Barbara Erskine 3-Book Collection: Lady of Hay, Time’s Legacy, Sands of Time

‘But my throat?’ Jo said. ‘What’s wrong with my throat?’

‘Nothing that I can see.’ He was rummaging in his case. ‘Where does it hurt?’

‘It aches. Here.’ She raised her hand to her neck while her eyes focused on the little pump in his hand as he inflated the cuff around her arm.

It was all coming back to her. She had been in the conservatory with Nick. He had stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders, then slowly he – or somebody – had slid them up around her throat and begun to squeeze … She could remember what happened quite clearly now. It was Nick. It had to have been Nick. No one else was there. Nick had tried to kill her! She felt sick. Nick wouldn’t hurt her. It wasn’t possible. It must have all been some hideous nightmare. She swallowed painfully. But it was too real for a nightmare.

She realised suddenly that the doctor was watching her face and turned away sharply. ‘Is it high?’ she asked as he folded away his equipment.

‘A little, perhaps. Nothing to get excited about.’ He paused. ‘Something is wrong, my dear, isn’t it? You look worried. Is there something you ought to be telling me?’

She shook her head. ‘Nothing, Dr Graham. Except that perhaps I should own up to a few late nights, working. I expect that could make me feel a bit odd, couldn’t it?’

He frowned. ‘I expect it could.’ He waited as though he expected her to say more. When she didn’t he went on, ‘I can’t explain the throat. Perhaps you’re getting one of these summer viruses. Gargle. That will help, and I suggest you take it easy for a bit. Spend a few days here, perhaps.’ Smiling, he stood up. ‘Not that Celia is my idea of a peaceful companion, but this is a good house to rest in. It’s a happy house. Better than London, I’ll be bound. If it happens again, go and see your own doctor.’

‘Thank you.’ Pushing herself up, Jo managed to stand. Outside the window there was another pale flicker of lightning. ‘I’m sorry my grandmother called you out in this.’

He laughed as he picked up his case. ‘If she hadn’t I’d have slept through it and kicked myself for not closing the vents in the greenhouse, so she did me a favour! Now, remember what I said. Take it easy for a bit. And do see your own doctor if you go on feeling at all unwell …’ He gave her a piercing glance, then with a nod he turned to the door.

As soon as he had stepped out into the hall Jo turned to the sideboard. The lamp shed a green, muted light behind it towards the mirror, and tipping the shade violently so that the naked light of the bulb shone onto her face Jo stood on tiptoe, peering at the glass. Her reflection was white and stark, her eyes shadowed and huge in the uncompromising light. Leaning forward she held her hair up away from her neck and peered at it. Her skin looked normal. There were no marks there.

‘Jo! You’re burning the silk on that shade!’ Ceecliff’s cry made her jump. Hastily she put it straight, noticing guiltily the brown mark already showing on the lining. She could smell the scorched fabric.

‘What on earth were you doing?’

‘Just looking at my throat.’ Jo glanced behind her grandmother. ‘Where is Nick?’

‘He’s holding an umbrella over David while he gets in the car. I suppose you won’t do what David suggests and stay here for a few days?’

Jo sighed. ‘You know I can’t. I’m too busy.’

‘Then you’ll have some tea before you let Nick drive you home –’

‘No!’

Ceecliff stared at her in astonishment. ‘Jo dear –’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so abrupt.’ Jo swallowed. ‘It’s just that I don’t want Nick to drive me.’

‘Well you can’t drive yourself, Joey. David was quite clear about that.’ Ceecliff’s tone was surprisingly firm. ‘You stay here or you go with Nick.’

Jo glanced towards the door. Her lips had gone dry. She took a deep breath. ‘Who was the man in here as I came round?’

Ceecliff had turned away, patting her injured lampshade with a proprietorial hand. ‘There was no one else in here, Jo. Only Nick and I.’

Jo crossed to the door, steadying herself with her hand on the back of a chair. Swiftly she closed it. Leaning against it she looked at Ceecliff.

‘Someone tried to strangle me this afternoon.’

Her grandmother pursed her lips. ‘Jo, dear –’

‘I am not imagining it. Out there in the conservatory. Nick was massaging my shoulders. Then –’ She shrugged wildly. ‘Someone tried to kill me!’

‘Nick was the only person there, Jo.’ Ceecliff came towards her slowly and put her hands on Jo’s arms. ‘Are you accusing Nick?’ She was scandalised.

‘No, of course not.’ Jo’s voice had fallen to a whisper.

‘Did you tell David all this?’

‘I said my neck hurt.’ Jo shook her head.

‘I think he would have been able to tell, Jo, if anyone had tried to kill you. There would have been bruises on your throat for one thing.’ Ceecliff moved towards the sofa and sat down on the edge of it. ‘I think Nick was right to be worried about this hypnosis, Jo. You are too susceptible –’

Jo flung herself away from the door. ‘This has nothing to do with the hypnosis! I wasn’t imagining it! You would know if someone had tried to kill you!’ She put her hands to her throat. ‘There was someone else there. Someone else, Ceecliff. It can’t have been Nick. He wouldn’t … He wouldn’t want to kill me. Besides, there was someone else in the room when I woke up. You must have seen him. You must! For God’s sake, he was standing right behind Nick!’

‘Joey, there was no one there,’ Ceecliff said gently. ‘If there had been, I would have seen him.’

‘You think I’m imagining it?’

‘I think you’re tired, emotionally upset, and what we as children used to call thunder-strung.’ Ceecliff smiled.

She turned as Nick pushed open the door. He went straight to Jo, who had tensed nervously as he came into the room. ‘How are you?’ he asked.

‘I’m fine, thanks.’ She forced herself to smile at him.

‘But she is going to let you drive her back, Nick, after you’ve both had some tea,’ Ceecliff said firmly. ‘She can come and pick up her car another time.’

Jo swallowed. Her eyes had gone automatically to Nick’s hands, resting on the back of the chair. They were firm, strong hands, tanned from sailing, slightly stained now with lichen from the rain-soaked wood of the summerhouse door.

As if feeling her gaze on them Nick slipped them into the pockets of his jeans. ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ he asked. ‘I’ve never had a woman faint at my feet before. It was all very dramatic. And you still look very pale.’

Ceecliff stood up. ‘She’s fine,’ she said firmly. ‘You know where the kitchen is, Nick? Go and put the kettle on for me, there’s a dear. I’ll be out in a minute.’

As he left the room, Jo caught her hand. ‘Don’t tell Nick what I said, will you. He’ll think it is something to do with the hypnosis too, and I’m not going to fight with him all the way back to London.’

Ceecliff smiled. ‘I shan’t tell him, Jo. But I think you should,’ she said slowly. ‘I really think you should.’

The storm crackled viciously across Hyde Park, highlighting the lush green of the trees against the bruised sky. Sam stood looking out of the window of Nick’s flat in South Audley Street feeling the claustrophobia of London all around him. He sighed. If it weren’t for that keyhole glimpse of the park up the narrow street in front of the flat, he would not be able to stay here. It calmed and restored the quiet sanity of self-perception. He spared a moment’s regretful thought for his high-ceilinged flat in Edinburgh with its glorious view across the Queen’s Park towards the Salisbury Crags, then turning from the window he drew the curtains against the storm and switched on the light. Throwing himself down on the sofa, he picked up his third glass of Scotch and reached for the pile of books stacked on the coffee table.

The first which came to hand was A History of Wales by John Edward Lloyd, M.A., volume two. Turning to the index he began to look for William de Braose.

‘What the hell is wrong, Jo?’ Nick glanced across at her as he swung the car at last onto the M11. The windscreen wipers were cutting great arcs in the wet carpets of rain which swept towards them off the road. For the second time, as he reached forward to slot a new cassette into place, he had noticed her shrink away from his hand. And she was obviously having trouble with her throat.

With an effort she smiled. ‘Sorry. I’m still feeling rather odd. My head is splitting.’ She closed her eyes as the car filled with the bright cold notes of Vivaldi. Don’t talk. Don’t let him see you’re afraid. It did not happen. It was a hallucination – or imagination. Nick is no killer and the other … the face with the hard, angry blue eyes and the beard. It was not a face she knew. Not from this world, nor from that other time of wind and snow and spinning distances. It was not William, nor the young and handsome Richard. It was a double vision; a dream. Part of the dream where someone had tried to kill her. Something out of her own imagination, like the pain.

‘The traffic is building.’ Nick’s voice hung for a moment in the silence, coming from a long way away as the tape came to an end. He leaned forward and switched it off before it had a chance to start playing again. ‘You should have stayed with Celia. You’re worn out, you know.’

She forced her eyes open, realising that the engine was idling. Cars were round them on every side; the end-of-weekend rush back to London, earlier than usual because of the bad weather, had brought the traffic to a standstill.