Lady of Hay by Barbara Erskine (english love story books .TXT) 📗

an amused chuckle down the phone. "I don't know what you're talking about, Jo, but I hope to see you again soon. Very soon. "

"No, Sam, forget it. "

"Whatever you say, love. But before you hang up on me forever, have you got my mother's phone number? I'm down in Hampshire with her at the moment. "

"I shan't be phoning you, Sam. "

"Perhaps not. " He laughed again. "But Nick will. You make sure you've got it somewhere handy, there's a good girl. Someone may need to get in touch with me urgently. You never know. " He laughed again. "Your life might depend on it. "

The line went dead.

Jo stared at the receiver for a moment in disbelief, then she slammed it down. It was several minutes before she reached for a pen and scribbled Dorothy Franklyn's phone number down obediently on the notepad by the lamp.

Tim looked at Nick without surprise. "I thought you'd turn up one of these days, " he said.

"Well, we have one or two things to sort out, do we not?" Nick followed him into the studio.

Tim swung around. "We have nothing to sort out, " he snapped. "You don't own her, for God's sake. "

"I intend to marry her. "

Tim stood quite still. His mouth had fallen slightly open as the pain of loss hit him anew. With an effort he pulled himself together. "Then congratulations are in order. I hope you'll both be very happy. " He turned away. "Does your brother know?" He was staring up at the high ceiling of the studio, concentrating with elaborate care on the pattern of spotlights and tracks suspended beneath the shaded skylights.

"Not yet. " Nick stood still just inside the doorway, his arms folded across his chest. "And neither does Jo yet. Keep away from her from now on, Tim. I'm only going to tell you once. "

"There is no need. " Tim did not look at him. "Jo has never felt anything for me. She and I were part of a dream, that's all, and my share of the dream is over, if it ever existed at all. Come over here. " He moved slowly, as if every bone in his body were aching with fatigue.

Nick hadn't noticed the easel in the corner. He watched as Tim pulled the sheet off and turned the easel slightly toward the light. "My wedding present to you both, if you like, " Tim said quietly. "I'll get it framed. I've no use for it now. "

Nick stared at the photograph. He could feel a pulse beginning to flicker somewhere in his throat. It was Matilda de Braose. Not Jo. There was no trace of Jo left in those huge eyes with their suspicion of love and laughter, the straight, slightly long nose, the determined chin, its strength emphasized by the fine white linen of the headdress. His eye ran slowly down the photo, resting for a moment on her hands, then on down the heavy folds of the scarlet surcoat and pale-green gown to the point of one shoe that showed at her hem. He would have recognized her anywhere, the woman whose image had haunted him, tormented him, for eight hundred years, the woman with whom a prince had fallen hopelessly in love, the woman for whom his passion and longing had grown twisted and sour.

Abruptly he turned away, feeling the bile rising in his mouth. "So that was how she looked to de Clare, " he breathed. "She never looked at me like that. She kept only sneers for me!"

Without another word he strode back across the studio.

"Where are you going?" Tim's voice was suddenly harsh.

Nick stopped. He half turned. "Where do you think I'm going?" he said. His eyes were hard.

He groped for the door, then flung himself down the stairs and out into the street, leaving Tim standing by the photo.

"Don't hurt her, Nick, " Tim said softly as he heard the street door close. "For pity's sake, don't hurt her. "

Chapter 36

Jo pushed away the typewriter and stood up. She was too tired to work and too tired to eat. Sam had upset her, and she was angry and agitated, and her thoughts kept on going back to Nick. She wanted to see him so badly it was like a physical pain.

When the phone rang she stared at it for a moment before picking it up.

"Jo, dear? It's Ceecliff. How are you?"

Jo's face relaxed into a smile. "Tired and grumpy. It's lovely to hear from you. How are you?"

"Agog to hear some more about your Matilda. Is she still with you?"

Jo managed a laugh. "You make her sound like a tenant. Yes, she is still with me. "

"Good. Then you must tell me all about her. I'm going to ask a great favor, dear. I'm coming to town tomorrow. I have to see my dentist and I want to go to Harrods. Could I possibly stretch my poor old carcass on your sofa tomorrow night? I'm so ancient these days I can't face the journey both ways in one day. "

"Of course you can. " Jo's spirits had lifted at her words.

"Splendid. Now, don't chase poor Nicholas out if he's there. I'd like to see him and I'm not naive! I'll see you about five, my dear, if that's all right, " and she hung up without giving Jo the chance to reply.

Jo smiled. "Naive. You!" she murmured to herself. "Never!"

She stood up and went out onto the balcony, staring down at the tub of geraniums at her feet. She had deluged the plants in water and already they were responding, the sharp, sweet-sour smell of sooty London earth filling her nostrils,

as, suddenly, her eyes overflowed with tears. Don't think about Nick. Don't. Desperately she tried to concentrate on the scarlet petals of the flower, but they blurred and swayed before her eyes.

Before he left the Clementses' farm he had taken her hands in his. "I don't