Authors: Frederic Lindsay
'While
I
was
there,
she
became
unwell.
Do
you
know
anything
about
migraine?
Don't
compare
it
to
what
happens
when
you
get
a
bad
headache.
It's
real
pain.
People
who
get
it
when
they're
driving,
have
to
pull
in
at
the
side
of
the
road.
It
blinds
them.
She's
a
bad
case.
She
hates
it
and
it
frightens
her.
The
attacks
have
been
coming
more
often
lately.
She
comes
to
me
because
I
can
help
her.’
'Help
her?'
'Go
up
to
her.
Closer.
Do
you
understand?'
'Her
eyes
are
open,
but
she
doesn't
see
me.
Mrs
Ure?'
She
stretched
out
her
hand
to
touch
the
older
woman
on
the
cheek,
and then
drew
it
back,
partly
in
fright,
more
from
a
sudden
sense
of
shame.
'She
felt
an
attack
coming
on
–
they
get
a
kind
of
warning,
you
see.
And,
luckily,
she
was
nearby.
She's
under
hypnosis.
I've
helped
other
people
–
and
I'm
trying
to
help
her.
It's
something
I
can
do,
but
I
don't
talk
about
it.
It's
not
something
I
want
to
be
known
for
–
either
people
would
pester
me
and
make
it
cheap
like
a
party
trick,
or
they'd
be
begging
for
me
to
help
them.
I'd
get
no
peace.
I
can't
help
everyone,
and
I
wouldn't
charge
for
it, not
when
it's
a
gift.’
If
he
was
telling
the
truth,
he
was
taking
back
from
her
that
wonderful
chance,
to
free
Maitland
from
his
marriage –
and
not
be
blamed.
It
was
too
unfair.
Yet
his
confidence confused
her.
If
the
story
was
crazy,
its
best
witness
was
Lucy
Ure,
so
blank-eyed
and
oblivious.
At
the
same
time,
like
a
deep
cut
saving
its
hurt
for later,
she
began
the
process
of
understanding
that,
if
it
was
true,
Maitland
had
told
her
nothing
about
his
wife's
illness.
If
that
part
of
his
life
meant
anything
to
him,
he
had
shut
her
out.
The
snap
of
his
fingers
jerked
her
attention
back.
'I thought
you
were
gone.’
He
clicked
his
fingers
again,
lightly,
smiling
at
her.
'After
all
nothing
so
terrible.
She's
sick
and
I
help
her.
I
don't
blame
you
for
wondering
what
was
going
on.
She's
ill
and
now
she's
well.
She's
happy.’
Deep
and
pleasant,
his
voice
was
the
only
unusual
thing
about
him.
'Why
shouldn't
you
be
happy
too?
Why
not,
eh?
She'll
wake
up
in
a
minute
and
be
on
top
of
the
world.
Look
here,
why
don't
you
sit
down?
For
a
minute.
You've
had
a
bit
of
excitement.
Why
not
rest
for
a
bit?'
'Does
Maitland
know
what
is
going
on?'
she
asked.
'No,'
he
said
sharply,
his
tone
quite
different.
'Mrs
Ure
prefers
that
her
husband
shouldn't
know.
Some
men
don't
like
to
share
the
power
they
have
over
their
wives.
The
idea
of
hypnotism
upsets
them.
They
don't
understand
it's
only
medicine.
It's
like
getting
upset
because
their
wife
takes
aspirin.
It
makes
life
simpler
if
they
don't
know.’
'Are
you
going
to
waken
her?'
'She'll
waken
when
it's
time.’
'If
you
woke
her
now,
she
could
tell
me
herself.
That she
doesn't
want
Maitland
to
know
.’
'The
treatment
isn't
complete.
It
isn't
time
to
waken her.’
'You
could
put
her
back
to
sleep
afterwards.’
'It
doesn't
occur
to
you
she
would
be
embarrassed?
Waking
up
to
find
a
stranger
here?'
Her
breath
came
chokingly,
as
if
the
exchange
had
been
with
swords
not
words.
'Not
a
complete
stranger,'
she
said.
'And
next
time
I
see
her
I'll
ask
her
about
these
migraines.’
When
he
smiled,
it
changed
his
face
which
in
repose
was
fleshy
and
slightly
coarse.
The
thickness,
the
curliness,
the
very
definite
black
of
his
hair
gave
a
kind
of
expectation
of
handsomeness
which
although
not
really
there
would
impose
on
some
women.
He
was
not
Sophie's
type.
If
she
had
been
asked,
she
would
have
explained
that
by
saying
she
preferred
her
men
to
look
more
intelligent.
The
way
then
in
which
this
smile
changed
him
disconcerted
her.
It
lightened
the
load
of
flesh
with
a
momentary
illumination;
and
if
it
was
a
showman's
charm,
still
it
was
charm.