25
Nick was lying on the sofa in his apartment with his eyes closed, listening to the quiet strains of Debussy, when Sam let himself in through the front door and pulled off his raincoat, shaking it in the hall before hanging it up. He appeared in the doorway and stared down at his brother in surprise.
“I thought you were off to New York today?”
“I’ve postponed the trip until the second.” Nick did not open his eyes. “That way I can see all the top men in one go. There’s no point in going twice.”
Sam raised an eyebrow as he crossed to the tray of drinks. “That doesn’t sound like you. Do you want a Scotch?”
Nick shook his head. “I’m energetic when I need to be,” he said. “It’s just that there are a few things I want to sort out before I go.” He sounded depressed.
Sam was pouring himself a large gin. “Would one of those things be Jo?” he said softly.
Nick altered the position of his head slightly so that he could watch Sam as his brother walked to the window. Another summer storm was brewing and the light outside was sulfurous as the cloud billowed up over London from the west. “I used to think you were quite fond of her,” he said reflectively. “But you’re not, are you?”
Sam stiffened. “What makes you think that?”
“Observation.”
“Then your powers of observation must be sadly awry. I am very fond of her.” Sam was staring out at the thunder clouds. A flicker of lightning lit the sky above the park, turning the trees fluorescent for a fraction of a second in front of the bruised purple of the storm. “It’s you who seem to be having trouble working out your feelings for her. You still need my help, I think.” He turned at last and looked at Nick. “All that hostility is still there, isn’t it?”
“The hostility your hypnotism was supposed to cure? It didn’t work, did it? I never thought you’d be able to do it. I doubt if I was even properly under.”
Sam smiled. “Oh, you were properly ‘under,’ as you put it. You just don’t remember. Perhaps I should do it again.” Sam perched on the edge of the coffee table, looking at him. “Why don’t we try and see what happens?”
Nick glanced at him suspiciously, suddenly remembering his mother’s anxiety. “Why are you so eager to hypnotize me, Sam?” he asked after a moment.
“I’m not eager,” Sam said. “I’m merely offering.”
Nick put his glass down. To his own surprise he found himself putting his misgivings firmly aside. “Perhaps a bit of mental massage is just what I need one way and another.”
Nick sat back in the chair and settled his shoulders against the deep-orange cushions. Only a few moments later Sam was smiling in triumph. “Well done, Nicholas,” he murmured. “That’s it. Now you are completely relaxed. Completely asleep. But you can still hear me, can’t you?”
Nick nodded.
“Good. Open your eyes and look at me. That’s it. Now, I want you to remember who I told you you were, once before, eight hundred years ago. Who was it, Nick?”
His brother’s eyes were steady. They narrowed slightly. “John,” he said.
Sam smiled again. “Good.” He took a deep draught from his glass. “Now, Your Royal Highness.” He emphasized the words mockingly. “We discussed Matilda de Braose, did we not?”
Nick nodded. A frown appeared between his eyes.
“The woman you loved, sir,” Sam went on relentlessly. “The woman who rejected your advances and spurned you. The woman who accused you of murder before the world.”
Abruptly Nick stood up, almost knocking into Sam as he strode across the room, his face angry, his fists clenched. “She taunted me about my nephew, Arthur-”
“And that was when you first decided that she must die,” Sam said softly. “But now she has returned to taunt you again. And even in this life she still despises you. She still thinks herself superior to you-to you! You will punish her again, won’t you, sir?” he whispered. “But before you do it, you will tell me what you intend.”
“I will tell you.”
Sam smiled. “I wonder who you really were in that previous life,” he said reflectively. “If you were anyone at all. Come, little brother. Why don’t we find out, just for the hell of it.” Standing up, he took Nick’s shoulder and steered him back to the chair. “I want you to think back to when you were a child. Back to when you were a baby. Back even before you lay in the womb, back to the time before the darkness, back to the late twelfth century when Richard Lion Heart was on the throne of England. Tell me, did you have a life then too? Did you know me as William de Braose?” Nick had not moved. His face was like carved stone.
“Well?” Sam leaned over Nick and, taking a handful of his hair, pulled his head back so that his brother was forced to look up at him. “Who were you?”
Nick’s eyes were cold. His mouth moved into a half smile as for the first time he looked at Sam directly. “Can you have forgotten so soon?” he said slowly.
Sam drew back abruptly. “So.” He swore under his breath. “The trance wasn’t deep enough. You’ve been fooling me. Yet I could have sworn-” He took several steps back. “Nick? Nick, can you hear me?”
Nick nodded slowly. He was watching Sam with the half smile still on his face.
“I see.” Sam reached into the pocket of his cords and pulled out a clasp knife. “Well, let’s put it to the test, shall we? I am going to tap your hand with my finger. It is not going to hurt and I doubt if you will feel it at all.” He unfolded the knife. After grabbing Nick’s hand he held it a moment, staring at the palm, the blade poised. Nick did not seem to have noticed. Slowly Sam turned the hand over and deliberately he stroked the blade across the back of Nick’s wrist. A thin line of blood welled up, but Nick had not flinched.
“So. A deep trance still exists,” Sam murmured as he put the knife away. “And your wit comes from another time. Yes, brother, I have forgotten who you are. Why don’t you tell me?”
Nick straightened his shoulders. Slowly he stood once more. “You dare call me brother?” he said.
“Your name?” Sam said. “Tell me your name, then I shall know what to call you?”
“I am John Plantagenet,” Nick shouted suddenly. “ I am the king’s brother! I stand in England now in my brother’s stead,” he said slowly. “And one day, de Braose, I shall make you kneel to me. You, and that witch you call your wife.” He smiled coldly. “Are you deranged, man? Can it be that you do not know your prince?” He strode toward Sam suddenly and took hold of the front of Sam’s shirt. The blood from the cut on the back of his wrist was trickling across his palm and a smear of it transferred itself to the blue cotton as Sam tried to pull himself free. “Look at me!” Nick shouted suddenly. “And look well, de Braose! Remember the face of your future king!”
For a moment neither of them reacted to the sound of the front door buzzer. Nick had not heard it, but Sam, as he wrenched himself away, turned angrily and glanced toward the hall.
It buzzed again. Sam cursed. He had to get rid of whoever it was. He backed away from Nick cautiously. “I shall return in a moment, sir,” he said, trying to contain the anger and impatience that had swept through him. “Sit down, sir,” he added forcefully. “We shall continue this conversation in a moment.” He paused, reluctant to move, but Nick, after a second’s annoyed hesitation, had swung away from him and was standing in the middle of the room, his arms folded across his chest.
Sam hurried into the hall, closing the door behind him, as the buzzer sounded for a third time, and he dragged open the front door. A bedraggled figure was standing on the dimly lit landing, dressed in a fawn raincoat. It was Judy Curzon.
“Thank God!” she said, pushing past him. “I thought you were out. I’m half drowned.”
“Judy!” Sam was still holding the door. “Wait! You can’t come in! Why didn’t the janitor ring through to say you were here?”
She had unknotted her belt and dropped the soaked raincoat on a chair.
“He wasn’t in his cubbyhole, so I dodged past and grabbed the elevator. I hate being interrogated by your janitor. It makes me feel like a burglar. What do you mean I can’t come in, for Christ’s sake? Why not?”
“I have a patient here, Judy-”
“Crap! You don’t have patients. You do experiments on poor, bloody animals.” Judy pushed open the drawing- room door. “Get me a drink and a towel and let me wait until the storm is over, then I’ll go-” She stopped dead in
