’ve cooked him Saturday supper and Sunday lunch from time to time. It amused us both, but he’s got other arrangements at the moment.” She smiled knowingly. Then she leaned forward and put her hand on his knee. “Shall I cook you dinner this evening?”
“Not this evening, Bet.” He smiled faintly. “I’m flattered and of course I’m tempted, but just at the moment I have other plans. And they involve Jo.”
Bet moved away from him slightly. “So. Do you love her?”
He didn’t reply immediately.
“She’s with Tim. But of course you’d guessed that,” she said softly. She watched for his reaction through narrowed eyes.
He gave a half smile. “She’s not interested in Tim. If he’s with her it’s for work. Are they in Hay?”
“You’re not thinking of going down there?” Bet was watching his eyes. The harshness had returned and it made her uneasy.
“I may.” He pushed away his glass. The drink was barely touched. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.” He stood up. Gently he put his hand on Bet’s wrist as she toyed with the stem of her glass. “I nearly killed Jo the other night. Did she tell you that, Ms. Gunning? We weren’t playing your sophisticated games. She wasn’t enjoying what I did to her, but she had mocked me. She slept around, then taunted me with what she had done. She’s playing a dangerous game. So if you see her before I do, you had better warn her of the fact.” He turned toward the door, then he stopped and looked back at her. “Did she tell you she had been playing the field?”
Bet shook her head. “She hasn’t, Nick, I’m sure-”
“You’re sure?” He took a step back toward her. “You’ve sent her off with Tim Heacham, knowing he’d give his right arm to sleep with her.”
Bet kept a tight rein on her anger. “Jo doesn’t sleep around and you know it.”
“She told me about it, Bet.” He gave her a look of withering contempt. “She bragged about it.”
Bet stared at him. “Who is it?” she whispered.
His knuckles went white as he clenched his fists. “Richard,” he said softly. “His name is Richard.”
She stared after him as he turned away out of the gilded swinging doors. Already the seat next to hers had been taken and someone was hovering waiting for hers. “Richard?” she repeated in a whisper. “Christ Almighty, Nick! Richard is a ghost!”
She took a cab back to the office, paying the driver with shaking hands, then she caught the elevator up to her office, not even hearing the cheerful banter of one of her colleagues as he got in beside her.
In her office she slammed the door and reached for the phone. The number Jo had given her was scribbled in the back of her address binder.
She bit her lip as the phone rang, hitching herself up onto the desk. “Mrs. Griffiths?” she said at last as the number was answered. “Please, I must speak to Miss Clifford. Is she there?”
“I’m sorry. She and the gentleman have left.” The Welsh voice rang out loud and clear in the quiet office. “Going on to Raglan, they were.”
“Raglan?” After putting down the receiver, Bet stared at it blankly. “Dear God, I hope it’s a long way away.”
