as she glanced back at Walton. ‘It was about fifteen years ago now – I’ve probably forgotten most of what happened.’
He nodded slowly without taking his eyes from her face. Then he turned away. ‘Well, it might be interesting to try again,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Would you like to?’
‘No!’ she answered more sharply than she intended. ‘At least, not yet. Perhaps when my research is a bit further advanced …’ Warning bells were ringing in her mind; Sam’s face was there again before her eyes, and with it she heard Nick’s voice: ‘There is something you don’t know, something you don’t remember …’
Shakily she put down her glass, aware of Tim’s puzzled eyes upon her. Furiously she tried to get a grip on herself as she realised suddenly that Bill Walton was addressing her whilst he straightened some papers on his desk.
‘And were you pleased overall with what you saw this evening, Miss Clifford?’
She swallowed hard. ‘It was fascinating. Very interesting.’
‘But I suspect that you are going to debunk the reincarnation theory in your articles? My wife is a great fan of yours and she tells me your style of journalism can be quite sharp.’
Jo grimaced. ‘She’s right. If she told you that it’s very brave of you to be so open with me.’
‘Why not? I’ve nothing to hide. As I told you, the hypnotism is real. The responses are real. I do not seek to explain them. Perhaps you will be able to do that.’
He grinned.
Jo found herself smiling back. ‘I doubt it,’ she said as she picked up her bag, ‘but I dare say I’ll give it a try.’
‘Why did you do it, Judy?’
Nick pushed open the door of the studio and slammed it against the wall.
She was standing in front of the easel, once more dressed in her shirt and jeans, a brush in her hand. She did not turn round.
‘You know why. How come it’s taken you nineteen hours to come round and ask?’
‘Because, Judy, I have been at work today, and because I wasn’t sure if I was going to come round here ever again. I didn’t realise you were such a bitch.’
‘Born and bred.’ She gave him a cold smile. ‘So now you know. I suppose you hate me.’
Her face crumpled suddenly and she flung down the brush. ‘Oh Nick, I’m so miserable.’
‘And so you should be. Telling Jo in front of all those people what Sam and I had talked about in confidence. Telling her at all was spiteful, but to do it like that, at a party – that was really vicious.’
‘She didn’t turn a hair, Nick. She’s so confident, so conceited. And she didn’t believe it anyway. No one did. They all thought it was just me being bitchy.’
She put her arms around his neck and nuzzled him. ‘Don’t be angry. Please.’
He disengaged himself. ‘I am angry. Very angry indeed.’
‘And I suppose you followed her last night?’ Her voice was trembling slightly.
‘No. She told me to go to hell as you well know.’ He turned away from her, taking off his jacket and throwing it down on a chair. ‘Is there anything to drink?’
‘You know damn well there is.’ She retrieved her paintbrush angrily and went back to her painting. ‘And get me one.’
He glared at her. ‘The perfect hostess as ever.’
‘Better than Jo anyway!’ she flashed back. She jabbed at the painting with a palette knife, laying on a thick impasto of vermilion.
‘Leave Jo alone, Judy,’ Nick said quietly. ‘I’m not going to tell you again. You are beginning to bore me.’
There was a long silence. Defiantly she laid on some more paint.
Nick sighed. He turned and went into the kitchen. There was wine in the refrigerator. He took it out and found two glasses. He had not told Judy the truth. Last night, at midnight, he had gone to Cornwall Gardens and, finding Jo’s flat in darkness, had cautiously let himself in. He had listened, then, realising that there was still a light on in the kitchen, he had quietly pushed open the door. The room had been empty, the draining board piled high with clean, rinsed dishes, the sink spotless, the lids on all the jars, and the bread in the bin, when he had looked, new and crusty.
‘What are you doing here?’ Jo had appeared behind him silently, wearing a white bathrobe.
He had slammed down the lid of the bread bin. ‘Jo, I had to talk to you –’
‘No, Nick, there is nothing to talk about.’ She had not smiled.
Staring at her he had realised suddenly that he wanted to take her in his arms. ‘Oh Jo, love. I’m sorry –’
‘So am I, Nick. Very. Is it true what Judy said? Am I likely to go off my head?’
‘That’s not what she said, Jo.’
‘Is that what Sam said?’
‘No, and you know it isn’t. All he said was that you should be very careful.’ He had kept his voice deliberately light.
‘How come Judy knows so much about it? Did you discuss it with her?’
‘Of course I didn’t. She listened to a private phone call. She had no business to. And she didn’t hear very much, I promise. She made a lot of it up.’
‘But you had no business to make that call, Nick.’ Suddenly she had been blazing angry with him. ‘Christ! I wish you would keep out of my affairs. I don’t want you to meddle. I don’t want your brother to meddle! I don’t want anything to do with either of the Franklyns ever again. Now, get out!’
‘No, Jo. Not till I know you’re all right.’
‘I’m all right. Now, get out.’ Her voice had been shaking. ‘Get out, get out, get out!’
‘Jo, for God’s sake be quiet.’ Nick had backed away from her as her voice rose. ‘I’m going. But please promise me something –’
‘Get out!’
He had gone.
Nick took a couple of gulps from his glass and topped it up again before going back into the studio.
Pete Leveson was standing next to Judy, staring at the canvas.
Nick groaned as Pete raised a hand. ‘I thought I’d find you here. Has anyone told you yet that you are five kinds of shit?’
Nick handed
