Cold Page 2

  "Can I call a friend?" The contestant fidgeted in his seat.

  "You can; do you want to?"

  The contestant thought for a moment. "No. I'll answer... False."

  "Is that your final answer?"

  "Yes, false."

  "You're sure?"

  The contestant hesitated, his face draining of all colour.

  Harry was caught in the moment. "Come on, dipstick. You're right; everyone knows that."

  "You don't want to change your mind?" The quizmaster tapped on his board with his pen.

  The contestant looked to the audience, obviously having family out there somewhere. He looked like a man condemned, about to walk the final short distance. "False," he said again, his voice cracking under the strain.

  "You had six thousand pounds," the quizmaster said, his face impassive. There was silence ... a long silence ... the tapping of the pen on the board the only sound. "You now have twelve thousand pounds."

  The audience erupted; the contestant looked just about ready to faint.

  Harry switched channels quickly, unable to stand much more of the torture of the poor man. He was only on six thousand pounds; what would happen when he got to double figures and the more difficult questions? "Who the hell doesn't know that Prince Charles is the oldest of the Royal kids?" Harry asked herself.

  She flicked through a few more channels, watching some real life cop show from the States for a while, and then coming across `The World's Scariest Police Videos`, which contrary to the show's description seemed to all take place on American highways.

  It was then that she heard Jo. At first she thought she was calling for her, but as she neared the bedroom door she realised that her friend was in some kind of distress.

  She burst into the room to find the naked, dark woman thrashing wildly in her sleep, seemingly trying to disentangle herself from the duvet cover, which was coming loose from the quilt. Cries, apparently of pain and anguish, came from her.

  "Jo, stop," she said, climbing onto the bed with her friend and trying to get control of the long arms which threatened to deliver a painful blow in their thrashing.

  "Noo, don't go!" Jo sat bolt upright, her arms reaching for something unseen. Her eyes were wide, scanning the dark of her bedroom, which was lit only by the light from beyond the bedroom door.

  The blue gaze fell upon her friend, then Jo's face twisted and she collapsed back onto the bed and curled in on herself. Her arms were crossed across her chest, as if she was in great pain.

  "Jo?" It was like the calm after the storm; only the ragged breathing of the tall woman was audible now. Harry reached out and laid a hand on a heaving shoulder. "Are you alright?"

  Jo didn't reply for a long moment. "What time is it?" Her voice was hoarse, her breathing just coming under her control.

  "Um." Harry turned her watch towards the light filtering through the doorway. "Just after nine-thirty."

  Jo eased herself out of bed, wondering how she missed running the London marathon earlier that day. Surely she must have; her body was certainly telling her that it had gone through some sort of traumatic event that day. She pulled on a robe and shuffled out of the room, watched all the time by a bemused Harry.

  Harry shook her head and followed her friend down to the lounge.

  "What is this?" asked Jo, trying to focus sleepy eyes on the TV, which was showing the view from a police car as it followed a motorcyclist across rough ground.

  Harry picked up the remote and silenced the TV.

  Jo sat on the sofa, Harry on the armchair.

  "You ok?" asked the blonde.

  Jo looked as though she'd been awake a week, instead of asleep for the past few hours. "Nightmare. Christ, I haven't had a nightmare since I was at boarding school. Had them all the time there. Bloody nuns."

  "You want to tell me what it was about?"

  Jo shrugged. "Can't really remember."

  "But you know it was a nightmare?"

  "I was scared." Jo shook her head gently. "I know I was scared."

  "Was someone chasing you?" Harry leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, her chin cupped in her hands.

  Jo thought for a moment. "No, someone was leaving me." She was remembering the dream, remembering the feeling of pain and helplessness. "There was nothing I could do. No way I could reach her."

  "Her?" Harry sat upright; now this was getting interesting.

  Jo sighed, a long, knowing sigh. Harry must think she was losing her marbles.

  "Was it...?" Harry began.

  Another sigh, and Jo nodded her head. "It was the girl in the picture."

  "So, you do know her?"

  "I'm sure I don't." She leaned her head against the sofa back. "I mean, I don't think so. I've met a lot of women...." She paused hearing Harry's snort.

  "Sorry," said the blonde.

  "How would I know someone who lives on the street?"

  "Maybe she hasn't been on the street long."

  Jo ground the heel of her hand into her forehead, trying to ease the pain that was building there. "She just turned away from me and left me."

  Harry was quiet, waiting for her friend to continue.

  "I couldn't breathe," Jo said. "My legs wouldn't move. I watched her go and did nothing to stop her."

  Harry watched Jo carefully; the woman looked distraught. Her hair was stringy and falling in a tangled mess about her shoulders. A sheen of sweat covered her face and chest. Her hands clutched at the material of her robe. "Can you remember how the dream started?"

  Jo was silent, and for a while Harry wondered if she was going to answer.

  "I was walking through..." she thought for a moment, "... alleyways, I think. It was somewhere dark, and cold."

  "And she was there?"

  "Not to start with. But then she was."

  Harry squirmed on the chair, intrigued. "Did you talk to her?"

  One perfectly formed eyebrow rose and blue eyes pinned the blonde. "This is a dream, Harry. I can remember snippets, images, feelings. I can't remember conversations."

  "So, what did you feel?"

  Jo looked into the artificial flames of the fire. "Cold, I felt cold."

  Part 3

  Breathe, just breathe.

  Jo bolted upright, once again clutching her chest against the sharp pain that manifested itself right next to her heart.

  "Jo?"

  A sleep-tousled blonde head peeked up from beneath the quilt beside her.

  "You dreaming again?" asked Harry, looking up at her friend's dark profile, barely seen in the darkness.

  For the first time since she was a child, the darkness had disturbed Jo, resulting in her leaving the landing light on and asking her friend to sleep with her in her bed, rather than in the guestroom.

  "Yeah," was all that Jo could manage as she held the flat of her hand against her own wildly beating heart.

  "Same thing?" asked Harry, pulling herself to a sitting position and peering around Jo to see the illuminated numbers on the radio alarm. 01.37

  Jo nodded.

  "Same woman?" Harry waited while her friend composed herself.

  Jo swallowed hard, her eyes tightly shut. "I'm going mad, aren't I?" she said, burying her face in her hands.

  "I think maybe you're very tired," Harry said softly, "and the photos in the gallery affected you in some way. The tired mind can play strange tricks on you sometimes."

  Jo suddenly threw the quilt back and leaped out of bed. "Where are you going?" Harry asked, pulling the quilt around herself.

  "To have a chat with Mother."

  "Um. Jo?" Harry began, but Jo was already heading out of the bedroom, pulling on a robe as she went.

  By the time Harry reached the lounge, Jo had turned on the gas fire and was arguing with her Mother's chauffeur.

  "I really don't care, Jon. I want to talk to her and I want to talk to her now."

  Harry reached out a tentative hand and rested it on Jo's shoulder. "It's really late, Jo," she said quiet
ly.

  The tall woman ignored her. "What?" she barked into the phone. "Then I'll come over there; which would you prefer?"

  Harry moved away from the angry woman, realising she was being ignored, and watched Jo as she sat on the sofa, the phone still hard against her ear.

  "Mother?" Jo's eyes were closed, a look of something approaching pain on her face. "Yes, I know." She was obviously fending off an irate woman. "Well, it'll only take a moment. I need a phone number."

  Harry wordlessly handed Jo a pad of notepaper; the tall woman took it and the pen that was also handed to her.

  "Charles DeBurgh. Never mind that; do you have the number?"

  Jo scribbled something down and put the phone down without wishing her mother a good night.

  She punched in the numbers her mother had given her and waited while the phone rang. It was answered.

  "Charles, Joanna Holbrook-Sutherland. I need to see you......... Yes, I do know what the time is.......... No, not in the morning. Now. I need an address.... " Jo took a deep breath. "Charles, how long did my mother promise you in the gallery?" Another pause, and the faintest of smiles graced the beautiful face. "Did she now? That long? I could have you out of there on Monday. Now then, give me an address." Jo once again scribbled something on the notepad. "I'll be there shortly."

  After slamming the phone down, she passed a dumbstruck Harry and went back to her bedroom. She pulled on some underwear and jeans and a sweater, and then sat on the bed pulling a pair of sturdy ankle boots on.

  "D'you want me to come with you?" asked Harry, amazed at how quickly her friend could dress.

  "It's up to you. If you want to come, you had better be quick. I'll get the car out. Meet you downstairs."

  Harry quickly dressed and ran down the stairs. Jo was waiting outside the front door in the Merc.

  Harry shivered in the cold winter night. She eased into the passenger side of the convertible, reaching forward as she did so to make sure the heat was turned up to its highest setting.

  Jo had pulled out of the courtyard and onto the main road before Harry had a chance to secure her seatbelt.

  The streets were mostly quiet. The exceptionally cold weather and the late hour combined to keep most people in. A few cars were about, taking people home from nightclubs and maybe workers home after a long day.

  The occasional police car passed them as they made their way through the damp and freezing streets.

  Harry marvelled at Jo's knowledge of the streets, not knowing the part of London they were entering at all.

  Before long they arrived in a long street and Jo drove down it slowly, leaning over the steering wheel to see the numbers on the doors.

  "There it is," she said and pulled up against the kerb.

  She was out of the car and scanning the names below the six or so bells for the correct name. She rang one of them and waited.

  "Yes?" the mechanical voice said.

  She leaned close to the intercom. "Joanna," was all she said.

  There was a buzz, and she pushed the door open. Harry trudged along behind her, beginning to doubt her desire to follow her friend on this ridiculous chase across London.

  Charles DeBurgh was waiting by the open door of his apartment. He was wearing only a pair of red pyjama bottoms, and holding a glass with an unidentifiable substance in.

  He stood aside and allowed the two women to enter.

  "I don't know why I agreed to this," he said, gesturing towards the lounge. "Has this got anything to do with the exhibition?"

  Harry looked towards Jo when no answer was forthcoming. The tall woman was standing just inside the doorway, looking around her as if wondering where she was and how she got there.

  The blonde woman took hold of Jo's arm, "Jo, are you ok?"

  "What the hell am I doing?" she asked, turning away from Harry and facing a bemused photographer.

  "Shit! I hope you haven't dragged me out of bed because you're fucking well PMSing." Charles turned away from the two women and stalked into his lounge, slumping down on the sofa and taking a long draught of the drink he held in his hand.

  The two women followed him into the room, Harry sitting in one of the plump armchairs and Jo wandering aimlessly around the room.

  "One of the pictures in the exhibition..." Jo began, but faltered.

  "Well?" said Charles, his patience obviously waning.

  Jo closed her eyes. "I can't get her face out of my mind." There it was. Simple. To the point.

  Charles was quiet for a long moment, taking in the pale face of the woman standing before him. Then he stood abruptly. "Come with me."

  He led them to what they assumed was his office. There was a computer and a number of filing cabinets. From one he took a number of folders. He handed them to Jo. "That's all the photographs I had at the gallery."

  Jo sat on the small sofa that was in the room and placed the folders on the cushion next to her. With shaking hands she took out the photos. All were 6x4 colour prints.. There were three folders, and Jo carefully looked at each photo before placing it back in the folder.

  Charles waggled his empty glass at them and left the room. Harry sat on the chair in front of the computer table.

  The blonde watched Jo as she went through the pictures, one by one. Then her attention shifted. She surveyed the rest of the small room, then her gaze fell on the small clock sitting beside the computer. 02.47. Was she really sitting in a virtual stranger's flat, in the small hours of the morning, chasing after.... a what? What were they doing here? Chasing a dream? And not even her dream. The dream of this woman, who she loved. Like a sister? No, no sister would do the things to a sibling that she had in mind for Jo. But Jo didn't want that with her, and she would abide by her friend's decision.

  A gasp brought her out of her musings.

  Jo was looking at a photo, holding it in shaking hands. "They're green," she whispered.

  Harry moved the folders away from Jo's side and sat next to her friend, peering at the picture still held carefully in her hands.

  Jo turned towards Harry. "Her eyes are green, the same as in my dream. How did I know that?"

  Harry took the photograph from Jo, and looked long and hard at the face staring back at her. "I thought you didn't see much of her in the dream."

  "I didn't." Jo took a handful of her own hair in both hands and pulled sharply. She took in a deep breath. "This is crazy. What am I going to say to Charles? He's going to think I'm some crazy woman."

  There was no answer from her friend who was studying the photo with quiet deliberation.

  "You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

  Harry didn't look up. For a start, she didn't know how to answer Jo. Yes, she had, on the drive to Charles' flat, decided that her best friend had finally lost her marbles. All the nights of partying, enjoying the attentions of beautiful women, had finally taken their toll. But it was the broken sound of Jo's voice that silenced her.

  She handed the photo back. "I'm going to talk to Charles. Take a moment to think."

  Jo nodded, her shoulders slumped.

  Harry found Charles sitting in his lounge, nursing another glass of whatever he was drinking.

  "Can I?" Harry said, pointing towards the small bar.

  "Be my guest," said Charles, but there was a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

  Harry poured herself a whisky and sat back down on the sofa, facing Charles.

  "This isn't like Jo at all." Harry watched him, waiting for the caustic reply she was sure was coming.

  "Really?"

  "Yeah, really." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "I've never seen her like this before. Jo is the youngest of Lord and Lady Collingford's children. They have never pushed her. And she has no ambition." Harry searched for the right words. "She's a ..... free spirit. That's the best way I know to describe her. She's never had a worry in her life. Anything she's ever wanted, her parents have bought her. The biggest decision she makes is which restaurant to visit on which night."


  Charles looked at her vacantly. "And you're telling me this..... for some reason?"

  "I'm trying to explain how out of character this is for her. Something has shaken her so badly she feels she needs to chase around London, in the small hours, just to try to get to the bottom of it." Harry looked at the man, feeling she was battering her head against a brick wall. However strange her friend's actions were to her, she would still defend Jo to the last.

  Charles looked up, and Harry followed his gaze, finding Jo standing in the doorway.

  She walked across the room towards Charles, the picture in her hands. "Can you tell me who this is?" she asked

  Charles couldn't take his eyes from the troubled, blue gaze. He reached out and took the photo. Tearing his eyes from Jo's, he looked down at the face on the photo.

  "Rocky," he said.

  A muted chuckle from Harry was quickly arrested when the blonde saw the confusion on Jo's face.

  "Rocky?" the tall woman said.

  "I should imagine that wasn't her real name."

  "Rocky." Jo said again, feeling the name, deciding something was wrong. "You've spoken to her?"

  Charles shrugged. "Briefly. She's not terribly talkative. Very nervous of strangers."

  "How did you manage to get her to pose for this then?" asked Jo, taking the picture from Charles. She stared at it. `Rocky'? Even though she didn't know the girl's name, she instinctively knew that wasn't it.

  Charles laughed; not a nice laugh, Jo decided. "She didn't pose. I got that after waiting for hours for her. It became something of a challenge."

  "She didn't want her picture taken then?" Harry asked.

  "Not likely." Charles drained his glass and rose to get a refill.

  "But you took it anyway," said Jo.

  Charles turned from the bar, his glass now full. "Look at that face, Jo. I had to capture that. "

  "So it was like some kind of game for you. A hunt?"

  Another shrug from the photographer. "You could call it that, I suppose. I waited for three days before I got that shot."

  "Where?" Jo asked, her stomach clenching; she was getting close.

  "Where what?" Charles was looking smug now, remembering outwitting the girl who had been so elusive.