red and gold flower. ‘I tried to ring Dr Bennet but he’s still away in the States. Sam, I’ve got to work this thing through, haven’t I? I’ve got to get it out of my system. And the only way to do that is to go on with the story. Find out what happened next.’ She turned to face him. ‘Please, Sam, I want you to hypnotise me. I want you to regress me.’
Sam was watching her closely. Thoughtfully he raised his glass and took a sip of wine. ‘I think that’s a good idea, Jo,’ he said at last.
‘You mean you will?’ She had been prepared for a stand-up argument.
‘Yes, I’ll hypnotise you.’
‘When?’
He laughed. ‘Why don’t we eat that very appetising salad I saw in the kitchen, finish this bottle and relax, then if the mood seems right we’ll have a go this afternoon.’
To her surprise Jo wasn’t nervous. She was relaxed in Sam’s company, relieved not to be alone in the flat any more, and she enjoyed the lunch with him. Several times she found herself talking about Nick, as if she could not avoid the sound of his name, but each time she sensed Sam’s disapproval and, not wanting to spoil the atmosphere between them, she changed the subject. They played music and drank the wine, then Sam made coffee while she lay back on the sofa and listened to the soft strains of the guitar.
She was almost asleep when she felt him sit down on the sofa beside her and gently take the empty wine glass from her hand.
‘I think this is as good a moment as any to start, don’t you?’ he said. He raised his hand and lightly passed it over her face, closing her eyes as he began to talk.
She could feel herself drifting willingly under his spell. It was different from Carl Bennet. She could hear Sam’s voice and she was aware of her surroundings, just as in Devonshire Place, but she could not move. She was conscious of him standing up and going over to the front door where she heard him draw the bolt. Puzzled, she wanted to ask him why, but she could feel part of her mind detaching itself, roaming free, settling back into blackness. Suddenly she was afraid. She wanted to fight him but she could not move and she could not speak.
Beside her, on the sofa, Sam smiled. ‘No, Jo,’ he said softly. ‘There is nothing you can do about it, nothing at all. It never seems to have crossed your mind, Jo, that you might not be alone in your new incarnation, that others might have followed you. That old scores might have to be settled and old pains healed. In this life, Jo.’ He gazed down at her silently for several minutes. Then he raised his hands to her face again. ‘But for now, we’ll meet in the past. You know your place there. You are still a young and obedient wife there, Jo, and you will do as I say. Now, you are going back … back to that previous existence, Jo, back to when you were Matilda, wife of William, Lord of Brecknock, Builth and Radnor, Hay, Upper Gwent and Gower, back to the time at Brecknock after Will’s birth, back to the day when you must once again welcome your husband and lord into your bed.’
The morning before Jo and Sam had lunch together, the dining room at the hotel in the rue Saint-Honoré had been very full. Judy stared across the table at Nick as he tore his croissant in half. ‘Won’t there be any more time for us to be together? Please?’ she coaxed again.
He had been furious when she arrived five days before; refusing to believe it was Sam’s idea. ‘Why should he, of all people, tell you to come here?’ he had said angrily. ‘He knew how tight my schedule was. It’s not as though I’m here for a holiday, for God’s sake. Oh Judy!’ He had sighed heavily, catching her hands as he saw the tears in her eyes. ‘I am sorry. It isn’t that I’m not glad to see you. It’s just, well –’ He put some papers into his black case.
‘It’s just that you’re beginning to feel a little bit hounded.’ She had picked up her bag again. ‘Don’t worry, Nick. I’m as capable of getting on a plane going in the opposite direction as I was of coming in this.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ He pushed the door closed and took the bag out of her hand. ‘Listen. I’m free about eight o’clock tonight. We’ll go and have a meal, right?’
She grinned weakly. ‘Right.’
‘And tomorrow is Saturday. I’m going to spend the day with one of my clients in Passy. I’ll ring him and ask if I can bring you.’
She reached up and kissed him on the cheek, jubilant. ‘Thank you, Nick.’
‘But next week I’m tied up most of the time.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she had said meekly. ‘I shall paint.’
And now it was Tuesday. The dining room was beginning to empty, Nick was immersed in some sketches and Judy was bored. Petulantly she got up and helped herself to some English newspapers discarded on the next table, then pouring herself more coffee she began to leaf through them.
‘God! They’re not even today’s,’ she exclaimed in disgust after a moment.
Nick glanced up. ‘They get the new ones in the foyer. Here.’ He tossed some francs on the table. ‘Get me a Times while you’re at it, will you?’
But Judy was staring down at the paper on the table in front of her, open-mouthed.
‘So, he went ahead and did it,’ she said softly. She chuckled. ‘He actually did it.’
There was something in her voice which made Nick look up. Even upside-down he recognised Jo’s photo.
‘What the hell is that?’ he said sharply. He snatched the paper from her.
‘It’s nothing, Nick. Nothing, don’t bother to read it –’
She was suddenly afraid. After a week without a mention of her name Jo’s shadow had risen between them again. She stood up abruptly. ‘I’ll get today’s,’ she said, but he never heard her. He was staring down at yesterday’s copy of the Daily Mail.
He read the article twice, then, glancing at his watch, he stood up, folded the paper under his arm and strode towards the iron-gated lift. He passed Judy in the foyer and never saw her.
Impatiently he allowed the lift to carry him slowly up to his floor and wrenching the doors open he strode to their room. It was several minutes before the number in London was ringing. He sat impatiently on the bed, spreading the paper out beside him with his free hand, as he waited for someone to answer.
The tone rang on monotonously in Jo’s empty flat. Upstairs, Henry Chandler looked at his wife in exasperation. ‘Why doesn’t she get an answering machine if she’s a journalist? If that phone doesn’t stop ringing it’ll wake that damn baby again.’
‘She’s gone shopping,’ Sheila Chandler said slowly. ‘I saw her leave earlier.’
‘Did you see the kid?’
‘No, she was alone.’
They looked at each other significantly.
Downstairs the faint sound of the phone stopped. Seconds later they both heard the thin protesting wail.
‘Who are you ringing?’ Judy threw back the bedroom door and stood in the doorway, staring at Nick.
‘Jo.’
‘Why?’
Nick put the receiver down with a sigh. ‘I want to know why she did such an idiotic thing as to give that story to Pete Leveson.’ He slapped the newspaper with his open palm. ‘She’ll lose every bit of credibility she has as a serious journalist if she allows crap like this to be published. Look at this. “I was married to a violent, vicious man, but my heart belonged to the handsome earl who had escorted me through the mountains, protecting me from the wolves with his drawn sword.” Dear God!’
He