Sam’s jaw tightened. ‘Who?’
‘Matilda, of course. They think she was starved to death.’ Jo drank the rest of her whisky quickly and put down the glass. She was suddenly shuddering violently.
Sam stood up. He caught her arm. ‘Jo –’
‘No, Sam, it’s all right. I know what you’re going to say. I’m not about to get obsessive about her. It’s me, remember. Level-headed Jo Clifford. I’m over the shock of it all now, anyway. Reading about it has put it in perspective. All those dry dates and facts. Ugh! Funny how history never seemed to be to do with real people, not to me anyway. At least not until now …’ Her voice tailed away. ‘When you and Professor Cohen finished your experiments, Sam, did you reach any conclusions?’
‘We were able to float various hypotheses, shall we say,’ Sam smiled enigmatically.
‘And they were?’
‘Roughly? That different subjects reacted in different ways. We tabulated almost as many theories as there were regression sessions. You must read his book. Some people faked, there was no question about that. Some openly re-enacted scenes from books and films. Some produced what they thought we hoped we would hear. And some were beyond explanation.’
‘And which was Joanna Clifford?’
‘I think one of the latter.’ He gave a wry smile.
Jo eyed him thoughtfully. ‘I had a feeling you were going to say that. Tell me, Sam, do you believe in reincarnation?’
‘No.’
‘Then what do you think happens?’
‘I have one or two ill-formed and unscientific theories about, shall we say, radio waves trapped in the ether. Some people, when in a receptive state, tune into the right wavelengths and get a bit of playback.’
‘You mean I was actually seeing what happened in 1174?’
‘An echo of it – a reverberation, shall we say? Don’t quote me, Jo, for God’s sake. I’d be drummed out of every professional body there is. But it does go some way to explain why more than one person gets the same playback on occasions. It explains ghosts as well, of course. A good all-round theory.’ He laughed.
‘Have you seen a ghost?’
The strain, he noted with satisfaction, had lessened in her face; her neck muscles were no longer so prominent.
‘Never! I’m not the receptive type, thank God! You haven’t any coffee I suppose, Jo?’ He changed the subject thankfully. ‘I need a regular fix every two hours or I get withdrawal symptoms and it’s been twice that at least.’
‘Why not? Sam –’ She paused in the doorway, running her fingernail up and down the cream-painted woodwork. ‘Can you hypnotise people?’
‘I can. Yes.’
‘And regress them?’
‘I haven’t gone on with Cohen’s experiments,’ he replied carefully. ‘There are others chasing that particular hare now. My field is rather different.’
Jo grinned. ‘You didn’t answer my question, Dr Franklyn. Can you regress people?’
‘I have done, yes.’
‘And would you do it to me?’
‘Under no circumstances. Jo –’ He paused, groping for the right words. ‘Listen, love. You must not contemplate pursuing this matter. I meant it when I said you should not see Carl Bennet again. You must not allow anyone to try and regress you. I am not so concerned about the drama and the psychological stress that you are put under, although that is obviously not good for you. What worries me is the fact that you are prone to physiological reaction. You reflect physically what you are describing. That is very rare. It is also potentially dangerous.’
‘You mean if William beat me … her up, I’d wake up with bruises?’
‘Exactly.’ Sam compressed his lips.
‘And if she starved to death?’ The question came out as a whisper.
There was a pause. Sam looked away. ‘I think that is unlikely.’ He forced himself to laugh. ‘Nevertheless, it would obviously be foolish to put yourself deliberately at risk. Now, please – coffee?’
For a moment Jo did not move, her eyes on his face. Then slowly she turned towards the kitchen.
It was dark when Dorothy Franklyn arrived at the flat carrying an armful of roses. A tall, striking woman in her mid-sixties, she habitually wore tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses and immaculate Jaeger suits which made her look the epitome of efficiency. She was in fact always slightly disorganised and invariably late for whatever she was trying to do. Jo was enormously fond of her.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind me dropping in like this, Jo?’ she said apologetically as she came in. ‘I came up for a matinée and then I had supper but I wanted to leave you the flowers.’ She eyed Jo surreptitiously. ‘You look tired my dear. Would you rather I just left them and went?’
Jo shook her head. She caught the other woman’s arm and pulled her into the room. ‘Sit down and I’ll put the kettle on. You’ve just missed your son. That’s why I’m tired, he took me out to dinner.’
Dorothy smiled, her whole face lighting with pleasure. ‘Jo! I’m so glad. It broke my heart when you and he split up –’
‘No –’ Jo interrupted. ‘I meant Sam.’
‘Sam?’ Dorothy frowned. ‘I thought he was in Switzerland.’
‘He was. He’s stopped off in London for a few days – mainly to do a quick psychoanalysis of me, I think.’ Jo grinned wryly. ‘He’s staying at Nick’s flat if you want to see him. Nick’s not there of course, so the flat is free.’
She could feel the other woman’s eyes on her face, bright with embarrassment and sympathy, and she forced herself to go on smiling somehow.
‘How is Sam?’ Dorothy asked after a long pause.
‘Fine. He’s been giving a paper on some terribly obscure subject. I was very impressed. He took me to tea at the zoo.’ She laughed.
Dorothy smiled. ‘He always says the zoo teaches one so much about people.’ She hesitated, eyeing Jo thoughtfully. ‘He has always been very fond of you, you know, Jo. I don’t think you and Nick ever realised how much it hurt Sam when Nick walked off with you. Nick has always found it so easy to have any girl he wanted – I’m sorry, that sounds dreadful, and I know you were different – you were special to him. But you have been special to Sam too.’
Jo looked down guiltily. ‘I think I did know. It’s just that we met under such strange circumstances. I was a guinea pig in one of his experiments.’ She shivered. ‘Our relationship always seemed a little unreal after that. He was so concerned about me, but I always had the feeling it was a paternal concern, as if he were worried about my health.’ She paused abruptly. ‘He was, of course. I know that now. Anyway, he was twenty-six or -seven and I was only nineteen when we first met. We belonged to different worlds. I did rather fancy him –’ She was staring at the roses lying on the table. ‘If I’m honest I suppose I still do. He’s an attractive bloke. But then Nick came along …’ She stood up abruptly. ‘Let me put these in water or they’ll die before our eyes. And I’ll make you some coffee.’
‘Is it serious, this thing with Judy Curzon?’ Dorothy’s voice was gentle.
‘It sounds like it. She is much more his type than I ever was. She’s domesticated and artistic and a redhead.’ Jo forced herself to laugh. ‘Perhaps I should cultivate old Sam now. Better late than never and we seem to have quite a bit in common after all. It might even make Nick jealous!’ Scooping up the