of bed. Standing up with a yawn she snatched the sheet off him and, wrapping it round her, she fumbled her way to the lamp. ‘It never is a wrong number at this hour of the morning. I expect someone is dead.’ She pushed through the bedroom door and into the studio.
Nick lay back, running his fingers through his hair, listening. He could hear the distant murmur of her voice. Then there was silence. She appeared in the doorway. ‘It’s your bloody brother from Edinburgh. He says you left a message for him to ring, however late.’
Nick groaned again. ‘I spent most of yesterday trying to reach him. Sorry, Judy.’
‘Sam? Where the hell have you been all day?’
‘Out.’ Sam’s voice echoed down the receiver. ‘I wasn’t sure where to reach you. When I couldn’t get a reply at your flat I thought I’d better try the abode of the latest belle. She did not sound pleased to speak to me.’
‘Can you blame her?’ Nick glanced at the bedroom door, which stood ajar, and wished he had closed it. ‘Sam, can I speak to you tomorrow from the office?’
‘No chance. Sorry, Nick. If it’s that important, talk now. I’m flying to Basel at eight tomorrow – no, this morning. If I live.’ He coughed loudly.
Nick swore under his breath. ‘Hold on a minute, Sam.’ He put down the phone and padded across the floor.
‘Judy love, shall I close the door, then I won’t disturb you.’
She was in bed, lying back on the pillow, the sheet drawn up to her waist, her breasts bare. She smiled, trying to hide her irritation. ‘I’ll fall asleep if you do.’
Nick grinned. ‘I can always wake you.’ He shut the door and went back to the phone. Picking up the receiver again he spoke quietly. ‘Sam? Can you hear me? It’s about Jo. I need your advice.’
There was a chuckle from the other end. ‘In bed with one and in love with the other. I’d say you need my advice badly.’
‘Shut up and listen. It’s about this hypnosis business. She’s set on writing an article on hypnotic regression. Of all things to pick out of the air. I’m pretty sure she means to try it again. What do I do?’
There was a moment’s silence. He heard Sam sigh. ‘That’s a tricky one, Nick. As I told you she is dangerously susceptible. Someone who reacts as violently as she does under hypnosis can be potentially in a lot of trouble in the hands of an inexperienced practitioner. In fact, in any hands. You really have to dissuade her.’
‘She won’t listen to me. Can I tell her what happened to her last time?’
‘No. No, Nick, it’s too risky. I could do it perhaps, but not you. Hell! I can’t postpone this trip. Can you get her to wait until I get back? It’s only a week, then I’ll fly direct to London and have a chat with her about it. Stall her till then, OK?’
‘Are you saying she’ll go off her head or something if she’s regressed again?’
‘I’m just saying don’t let her do it.’
‘I’ll try and stop her.’ Nick grimaced to himself. ‘But you know Jo. Once she gets the bit between her teeth …’
‘Nick, it’s important.’ Sam’s voice was very serious. ‘I may be wrong, but I suspect that there is a whole volcano simmering away in her unconscious. I discussed it with Michael Cohen dozens of times – he always wanted to get her back, you know, but I persuaded him in the end that it was too dangerous. The fact remains that her heart and breathing stopped – stopped, Nick. No, it is not just a case of going off her head as you put it. If that happened again and someone didn’t know how to handle it – well, I don’t have to spell it out, do I? It must not happen again. And just warning her is no good. If you were to tell her about it, cold, after post-hypnotic suggestion that she forget the episode, she either won’t believe you – that’s the most likely – or, and this is the risk, she may suffer some kind of trauma or relapse or find she can’t cope with the memory. You must make her wait, Nick, till I get there.’
‘OK, Sam. Thanks for the advice. I’ll do my best. The trouble is, she’s not talking to me.’
Sam laughed. ‘I’m not surprised when you’re in another woman’s bed.’
Putting down the phone Nick went into the kitchen and lit the gas under the kettle. A motorbike roared up the street below, a lonely sound in the silence, and he shivered, keeping his eyes on the friendly blue flame.
‘So. Why do you have to discuss Jo Clifford with your brother for half an hour in the middle of the night?’
He turned guiltily to see Judy, wearing a tightly belted bathrobe, standing in the doorway.
‘Judy –’
‘Yes. Judy! Judy’s bed. Judy’s flat. Judy’s fucking phone!’
‘Honey.’ Nick went to her and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘It’s nothing to do with you – with us. It’s just … well.’ He groped for words. ‘Sam’s a doctor.’
‘Sam’s a psychiatrist.’ She drew in her breath sharply. ‘You mean there is something wrong with Jo?’
Nick grinned as casually as he could. ‘Not like that. Not so’s you’d notice, anyway. Look, Judy. Sam is going to come and have a chat to her, that’s all. Hell, he’s known her for about fifteen years – Sam introduced her to me in the first place. She likes Sam and she trusts him. I had to talk to him tonight because he’s going to Switzerland tomorrow. There is no more to it than that. He’s going to help her with an article she’s working on.’
She looked doubtful. ‘What has this got to do with you, then?’
‘Nothing. Except he’s my brother and I’d like to think she is still a friend.’
Something in his expression made her bite back the sarcastic retort which hovered in the air. ‘Is that coffee you’re making?’ she asked lamely. She gave a small, lost smile.
Nick resisted the impulse to take her in his arms. ‘Sure, then we must get some sleep. I’ve an early start at the office.’
At his desk the next morning Nick pressed the button on the phone. ‘Jane? Get Jo Clifford for me at her flat.’ He gnawed his thumbnail, staring down at the heap of papers on his desk. The intercom buzzed. ‘Sorry, Nick. There’s no reply.’
‘Damn. Thanks, Jane. Can you keep trying every now and again?’ He glanced at his watch. It was after nine and Sam was already on his way to Basel.
Her flat remained empty all day. At eight he drove to Judy’s studio in Finborough Road. He knew it would cause trouble if he rang again from there but that could not be helped. He rang four times in the course of the evening and checked once with the exchange to see if her phone was out of order. Then, angry with her and himself, he gave up.
Judy was sulking. She had grudgingly opened a can of soup which they shared in silence, then returned to her huge abstract canvas. The light was too poor to paint, but she studied it for a long time, her thin shoulders hunched defensively, refusing to look at him.
He went to her and, putting his arms around her,
