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

      ‘Yet.’

      He turned. ‘What does that mean exactly?’

      ‘She’s going crazy.’

      Laughing, he turned away again. ‘No, not crazy. A little confused, perhaps. A little frightened. But that is all.’ He picked the lemon out of his glass and sucked it. ‘There is no need for Jo to leave London to aid your plans.’ He paused. ‘I can drive a wedge between her and Nick which will put them further than four hundred miles apart, I can assure you. I can make Jo hate him. I can make her afraid of him, I can make her revile and scorn him.’ He hadn’t raised his voice, but Judy stared at him. His tone had been full of venom.

      ‘You don’t like your brother very much, do you?’ she said cautiously.

      He grinned suddenly. ‘What makes you think that? I would be doing it for you!’

      There was a long pause as they looked warily at one another. ‘I don’t think so,’ Judy said at last. ‘I don’t think you’re even doing it because you like Jo. I think you’re doing it to hurt Nick.’

      Sam laughed out loud. ‘Maybe. Maybe not. But you’ll be there to pick up the pieces and kiss him better, won’t you!’

      Nick was sitting in the cockpit of the Moon Dancer, the tiller tucked beneath his arm, the sun full on his face as he squinted up at the spread of cream canvas.

      ‘Happy?’ He glanced at Jo, who was lying on the cabin roof. She was wearing white jeans rolled up above the knees and a striped bikini top. She rested her chin on her hands and grinned at him, her hair blowing across her face. ‘Happy. Better. Sane. Thanks!’

      ‘And hungry?’

      She nodded. ‘Are we going to stop at Bosham?’

      ‘I don’t see why not. Lunch at the Anchor Bleu and back out on the tide. Or we can spend the rest of the day there. Leave tomorrow. Whichever.’

      He adjusted the sheet a little, watching the mainsail wing out before the wind as the huge orange spinnaker flapped for a moment, then ballooned full once more.

      Jo licked her lips, tasting the salt from the spray. ‘Let’s wait and see.’ Already she could see the little pointed roof on the tower of Bosham church at the head of the creek. The tide was nearly high, brimming to the edge of the saltings where a cloud of terns danced over the sparkling ripples. She turned to watch a huge ocean racer draw smoothly past them under power. ‘I haven’t thanked you for last night,’ she said suddenly.

      ‘For what? As I remember, nothing happened.’

      ‘Exactly.’ She pushed her sunglasses up into her hair. ‘You gave me space, Nick. It was what I needed. A super meal, enough Scotch to float the Titanic and oblivion.’

      He laughed. ‘You certainly look a little less tense.’

      ‘I am. Once out of that flat I seem to be able to think straight. I’ve behaved like an emotional idiot, allowing myself to be influenced by all this business. Can you imagine? Jo Clifford, cool, businesslike, imperturbable Jo Clifford, allowing herself to be so affected that my body reacted psychosomatically. I shall write the story next week, and get it out of my system completely, then I intend to forget all about it.’

      Nick glanced at her. ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he said quietly. ‘Welcome back, Jo Clifford.’

      They anchored in Bosham creek and paddled ashore in the inflatable dinghy. Walking across the long lush grass of the quay meadow, they strolled past the church, breathing in the air heady with honeysuckle and roses, intoxicatingly sweet after the sharp salt of the sea wind, laughing as they dusted aside drifts of white petals from the hedge. They ate a ploughman’s lunch sitting outside the pub in the sun, then walked on slowly through the village hand in hand, watching the tide lap up over the road, and slowly draw back leaving a shining trail of mud and weed. They hardly spoke at all as they walked along the point, then back across the causeway to lie for a while side by side on the grass, dozing in the sun.

      It was dark before they once more found their dinghy and paddled out beneath the stars to find Moon Dancer swinging at her buoy. Jo lay back against the rounded rubber sides of the little boat and stared up at the sky. ‘Do you know the names of all the constellations?’ she asked lazily in the silence.

      Nick looked up. ‘I used to. I’m always meaning to brush up on my astral navigation in case Dancer and I decide to head for deep water.’

      ‘Seriously?’ She raised her head and looked at him.

      ‘Why not? I can think of worse things to do for a year. Let Jim take over the business.’

      She bit her lip silently, watching as he came alongside the boat and reached up to knot the painter to a stanchion. They climbed on board and Nick opened the hatchway to the cabin. Jo did not follow him below. She stood for a moment quite still in the cockpit staring across the darkly gleaming water. Then she shivered.

      Nick had turned on the lights. ‘A nightcap before bed?’ he called.

      She did not answer. She was watching the line of orange lights strung like beads along the main A27 at the end of the creek in the distance. With the wind off the sea she couldn’t hear the traffic. All she could hear was the occasional dull slap of water against the planking and a splash as a fish jumped in the darkness. Once more she looked up at the glitter of stars above them, with the broad swathe of the Milky Way like an untidy scarf of samite dragged across the midnight velvet of the sky.

      A cold breath of air touched her cheek and she heard the immediate chatter of the halyards against the mast and the chuckle of rippling water beneath the bow. As the wind came round Moon Dancer turned a little across the tide. Somewhere in the dark a nightbird screamed.

      Jo climbed down into the cabin. Nick had put the kettle onto the little stove and was sitting on the bunk in the cramped cabin studying a chart of the Solent.

      ‘Would you like to dig out a couple of mugs?’ He didn’t look up.

      She didn’t move for a moment, then slowly she began to unbutton her shirt. She reached for the light switch and flipped it off.

      Nick looked up, startled. ‘Hey! –’ He stopped.

      She took off her shirt and then her bra. He could see her breasts by the tiny light from the gas flame beneath the kettle. Holding his breath, he watched as she slipped off her jeans. Then she came and knelt in front of him.

      ‘I’m frightened, Nick,’ she whispered. ‘It’s not all over. It all happened, all those years ago and the echo of it is still out there.’ She nodded towards the sky beyond the open hatch. ‘My destiny is somehow linked with a woman who lived and died eight hundred years before I was born. I can’t turn my back on her.’

      Nick was slowly unbuttoning his own shirt. Gently he reached out and touched her breasts.

      ‘I think you must, Jo. And I think you can.’

      He drew her between his knees, the angles of his face harsh in the blue light of the gas. ‘I’ll make you forget. If it’s the last thing I do, I shall make you forget.’

      ‘Are you sure you don’t mind being hypnotised with Mr Franklyn present?’ Carl Bennet looked at Jo closely. Outwardly she was more relaxed than he had seen her yet. She was tanned and smiling, and yet he could sense a tension deep inside her which worried him.

      She nodded as she sat down. ‘I want Nick here, and you do understand I don’t want to be regressed any more, Dr Bennet. I want you to blot the whole thing out. Make me forget.’

      He nodded slowly. ‘It is the best thing I think, my dear, although I must admit I am sorry in many ways. I had wanted an American colleague of mine to see you. I was talking to him in the States and he was hoping to fly over and see you himself –’

      ‘No!’ Jo clenched her fists. ‘I’m sorry too, in a lot of ways. I wanted to know what