the realisation that the kitchen was full of the smell of burning. She put down her glass with a little cry and grabbed the grill pan.
Nick was staring at her, a strange expression on his face. ‘You described none of that under hypnosis,’ he said quietly.
‘Didn’t I?’ She glanced up as she turned the meat and tomatoes and lowered the flame. Putting them back, she poured some more wine. ‘No harm done, thank goodness. It was just the fat catching. A good thing we were standing here.’
Nick hadn’t moved. ‘How much else can you remember?’ he asked after a moment.
She reached into the cupboard for two plates. ‘Everything, I suppose, until we left Gloucester. At least, it seems like everything. Come on, let’s eat before this lot gets itself incinerated. I don’t want to talk about Matilda any more. Tell me what you’re going to do to sink the opposition.’
It was nearly midnight when Jo had tidied away their plates and made some coffee. Nick was sitting on the floor of the living room leaning against the sofa, his head resting on the seat cushions, his eyes closed, as he listened to the last tape of the ‘St Matthew Passion’. As the last notes of the final chorus died away he raised his head and looked at her.
‘What was that flute music you had on that day Sam came over?’
‘Flute music?’ She knelt beside him and reached for the orange coffee pot. ‘I haven’t any recordings of flute music.’
‘You must have.’ He frowned. ‘It was a strange, rather haunting, formless solo piece. I’ve never heard it before.’
She shrugged. ‘Perhaps it was on the radio.’ She glanced at him uncomfortably. Nick had drunk most of the bottle of wine himself, quickly, without savouring it, which was unusual for him, and she could see that he was still tense and angry, the lines of his jaw taut as he lay back against the sofa cushions.
‘Tell me,’ he went on after a moment, ‘if you remember everything about your visit to Gloucester so clearly, did you meet Richard de Clare again?’
‘Nick. I don’t want to talk about it.’ She was filling her cup and did not look at him.
‘I want to know, Jo.’ His voice was quietly insistent.
She sighed. ‘I did see him, yes. He was a close adviser of the King’s. Once he arrived at Gloucester he was constantly in attendance on him.’
‘But did you see him alone?’
Jo smiled reminiscently in spite of herself. ‘Yes, I saw him alone the day after the awful business with the hands. He came to my tent. William had announced that we were going back to Bramber before the weather closed in. He was unnerved by the whole affair and he had given orders that we were to set out the following day.’
‘And Richard came to your tent?’
Jo glanced up, hearing the undercurrent of anger in his voice. ‘We said goodbye, yes,’ she said cautiously.
‘Did he kiss you?’
She saw his blue eyes narrow. ‘Nick. For goodness’ sake –’
‘Did he?’ He sat up watching her intently.
‘Yes,’ she said defiantly. ‘If you must know, he did. It was the first time he had ever held me properly in his arms. The tent was flapping in the wind, the heavy hangings which lined the walls rippling as if they were going to be torn off their hooks – it was so cold. The boy hadn’t kept the brazier outside the door fed properly, and it was smoking, not giving out much heat. Richard came in and I realised Nell must have let him pass. Elen would never have let him come to me alone. William was with the Earl of Gloucester –’ She paused, sitting on the floor, hugging her knees, gazing at the table lamp. There was a long silence. Nick’s eyes had not shifted from her face. ‘Go on,’ he said at last. ‘Aren’t you going to tell me what happened next?’
She glanced up. ‘He didn’t say anything at all. He just strode in, dropped the heavy curtains across the tent doorway and laced them together, then he took me in his arms. It was the first time we had kissed properly and I remember, for a moment, I was afraid. Then I forgot everything – William, little Will in the next tent with his nurses, the fear that someone might come – everything. I had never known physical desire before, only hints of it whenever Richard came near me, but suddenly I was overwhelmed by it.’ She paused and then went on thoughtfully, ‘I think we had both imagined that the feeling we had for each other could be contained in some courtly flirtation, but suddenly it took fire. I didn’t care what happened. I led him to the bed and he pushed me down on the furs –’ She stopped abruptly, seeing Nick’s face, and gave an embarrassed little laugh. ‘Sorry. I was getting carried away! Anyway it was quite good as I remember. Matilda’s first orgasm –’
She broke off as he lunged forward and caught her wrist, pulling it viciously so that she fell towards him, knocking the tray off the low table. The coffee pot slid to the floor and cracked against the table leg, soaking the carpet with coffee.
‘Nick, stop it!’ she cried. She could feel her arm pressing on a sharp piece of broken china. Warm blood flowed over her wrist. ‘Nick please – you’re hurting me – please, look, I’ve cut myself –’ The blind fury in his face frightened her. ‘It was only a dream, Nick. It wasn’t real! For God’s sake, what’s the matter with you? Nick!’ His hand was on her throat, his eyes murderous. Jo struggled frantically, feeling the pressure on her wind-pipe slowly increase. Then abruptly his mood seemed to change. He moved his hand from her throat, catching her wrists instead, clamping them above her head while with his free hand he began to pull open her bathrobe. Then he bent over her and began roughly caressing her breasts. He smiled coldly. ‘That’s better. You like a little medieval violence, don’t you? It reminds you of the good old days –’
‘Please Nick! Nick –’ Jo was terrified by the blind savagery in his face. She had never seen anyone look like that before, except once … For a moment she stopped struggling and lay still, frozen with fear as she remembered the face of the man who had tried to strangle her before – Nick’s other face – then with a last desperate pull she managed to break free of him. She rolled away and staggered to her feet, clutching her robe round her. ‘Get out! Get out of here,’ she shouted. ‘Get out of this flat, Nick, and never, ever come back!’ Her eyes were blazing with anger. ‘Don’t you dare lay a finger on me again! I don’t know what the hell you think you’re playing at, but you get out of here. I won’t be treated like this. Not ever, do you hear!’ She backed away from him towards the front door, knotting her belt around her waist. ‘Did you hear me?’ she repeated desperately.
He was smiling as he stood up. A cool, arrogant smile, which turned her anger back to terror.
‘Nick, please. What’s wrong with you?’ She had nearly reached the front door. Turning quickly she scrabbled with the latch, frantically trying to drag the door open, but Nick was close behind her. He slammed the door shut and rammed the bolt home, then he caught her arm. As he swung her to face him Jo screamed. But the sound never came. It was cut off short as he clamped his hand across her mouth, pulling her hard against him. He half dragged, half carried her down the passage to the bedroom, and without turning on the light flung her on the bed.
She lay there for a moment, winded, then as she turned, trying to struggle to her feet again, she felt a blinding blow across her face. Half stunned she fell back as Nick’s weight came down on top of her.
‘Now,
