Authors: Minette Walters
‘Of course.’
‘Wouldn’t it have been courteous to tell me before I spoke to the policemen that the accident happened several days ago?’ He had a rather charming face, she
thought, a little weary, but lived in and comfortable. Like his sports jacket, which had seen better days, and the cavalry twill trousers that drooped at the hem where his heel had caught it. He
was the sort of man whom, in other circumstances, she might have chosen for a friend because he seemed careless of convention. But she was afraid of him and sought refuge in pomposity.
He balanced his fountain pen between his forefingers. ‘In the circumstances, I thought it better to let you speak the truth as you understood it.’
‘What circumstances?’
‘You had almost twice the legal limit of alcohol in your blood when you crashed your car. The police are considering whether to charge you but I think they may let the matter
drop after this morning. They tend to be somewhat sceptical of a doctor’s diagnosis, less so of the patients themselves. I could see no harm in wringing a little sympathy out of PCs Gregg and
Hardy.’
Her reflection smiled at him in the mirror. ‘That was a kind thought.’
She had never been drunk in her life because she had watched Betty stagger about the house too
often to want to emulate her
. ‘Could you pass me the ashtray?’ ‘
You got drunk and tried to kill yourself . . .
’ ‘Thank you.’ She placed it on the bed
in front of her. ‘What exactly has happened to me, Dr Protheroe?’
He leaned forward, clamping his large hands between his knees. ‘In a nutshell, you left a car travelling at approximately forty miles per hour, gave yourself the sort of
knock-out blow that would have felled an ox, then continued under your own impetus, grazing your scalp, eye and arms as you did so. The first miracle is that you’re here at all, the second
miracle is that you didn’t fracture anything in the process and the third miracle is that you’ll be as good as new before you know it. Once your hair grows back over the flaps of skin
that had to be stitched, no one will know you’ve had an accident. The price you paid for all that, however, was concussion, one symptom of which is post-traumatic amnesia. You have been
conscious but deeply confused for the last five days, and that confusion may persist on and off for some time to come. Think of your brain as a computer. Any memory that is safely filed has a good
chance of reinstatement, but memories that you were too confused to store properly may never return. So, for example, despite the fact you were conscious, you’re unlikely to recollect your
transfer here from Odstock Hospital, or indeed your first interview with the police.’
She looked past him towards the gardens that lay beyond her window. ‘And is pre-traumatic amnesia equally normal?’ she asked him. ‘I have no memory of the accident
or what led up to it.’
‘Don’t be confused by the term “post”. That’s simply referring to amnesia after trauma. But with regard to what you don’t remember before the
accident, that’s usually referred to as retrograde amnesia. It’s not uncommon and seems to depend on the severity of the head injury. We talk about loss of memory,’ he went on,
‘when we should talk about
temporary
loss. Bit by bit you’ll remember events before the accident, though it may take a little while to understand how the pieces fit together
because you may not remember them in chronological order. You may also, although it’s less likely, remember things that never happened, simply because your memory will have stored plans of
future events and you may recollect the plans as real. The trick is to avoid worrying about it. Your brain, like the rest of your body, has taken a knock and needs time to heal itself. That’s
all this amnesia is.’
‘I understand. Does that mean I can go home quite soon?’
‘To your parents?’ he asked.
‘No. To London.’
‘Is there anyone there who can look after you, Jinx?’
She was about to say Leo before she remembered that, according to her stepmother, he wasn’t there any more.
Do me a favour, said the intrusive voice of cynicism,
Leo
look after you? Ha! Ha! Ha!
Instead, she said nothing and continued to stare out of the window. She resented the way this man called her Jinx, as if he and she were well acquainted, when her
entire knowledge of him resided in an avuncular chat about a condition that was rocking her to her very foundations. And she resented his assumption that she was a willing participant in this
conversation, when the only emotion she felt was a seething anger.
‘Your father’s keen for you to remain here where he feels you’ll be properly looked after. However, it’s entirely your choice and, if you think you’ll
be happier in London, then we can arrange to transfer you as long as you understand that you do need to be looked after. In the short term anyway.’
Her reflection examined him. ‘Is Adam paying you?’
He nodded. ‘This is a private clinic.’
‘But not a hospital?’
‘No. We specialize in addiction therapy,’ he told her. ‘But we do offer convalescent care as well.’
‘I’m not addicted to anything.’ ‘
You got drunk . . .
’
‘No one’s suggesting you are.’
She drew on her cigarette. ‘Then why is my father paying four hundred pounds a day for me to be here?’ she asked evenly. ‘I could have convalescent care in a
nursing home for a fraction of that.’
He studied her as she sat like a dignified, one-eyed Buddha upon her bed. ‘How did you know it costs four hundred pounds a day?’
‘My stepmother told me,’ she lied. ‘I know my father very well, Dr Protheroe, so, predictably, it was the first thing I asked her.’
‘He did warn me you’d take nothing for granted.’
The reflection smiled at him
. ‘I certainly don’t like being lied to,’ she murmured. ‘My stepmother told me I tried to commit suicide.’ She
watched him for a reaction, but there was none. ‘I don’t believe it,’ she went on dispassionately, ‘but I do believe that Adam would pay a psychiatrist to straighten me out
if
he
believed it. So what sort of therapy is he buying for me?’
‘No one’s lying to you, Jinx. Your father was very concerned that you should be in an environment where you could recover at your own speed and in your own way. Certainly
we have psychiatrists on the premises, and certainly we offer therapy to those who want it, but I am precisely what I said I was, a doctor pure and simple. My role is largely administrative, but I
also take an interest in our convalescent patients. There is nothing sinister about your being here.’
Was that right? It didn’t feel right. Even the woman in the mirror found that one hard to swallow.
‘Did Adam tell you I am very hostile to psychiatrists and
psychiatry?’
‘Yes he did.’
‘Why does he think I tried to kill myself?’
‘Because that’s the conclusion the police have reached after their investigation into your crash.’
‘They’re wrong,’ she said tightly. ‘I would never commit suicide.’
‘OK,’ Protheroe said easily. ‘I’m not arguing with you.’
She closed her eye. ‘Why would I suddenly want to kill myself when I’ve never wanted to before?’ Anger roared in her ears.
He didn’t say anything.
‘Please,’ she said harshly. ‘I would like to know what’s being said about me.’
‘All right, if you accept that there’s a good deal of physical evidence to support the police theory, then the rationale behind it seems to be that you were upset by your
broken engagement. Your last real memory is saying goodbye to Leo when you left London two and a half weeks ago to stay with your parents at Hellingdon Hall. You probably don’t remember doing
it, but you’ve repeated that memory several times – to the police and to my colleagues at Odstock Hospital – and they have concluded, possibly wrongly, that it’s important
to you to preserve a happy memory over the memory of the night a week later when Leo told you he was leaving you for your friend, Meg Harris.’
She considered this in silence for a long time. ‘Then they’re saying my amnesia isn’t entirely physical. There’s an element of face-saving in it. Because I
can’t bear to think of Leo rejecting me, I’ve wiped his shabbiness out of my mind and then gone on to forget my own weakness in being unable to face life without him.’
Her choice of words was fascinating
. ‘In substance, that’s what your father’s been told.’
‘All right’ – he saw tears glistening on her lashes – ‘if I was so distraught about Leo deserting me two weeks ago that I had to wipe the whole thing
out of my memory, then why am I not equally distraught learning about it all over again?’
‘I don’t know. It’s interesting, isn’t it? How would
you
explain it?’
She looked away. ‘I was having too many problems adjusting to the whole idea of marriage. The only thing I feel now is relief that I don’t have to go through with it.
I’d say I wasn’t distraught the first time.’
He nodded. ‘I’m prepared to accept that. So, let’s talk about it. Was the wedding your idea or Leo’s?’
‘The wedding was my father’s idea, but if you’re asking me whose idea it was to get married, then that was Leo’s. He sprang it on me out of the blue a couple
of months ago, and I said yes because at the time I thought it was what I wanted.’
‘But you changed your mind.’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you tell anyone?’
‘I don’t think so.’ She felt his scepticism as strongly as if he’d reached out and touched her with it.
Oh God, what a bloody awful situation this was
.
‘But I’m sure Leo must have known,’ she said quickly. ‘Does he say I was unhappy about him leaving?’
Dr Protheroe shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’
She looked at the telephone on her bedside table. ‘I know Meg’s home number. We could phone him and ask him.’
But did she want to do that? Would Leo ever admit
that it was she who didn’t want to marry him?
‘At the moment he’s not available. The police have tried. He’s out of the country for a few weeks.’
Not available
. She already knew that.
How?
She licked her lips nervously. ‘What about Meg?’
‘She’s with him. I’m told they’ve gone to France.’ He watched her hands writhe in her lap and wondered what complicated emotions had driven the other
two to betray her. ‘You were telling me why you changed your mind,’ he prompted her. ‘What happened? Was it a sudden decision or something that developed gradually?’
She struggled to remember. ‘I came to realize that the only reason he wanted to marry me was because I’m Adam Kingsley’s daughter and Adam’s not poor.’
But was that true? Wasn’t it Russell who had wanted to marry her for her money?
She fell silent and thought about what she’d said. ‘“He that diggeth a pit shall fall
into it,”’ she murmured.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because you’re going to ask me if Meg Harris’s family is wealthy.’
He didn’t say anything.
‘They’re not. Her father earns a pittance as a rural vicar.’ She ground her cigarette into the ashtray and fixed a smile to her lips. ‘So presumably Leo has
discovered true love at last.’
‘Are you angry with Meg? Your stepmother tells me you’ve known her a long time.’
‘We were at Oxford together.’ She looked up. ‘And no, I’m not, as a matter of fact, but that’s only because I’m finding it all rather difficult to
believe at the moment. I only have Betty’s word for it.’
‘Don’t you believe her?’
‘Not often, but that’s not an indication of an Electra complex. She’s the only mother I’ve ever known and I’m very fond of her.’
He raised an amused eyebrow. ‘What did you read at Oxford? Classics?’
She nodded. ‘And a complete waste of time they were, too, for someone who was only ever interested in photography. I can do crosswords and decipher the roots of words, but
apart from that my education was wasted.’
‘What is that?’ He gave his beard a thoughtful scratch. ‘A defence mechanism against anyone who thinks you’re over-privileged?’
‘Just habit,’ she said dismissively. ‘My father finds my qualifications rather more impressive than anyone else does.’
‘I see.’
She doubted that very much. Adam’s pride in his only daughter bordered on the obsessional, which was why there was so little love lost between any of the inhabitants of
Hellingdon Hall. How much did this doctor know? she wondered. Had he met Adam? Did he understand the tyranny under which they lived?
‘Look,’ she said abruptly, ‘why don’t I make this easy for you? I mean, I know this routine off by heart. How old were you when your mother died? Two. How old
were you when Adam remarried? Seven. Did your stepmother resent you? I’ve no idea, I was too young to notice. Did you resent her? I’ve no idea, I was too young to know what resentment
was. Have you any brothers or sisters? Two half-brothers, Miles and Fergus. Do you resent them? No. Do
they
resent
you
? No. How old are they? Twenty-six and twenty-four. Are they
married? No, they still live at home. Do you love your father? Yes. Does he love you? Yes.’
Protheroe’s laugh, a great booming sound that would bring reluctant smiles whenever she heard it, bounced around the room. ‘My God,’ he said, ‘what do you do
for an encore? Bite psychiatrists’ heads off? I came to find out if you were comfortable, Jinx. As far as possible, I would like your stay here to be a happy one.’
She lit another cigarette.
He knew nothing
. ‘I’m sure it will be. Adam wouldn’t pay four hundred pounds a day unless he’d checked you out very
thoroughly.’
‘You’re the one who’ll be calling the shots, not your father.’
She flicked him a sideways glance. ‘I wouldn’t count on that if I were you,’ she said quietly. ‘Adam hasn’t made his millions by sitting idly by while
other people express themselves. He’s a very manipulative man.’
Protheroe shrugged. ‘He certainly seems to have your best interests at heart.’
She blew a smoke ring into the air. ‘Show me his heart, Dr Protheroe, and I might believe you.’
Chapter Four
Wednesday, 22 June, 53 Lansing Road, Salisbury – 8.05 p.m.