Lady of Hay: An enduring classic – gripping, atmospheric and utterly compelling. Barbara Erskine

found the orange coffee pot full of cold grounds and with a grimace began to rinse it out in the sink. ‘What’s been going on here?’ he called out over his shoulder.

      ‘Nothing, as you can plainly see,’ she answered quietly. Soundlessly she had come to stand in the doorway behind him, watching. ‘I’ve been working, as I said, so I haven’t been skivvying and the place is a shambles.’

      He rummaged in the fridge and brought out half a bottle of milk. Solids floated in the clear blue whey as he held it to the light and he shuddered as he tipped it out. ‘You obviously need looking after, lady.’

      ‘Don’t I just.’ She found two clean mugs in the back of the cupboard. ‘We’ll have to have it black. So. What have you come for?’

      ‘To talk. To see how you are.’

      ‘I am fine. Busy. Unencumbered. Just the way I like it.’

      ‘And starving?’

      She smiled. ‘Are you offering to take me to lunch?’

      ‘Nope.’ The coffee made to his satisfaction, he poured it out and, gathering up the two mugs, he led the way back to the living room.

      He put down the mugs and 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.’ Deliberately misunderstanding him she flopped down on the sofa cushions and reached out her hand for the mug.

      ‘You know my views about this hypnotism business.’

      ‘And you know mine.’ She grinned at him, her grey-green eyes narrowing. ‘So let’s break new ground. Let’s discuss my wholefood article. I’ve an interview fixed up with Rose Elliot and another with the head chef at the Ritz, to find out –’

      ‘Jo, will you promise me not to let yourself be hypnotised?’

      She leaned forward and put down the mug. ‘I’ll promise you nothing Nick. Nothing at all.’

      ‘I’ve a good reason for asking.’

      ‘Yes. You think you can meddle in my life. Well you can’t. I thought I had made that clear. I am not your concern.’

      ‘Christ, Jo! Don’t you know how dangerous hypnosis can be? You hear awful stories of people permanently damaged by playing with something they don’t understand.’

      ‘I’m not playing, Nick,’ she replied icily. ‘Any more than you play at advertising.’

      He sat down opposite her, his blue eyes hard. ‘Advertising does not interfere with your consciousness –’

      ‘That’s a matter of opinion!’

      ‘And neither,’ he went on, ignoring her interruption, ‘does it seek to work in your mind without your conscious knowledge.’

      ‘Oh no?’ She laughed. ‘Oh, Nick, don’t be so naive. What else is advertising but mind bending? You’ve read enough psychological crap to qualify you three times over as a better shrink than your brother! But that’s not the point. The point is I’m working. Working, not playing, on a series of articles. If I were a war correspondent I’d go to war. If I find my field of research is hypnotism I get hypnotised. If necessary.’ Furiously she got up and walked up and down the room a couple of times. ‘But if it worries you so much perhaps you’d be consoled if I tell you that I can’t be hypnotised. Some people can’t. They tried it on me once at university.’

      Nick sat up abruptly, his eyes on her face. ‘Sam told me about that time,’ he said with caution.

      ‘So why the hell do you keep on then?’ She turned on him. ‘Ring up your brother and ask him all about it. Samuel Franklyn, M.D., D.P.M. He will spell it out for you.’

      ‘Jo –’

      ‘Go to hell, Nick! Or take me to a pub. But don’t mention the subject again, OK?’

      Nick groaned. ‘You are a stubborn, stupid, blind fool, Jo.’

      She stared angrily at him for a moment. Then, unexpectedly, she grinned. ‘I know. It’s hell isn’t it? Shall I get my jacket?’

      As they were walking along the river’s edge after a pub lunch at Strand on the Green Nick broached the subject again, however. They had stopped to look at the water as it sucked and gurgled around the bows of a moored yacht and divided to race around Oliver’s Eyot.

      He watched her covertly as she stared at the water, mesmerised by the glint of sunlight on the wet mud slicks, her eyes narrowed in the glare. ‘Jo. Will you talk to Sam? There’s something I think you should know.’

      She looked round and stared at him. ‘Nick, I thought I warned you –’

      ‘No. I’m warning you. You’ve got to listen, Jo. I’m not interfering, I’m not trying to wreck your career. Sam told me I should never discuss this with you. But it’s important and I think you should talk to him. It’s about that time in Edinburgh when you were hypnotised –’

      ‘When I wasn’t hypnotised!’

      She turned and began walking briskly back towards Kew Bridge. ‘Thanks for the lunch, Nick. It was nice, for old times’ sake. Now I suggest you get back to Judy. I’ll get a bus home –’

      ‘Don’t be an idiot, Jo.’ Almost running, he caught her up and took her arm as she made her way between the Saturday afternoon strollers. On the river behind them a coach yelled instructions to a rowing eight through a megaphone. Neither of them heard him, too engrossed in their furious antagonism. As they reached the car he forced her to get in and drove in tight-lipped silence till they drew up outside her flat. Then he turned to her and put his hand on her wrist. ‘Jo, Sam will be in London next week. Just hold on till then. Promise me. Once he’s seen you –’

      ‘Seen me?’ she echoed. ‘For God’s sake, Nick. What’s the matter with you? I need to see your brother about as much as I need you at the moment and that is not a lot!’

      ‘Jo, it’s important,’ he said desperately. ‘There is something you don’t know. Something you don’t remember –’

      She turned on him. ‘What do you mean I don’t remember? I remember every bit of that session in Edinburgh. Better than Sam does obviously. Oh, I’m sure he doesn’t want me to investigate the subject of regression. It’s one of his pet theories, isn’t it, and he doesn’t want me to debunk it in the press. That wouldn’t suit him at all!’ She groped furiously for her seat-belt release. ‘Just leave me alone, Nick! If your brother wants to see me, let him come and see me. I’ll deal with him myself. You and I have nothing else to say to each other. Nothing!’

      She flung the car door open and climbed out. ‘Goodbye, Nick.’

      He watched, exasperated, as she ran up the steps, then he drove off without looking back.

      Closing the street door behind her she leaned against it for a moment, blinking hard. Then resolutely she began to climb the stairs to her own front door. It was only when she reached the top that she realised that he still had her spare set of keys.

      Pete Leveson, resplendent in a pink silk shirt and velvet jacket, picked Jo up on the following Wednesday soon after six.

      ‘Still not talking to Nick?’ he asked as he opened the car door for her. The black Audi Quatro was double-parked outside her flat.

      ‘I’ve not seen him since Saturday.’ She settled in and pulled the seat-belt across her green silk dress. ‘But I think we will tonight. Do you mind?’

      ‘As long as you don’t actually expect me to hit him.’ He eased the car out into the traffic.

      ‘We don’t have that sort of relationship, Pete. It’s very civilised.’ Jo frowned.