No, I dont see. Jos no fool, Nick. She wont take any risks. If she knows-
But she doesnt know. His voice had risen angrily. Ive asked her about it and she remembers nothing. Nothing. Ive told her I think its dangerous to meddle with hypnosis-which it is-but she laughs at me. Being her, if she thinks Im against it shes keener to do it than ever. She thinks everything I say is hokum. Please, Bet. Just this once, take my word for it. When she brings the idea to you, squash it.
Ill think about it. Bet reached for another cigarette. Now if youll forgive me I should be at a meeting downstairs. She smiled at him sweetly. Did you know we were running a review of Judy Curzons exhibition, by the way? Shell be pleased with it, I think. Pete Leveson wrote it, so the publicity should be good.
He glared at her. Its a damn good exhibition. He reached out for the doorknob. Bet-
I said Id think about it, Nick.
She sat gazing at the desk in front of her for several minutes after he had left. Then she reached down to the bag that lay on the carpet at her feet and brought out Jos sheaf of notes. The paragraph on hypnotic regression was right on top. Glancing through it, she smiled. Then she put the notes into the top drawer of her desk and locked it.
2
As Jo let herself into her flat she automatically stopped and listened. Then, throwing down her bag, she turned and closed the door behind her, slipping the deadlock into place; she had not really thought Nick might be there.
She went into the kitchen and plugged in the kettle. It was only for those few minutes when she first came in that she missed him: the clutter that surrounded him of cast-off jackets, papers, half-smoked cigarettes, and the endlessly playing radio. She shook her head, reaching into the refrigerator for the coffee beans. No way, Nicholas, she said out loud. You just get out from under my skin!
On the table in the living room was a heap of books and papers. She pushed them aside to make room for her coffee cup and went to throw open the tall French windows that led onto the balcony which overlooked Cornwall Gardens. The scent of honeysuckle flooded the room from the plant, which trailed over the stone balustrade.
When the phone rang she actually jumped.
It was Tim Heacham. Jo? Ive fixed up for us to go and see my friend Bill Walton.
Tim, youre an angel. When and where? She groped for the pad and pencil.
Six-fifteen Thursday, at Church Road, Richmond. Im coming with you and Ill bring my Brownie.
She laughed. Thanks. Ill see you at your party first.
You and someone. Okay, Jo. Must go.
Tim always hurried on the phone. No time for preliminaries or good-byes.
A broad strip of sunlight lay across the fawn carpet in front of the window, bringing with it the sounds of the London afternoon-the hum of traffic, the shouts of children playing in the gardens, the grinding monotony of a cement mixer somewhere. Reaching for her cup, Jo sank onto the carpet, stretching out her long legs in front of her as she flipped through the address book she had taken from the table and brought the phone down to rest on her knee as she dialed Pete Levesons number.
Pete? Its Jo.
Well, well. The laconic voice at the other end of the wire feigned astonishment. And how is the beautiful Joanna?
Partnerless for a party. Do you want to come?
Whose?
Tim Heacham.
There was a pause at the other end of the line. I would be honored, of course. Do I gather that Nick is once more out of favor?
Thats right.
Pete laughed. Okay, Jo. But let me take you out to dinner first. How is work going?
Interesting. Have you heard of a guy called Bill Walton, Pete? Her glance had fallen to the notepad in front of her.
I dont think so. Should I?
He hypnotizes people and regresses them into their past lives. She kept her voice carefully neutral. To her surprise he didnt laugh.
Therapeutically or for fun?
Therapeutically? she echoed incredulously. Dont tell me its considered good for you! She glanced across at the heap of books and articles that formed the basis of her researches. Half of them were still unread.
As a matter of fact it is. Fascinating topic. Petes voice faded a moment as if he had looked away from the phone, then it came back strongly. This is work, I take it? I was just looking for a phone number. You remember David Simmons? His sister works for a hypnotherapist who uses regression techniques to cure peoples phobias. Ill tell you about it if youre interested.
It was one-thirty in the morning when the phone rang, the bell echoing through the empty studio. Judy Curzon sat up in bed with a start, her red hair tousled. Dear God, who is it at this hour?
Nick groaned and rolled over, reaching for her. Ignore it. Its a wrong number.
But she was already pulling herself out of bed. Standing up with a yawn, she snatched the sheet off him and, wrapping it around her, 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. Its your bloody brother from Edinburgh. He says you left a message for him to call, however late.
Nick groaned again. I spent most of yesterday trying to reach him. Sorry, Judy. Ill go into the sitting room. Ive got to speak to him now.
He shut the door and picked up the receiver. Sam? Can you hear me? Its about Jo. I need your advice.
There was a chuckle from the other end. In bed with one and in love with the other. Id say you need my advice badly.
Sam, this is serious. Jos set on writing an article on hypnotic regression. Can I tell her what happened to her last time?
No. No, Nick, its too risky. I could do it perhaps, but not you. Hell! I cant postpone this trip. Can you get her to wait until I get back? Its only a week, then Ill fly direct to London and have a chat with her about it. Stall her till then, okay? Dont let her do it.
Ill try to stop her. Nick grimaced to himself. But you know Jo. Once she gets the bit between her teeth
Nick, its important. Sams 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. If that happened again and someone didnt know how to handle it-well, I dont 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 posthypnotic suggestion that she forget the episode, she either wont believe you-thats the most likely-or, and this is the risk, she may suffer some kind of trauma or relapse or find she cant cope with the memory. You must make her wait, Nick, till I get there.
Okay, Sam. Thanks for the advice. Ill do my best. The trouble is, shes not talking to me.
Sam laughed. Im not surprised when youre in another womans bed.
Nick put down the receiver.
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! Judys bed. Judys apartment. Judys fucking phone!
Honey. Nick went to her and put his hands on her shoulders. Its nothing to do with you-with us. Its justwell. He groped for words. Sams a doctor.
Sams 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 sos youd notice, anyway. Look, Judy. Sam is going to come and have a chat with her, thats all. Hell, hes 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 hes going to Switzerland tomorrow. There is no more to it than that. Hes going to help her with an article shes working on.
She looked doubtful. What has this got to do with you, then?
Nothing. Except hes my brother and Id like to think she is still a friend.
Something in his expression made her bite back the sarcastic retort that hovered in the air. She gave a small, lost smile.
Nick resisted the impulse to take her in his arms.
The next morning he drove over to Jos apartment. Swinging her keys, he made for the pillared porch that supported her balcony. He glanced up to see the window open wide beneath its curtain of honeysuckle as he let himself in.
Jo? As the apartment door swung open he stuck his head around it and looked in. Jo, are you there?
She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, the typewriter on the low coffee table in front of her, dressed in jeans and a floppy turquoise sweater, her long dark hair caught back with a silk scarf. She did not appear to hear him.
He studied her face for a moment, the slim arched brows, the dark lashes that hid her eyes as she looked down at the page before her, the high planes of the cheekbones, and the delicately shaped mouth set off by the severe lines of the scarf-the face of a beautiful woman who would grow more beautiful as she grew older-and he found he was comparing it with Judys girlish prettiness. He pushed the door shut behind him with a click.
Ill have that key back before you go, she said without looking up.
He slipped it into his breast pocket with a grin. Youll have to take it off me. Did you know your phone was out of order?
Its switched off. Im working.
He picked up the top book on the pile by her typewriter and glanced at the title: The Facts Behind Reincarnation. He frowned.
Jo, I want to talk to you about your article.
Good. Discussing topics is always helpful.
You know my views about this hypnotism business.
And you know mine.
Jo, will you promise me not to let yourself be hypnotized?
She leaned forward. Ill promise you nothing, Nick. Nothing at all.
Christ, Jo! Dont you know how dangerous hypnosis can be? You hear awful stories of people permanently damaged by playing with something they dont understand.
Im not playing, Nick, she replied icily. Im working. Working, not playing, on a series of articles. If I were a war correspondent Id go to war. If I find my field of research is hypnotism I get hypnotized. If necessary. Furious, she got up and walked up and down the room a couple of times. But if it worries you so much, perhaps youd be consoled if I tell you that I cant be hypnotized. Some people cant. They tried it on me once at the university.