***

Judy was sitting alone in the dimly lit hospital waiting area. Her eyes were red with crying.

“What happened?” Nick put his arms around her and held her close.

She shook her head and sniffed. “They think he’s cracked his skull. They’ve taken him up to the operating room.”

“Who?” He pushed her away from him so he could see her face. “Who is hurt, Judy?”

“Tim. It’s Tim Heacham!”

“Tim?” Nick stood quite still for a moment. “But for God’s sake, what happened?”

“He came over to take some photos of my paintings and your brother arrived. He threatened Tim, and…” She began to sob again.

“Sam hit him?” Nick sat down abruptly next to her.

“No.” She sniffed hard and groped in the pocket of her jeans for a soggy tissue. “No, he tried to and Tim dodged. He slipped on my stupid rug. Oh, Nick! Supposing he dies!”

“What were they fighting about?”

“Sam called him de Clare. I think they were fighting about Jo. He talked about his daughter.”

Nick’s lips tightened imperceptibly. “My brother really is insane,” he said at last. He rested his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands. “God, what a mess! Where is he? Did he come to the hospital?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know where he went.”

They both looked up as a young fair-haired woman in a white coat appeared. She carried a clipboard.

She sat down beside them with a tired smile. “I understand you came in with Mr. Heacham?”

Judy nodded. “How is he?”

The young woman shrugged. “He’s still in the operating room. We’ll know more later. I wondered if you could give me details of his next of kin?”

Judy clutched at Nick’s hand. “He’s dying?”

“No, no. It’s normal procedure. We have to try to contact his family.”

They looked at each other. “I know nothing about his family,” Nick said slowly. “I’m sorry. We’re just friends of his.”

“I see.” She slipped her pen back into the pocket of her coat. “You don’t know his wife?”

“He has no wife,” Judy said softly.

The young woman frowned. “He was conscious for a few minutes upstairs before he went into surgery. He was talking about his daughter. Matilda, was it? Perhaps if we could find her?”

Nick stood up. His face was very tense. “He has no daughter either,” he said.

As the woman disappeared through the swinging doors Nick turned on Judy. “Aren’t you going to rush to the phone and call Leveson? I should imagine this will make a juicy headline!”

Judy colored. “Of course I’m not.” She sat slumped in her chair. “How long do you think the operation will take?”

Nick shrugged. “I suppose I should call Bet Gunning. She knows Tim best. She must know where his family is.” He glanced at his watch.

“Jo might know,” Judy said softly. “I wonder if Sam’s gone back there? He said he had come from her apartment. Nick?”

Nick had stood up. His face was white. “Are you sure?” Already he was striding toward the door. “You stay here, Judy.” It was all he said, then he was gone.

Judy subsided onto the chair and began to sob again. It was midnight.


***

“Jo? Jo, can you hear me?” Nick crouched beside her and took her hand in his. It was ice-cold. She was staring unblinkingly at the blank TV screen. Automatically Nick reached to switch it off, then he passed his hand up and down in front of Jo’s eyes. Her eyelids did not move. He felt cautiously for her pulse. It was there, very slow and unsteady.

“Jo? Jo, love, listen to me! You must listen. Please.” He chafed her hands vigorously in turn. “Jo, I need you. For God’s sake, my love.” He took a deep breath. “Jo, I am going to count backward from ten. When I reach one, you will awaken, do you hear me?” His voice was shaking badly. Gently he pushed her back against the cushions. He touched her forehead. Her skin was strangely cold. “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.” He caught her wrists. “Wake up, now. Wake up!”

She did not move. She still had not blinked. Nick looked around wildly, then he leapt to his feet. Jo’s address book was lying by the telephone. He ran his finger down the second page and found the number he was seeking: Bennet, C. Office-home/town-home/country. Praying, Nick dialed the second number.

The phone was answered by the sleepy voice of Mrs. Bennet. It was only four seconds before her husband was on the line.

He listened to Nick intently. “It sounds like a catatonic trance,” he said almost to himself. “I’ll come straight over. Don’t try to wake her, Nicholas. I’ll be with you in twenty minutes. If she seems cold wrap her up warm, then get yourself a drink. I’m on my way.”

Nick glanced at his watch. It was one-fifteen. Grimly he found two blankets in the closet and tenderly he folded them around her, then he went into the kitchen and put on the kettle. It was nearly two before the doorbell rang.

Bennet crossed the room in two strides. Gently he pulled the blankets away from Jo’s face. “How long has she been like this?”

Nick shrugged. “Maybe since my brother left her, I guess about nine or ten.”

“He put her in this trance?” Bennet scrutinized Nick’s face.

“I suspect so,” Nick said grimly. “But we both know she’s capable of doing it herself. I thought she was beginning to learn to fight it, but maybe she couldn’t manage it when she was alone. Is she going to be all right?” He knelt beside her and took her hand.

Bennet smiled. “I think so. She is showing signs of eye movement-see? I think she’s coming out of it naturally.” He sat down next to Jo and, putting his hands on her shoulders, pulled her gently to face him. “That’s it, now, Lady Matilda, can you hear me? That’s right, you recognize my voice. You can speak to me without fear, my dear, you know that. You are tired now, are you not? And very cold. I think it would be nice if you woke up, my dear. You are going to wake up slowly-”

He broke off as Jo jerked backward in his hands. Her eyes had lost their vague unseeing stillness and were focusing past him on Nick’s face.

Nick stood up, smiling with relief. “Jo, thank God-”

But she had torn herself out of Bennet’s hands and pulled herself shakily to her feet.

“Please,” she said wildly. “Please, give me more time. I have the money. I told you, it is hidden in the hills above Hay. Please, give me more time. Please.” Tears were pouring down her cheeks. “William will come back. He promised. He will come back, if not for me, then for our son. Please, Your Grace, please-” She threw herself on her knees in front of Nick. “Please, punish me if you must, but not my son. Not Will!” She was sobbing violently. “Take me. Do what you wish with me, but spare my son! He has done nothing. It is my fault. It is all my fault!” She looked up, her hair, trailing across her eyes, wet with tears. “You loved me once, Your Grace. Can your love have turned so completely to hatred?”

Bennet caught her shoulders gently. “Come, my dear. This will do no good-”

“ No! ” Her voice rose to a scream. “I will not go! You must listen. My liege! My lord king. Please, spare me-”

She was sobbing hysterically, clinging to Nick’s sweater.

Quietly Carl Bennet turned to the case he had brought with him. He swung it onto the coffee table and, opening the lid, produced a hypodermic syringe. “Hold her still,” he commanded in an undertone. “I’m going to give her a shot to make her sleep.”

Nick caught Jo’s wrists gently. “Come on, love,” he said. His voice was shaking violently. “I will spare you. I will…”

She did not seem to notice as Bennet pushed up her sleeve, swabbing quickly and efficiently before he inserted the needle in her arm. Within seconds her fingers loosened on Nick’s sweater and she slumped at his feet.

For a moment he could not move. His throat ached with anguish. Carl patted his shoulder gently. “I’ll help you carry her to bed. I’ve given her thirty-five cc’s of Valium. That will knock her out for several hours. When she wakes she will be all right.”

Nick pulled himself together with difficulty. “You’re sure?”

“Quite sure.” Carl’s smile was brisk and reassuring. “I’ll come back about”-he glanced at his watch-“about ten o’clock tomorrow morning. I would like your permission then to rehypnotize her and very strongly implant the suggestion that she never take part in any regressions again, induced by others or by herself. I think it will work this time. She is sufficiently afraid of the consequences to cooperate.” He stooped and lifted Jo’s shoulders from the floor. “Come, help me put her to bed.”

Carefully they laid Jo on the bed. Nick removed her sandals and covered her with a blanket, then, smoothing her hair back from her face, he kissed her gently on the forehead. Five minutes later he had shown Carl Bennet out. After pouring himself a gin, he went to the French windows and pushed them open. The sky was still completely black above the glare of the streetlights around the square. The air was cold and fresh, cutting through his thin sweater, making him shiver. It was clean though. Clean and good and it bore the hint of rain.

He turned his back on the window and threw himself down on the sofa. Tomorrow-no, today-it would all be over. Jo would be made to forget any of this had ever happened. But he would remember. He and Sam, and Tim.

Poor Tim. With a groan he stood up, glancing at his watch, then he dialed the hospital.

“May I ask who is inquiring?” the impersonal voice on the other end of the wire said in response to his question after a series of clicks and silences.

Nick spelled out his name patiently. “I was at the hospital earlier,” he said. “Tim is a very old friend.”

“I’m sorry, then, Mr. Franklyn.” The voice suddenly became compassionate. “But I have bad news, I’m afraid. Mr. Heacham never regained consciousness after the operation. He died at a quarter to three.”