Lady of Hay Barbara Erskine (reading books for 7 year olds TXT) 📖

Jo frowned. "I slept so heavily, " she said slowly. "And such a long sleep. Richard left. He had given up.... He was old, Ann. Old. " Her eyes filled with tears. "I must have cried myself to sleep. "

Nick leaned forward and turned on the car radio. Beside him was the map and the route Ben had given him to follow via Hereford and Ross. He had spent the night, in the end, at a pub somewhere in the mountains, leaving before breakfast to try to find his way back to the route after driving aimlessly for hours the evening before. He felt drowsy and very depressed.

He blinked, trying to concentrate on the blue car in front of him, pacing himself as the early-morning sun beat down into his face. He did not want to return to London. Every ounce of his being cried out to stay in Wales with Jo. Clenching his teeth, he put his foot on the accelerator and swooped past the blue car. In its place now was a green van. It slowed, blocking his way, and he braked, swearing.

It was somewhere just south of Hereford, as the A49 swept up toward the crest of a long hill, that he slammed on the brakes again. He was staring at the signpost on the opposite side of the road. The sound of the radio faded, as did the swish of cars overtaking him, the speed of their passing making the Porsche shudder as it sat at the curbside.

ACONBURY 1 MILE

He frowned. The name meant something to him. But what? Slowly, without quite knowing why, he pulled the car into the side road and drove slowly down it, staring ahead through the windshield at the woods and thick hedgerows on either side of what turned out to be a narrow, winding lane. He drove on, past some farm buildings, then the car drifted to a halt outside a small deserted church. His chest felt tight and his heart was beating with an uneasy, irregular rhythm as he climbed out.

Still without knowing why, he walked through the gate and past some old yews toward it. Two carved angels hung on the oak pillars of the porch, staring across the uneven flags. Walking in between them, he tried the huge rusty iron ring handle of the church door. It did not move. Then he read the typed message pinned to the heavy oak:

NOTICE TO VISITORS This church has been declared redundant and is now used as a diocesan store.... Visitors are always welcome to view the building and the key can be made available by prior appointment....

Nick sat down abruptly on the narrow stone seat that formed part of the wall of the porch. He found himself breathing very deeply. There was a sting of tears behind his eyes and a lump in his throat But why? Why should this small, lost church fill him with such overwhelming unhappi-ness?

Suddenly unable to bear the enormous misery that flooded through him, he stood up once more and, ducking outside, almost ran back to the car, climbing in and resting his head against the rim of the steering wheel. It was ten minutes before he reversed the car into the gateway and made his way back to the main road.

Jo reached London about seven that evening. They had tried to persuade her to stay, but when she insisted she had to go back, Ann's relief was almost palpable. They parted with kisses and promises that they would see one another again very soon—but there was no more mention of Matilda. Jo knew that if her past came to her again, it must be alone. She could ask no more of Ann and Ben.

After making her way slowly up to her apartment, she let herself in. There was only a second's hesitation as she looked around, wondering with a sudden feeling of nervousness if Nick were there, but the apartment was empty. She toured it once quickly, opening all the windows, then she let herself relax. It was good to be home.

She showered and changed and poured herself a glass of apple juice. Then she unpacked her notes and piled them on the coffee table. The Clements article was practically finished.

The sudden ringing of the phone made her jump. She climbed to her feet and went to answer it slowly, suddenly apprehensive.

"Jo? How are you?" It was Sam.

Her body went rigid. She felt her fingers lock around the receiver, her knuckles white as she turned to look out at the drooping flowers on the balcony. "I'm well, thank you. " She kept her voice carefully neutral.

"When did you get back from Wales?" Sam's voice rang so clearly in the room it sounded as if he were there with her.

"Only an hour ago. " She felt the rags of tension beginning to pull at her temples. Her head was beginning to throb. Put the phone down. She must put the phone down. But she didn't. She stayed where she was, her eyes on the stone balustrade with its curtain of wilting green.

"May I speak to Nick?" Sam was speaking again.

Jo felt her stomach tighten. "He's not here, Sam. I don't know where he is. "

"Did he go back to Lynwood House?" She could hear the amusement in his tone.

"I told you, I don't know where he is. "

There was a pause. "I see. Do I gather you have quarreled again?" he said at last.

"No, Sam. " Jo could hear her voice rising slightly. Desperately she tried to keep it level. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but we haven't quarreled. We are the best of friends. We had a lovely time in Wales, and whatever it was you tried to do to Nick didn't work. And just in case you think you can come here again and repeat the charade, forget it. We know what you're up to. It won't work, Sam, do you hear? It won't work. "

There was