Hypnotized

by Georgia Le Carre

  We agreed to meet at eight in the Beaufort Bar.

  I arrived ten minutes early and walked into the newly refurbished Savoy Hotel and headed for the Beaufort Bar. It was unashamedly glamorous with art deco inspired chandeliers, antique mirrors, luxurious mohair upholstering and gold leaf backed tortoiseshell Lucite walls. The place was made for seduction. As I stood at the entrance uncertainly, I had a sudden déjà vu: I’ve been here before.

  Cookie had said she would book one of the booths, but I decided to wait for her at the bar. I turned toward the spectacularly lit bar and did a double take. For a second I could not believe my eyes: Dr. Kane was sitting alone at the bar nursing a large measure of amber liquid.

  He didn’t see me and my first thought was that I should leave him alone. His posture was deliberately excluding and insular. And then I reasoned that it would be rude not to at least say hello. What if he turned his head and saw me? He’d think I had snubbed him. Besides, I was itching to talk to him in this place made for seduction. In fact, my legs were walking up to him even before the decision was consciously made.

  ‘Hello,’ I said. ‘Fancy meeting you here.’

  He raised his head slowly, his body stiffening. ‘Fancy,’ he said, and there was not a trace of welcome in his voice.

  ‘You must let me buy you a thank you drink,’ I plowed on, determined not to be put off my mission. With a smile I slipped onto the seat next to his and put my bag on the bar top.

  ‘That’s not necessary. I’m just doing what I’ve been paid to do.’

  I looked at him. ‘You don’t like me at all, do you?’

  His eyes were hooded, his voice flat. ‘Don’t take it personally, but I don’t get involved with clients.’

  My pride came to the rescue. ‘I won’t. I am here to meet a friend. She is late and I’m just passing time. You are hardly getting involved by accepting a drink, are you, Dr. Kane?’

  He lifted his drink to his mouth. ‘In that case, thanks.’

  I smiled tightly through my hurt.

  The bartender was making his way toward me. I ordered a repeat order for Dr. Kane and a dry Martini for myself. He courteously informed me that the house gin was Bombay Sapphire, but a smoother Martini would be got using Tanqueray. I agreed readily and he nodded approvingly.

  I turned to Dr. Kane. ‘Do you come to the Savoy often?’ I asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Right,’ I said. This was like pulling teeth. There was an awkward silence. ‘Are you just having a drink or dining, too?’

  ‘Dining,’ he said.

  The bartender arrived with our drinks and I made eye contact with him. ‘Could you please show me to Lady Cressida’s booth?’

  His eyes changed. I was no longer the woman who had pushed herself on to the American drinking at the bar. ‘I’ll be happy to show you, m’lady.’

  ‘Enjoy your drink,’ I threw casually to Dr. Kane, and swinging my knees to the side was about to slide off the seat, when his hand came out to encircle my wrist.

  The sensation of his fingers on my wrist was like a jolt of electricity. My lips parted with surprise. The action was so unexpected, my eyes flew to his hand and then to his face, wide and surprised.

  ‘I’m sorry I was rude,’ he apologized, withdrawing his hand.

  I could feel the heat coming from him and my skin burned where he had touched me. I refrained from rubbing it.

  He smiled. ‘I come here for the Omelette Arnold Bennett at The Grill.’

  I stared up at him not knowing whether to stay or go.

  ‘And I like the steak and ale pudding with oysters,’ he added.

  I made up my mind. I swung my knees back to the original place and looked at the barman. ‘Perhaps I’ll just wait here until Lady Cressida arrives.’

  He nodded politely. ‘Very good, m’lady.’

  I picked up the tall, classic Martini glass with its elegantly cut, long piece of lemon peel, and held it up. ‘To your good health.’

  ‘And yours.’ He lifted his glass to his lips. Good God! He was almost edible with that sexy American vibe oozing out of his pores.

  I took a sip of my drink. It was perfectly chilled with just a hint of gin behind the aroma of lemon. ‘Absolutely lovely,’ I murmured, and looked sideways at him. To my surprise he was watching me. I felt my cheeks coloring.

  ‘I’ve never seen you with your hair down,’ he remarked.

  I touched my hair self-consciously. ‘I’m afraid that’s about the only thing I inherited from my mother. Hair that’s too fine to do much with.’

  His eyes caressed my hair. ‘No,’ he disagreed softly. ‘I think it’s beautiful. Under these lights it looks like spun gold.’

  Flustered, unused to compliments, I set my glass down carefully. ‘You are very charming when you try.’

  He put down his empty glass and sighed. ‘And you’re having a bad influence on me.’

  I frowned. ‘In what way?’

  ‘You make me behave in a way that is not entirely proper.’

  ‘I disagree. I think you have been quite the perfect gentleman.’

  He threw his head back and laughed, but it was a harsh sound. ‘You don’t know me very well, it would seem,’ he muttered.

  ‘Why? What have you done that is improper?’

  ‘Don’t go there, Olivia.’

  I licked my lips nervously. I knew then that our relationship was always going to be fraught. We would always rub each other the wrong way. ‘Do you live nearby?’

  His head dipped a little, a gesture that was almost mournful, and I realized that he must have had quite a lot to drink. ‘In Rupert Street.’

  ‘I know that street. I think I must have known someone who lives there. Which end of the street are you on?’

  ‘Are you asking my address?’ he asked.

  I felt myself flush and stiffen. ‘No, I was just making conversation.’

  ‘Number 34,’ he said wearily, and swallowed the rest of his drink. I had the impression that he was going to walk away and leave me there.

  ‘Dr. Kane, why are you so angry with me?’

  His head jerked toward me, his eyes wild, his mouth twisted. I stared speechless at the expression in his face. It was almost a snarl, but I couldn’t quite tell what it expressed. I suppose it was similar to touching something and for a fraction of a second being unable to tell whether it was very hot or very cold. I could not tell if he was furiously annoyed or something else. And then the fraction of a second passed and I saw it for what it was. It was a raging desire. So strong he could barely hold it in check.

  I opened my mouth to speak and nothing came out.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ a plummy voice trilled close by.

  I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his, but he broke the connection and turned toward the voice.

  Cookie. Talk about bad timing. Reluctantly, I turned to face her. A terribly smart woman was standing next to us. My gaze ran quickly over her: attractive face, a shining pageboy bob and trim, horse-rider body clad in a divinely tailored gray and red dress. She was beaming at me, but oh dear, there was not one thing about her I recognized. I sighed inwardly. Oh well, it was going to be a long night.

  ‘Don’t you look super!’ she exclaimed, before turning her eyes back to Dr. Kane, the merest hint of a smile, like a delicious scandal, playing on her lips. ‘I’ll say, you’re a quick worker. Who on earth is this? You’d better introduce us.’

  I introduced them unenthusiastically.

  ‘How lovely to meet you,’ Dr. Kane said politely, offering his hand. His eyes once again returned to one-way mirrors.

  ‘How do you do?’ Cookie replied with a breathless laugh. I watched her hand disappear into his large one and remain there, only releasing seconds before they slipped into impropriety. Oh my God, she was flirting with him… Little two-faced bitch.

  The ferocity of the thought shocked and horrified me. It was like an ice pick straight into my heart. I dropped my eyes so they would not see how madly jeal
ous I was.

  Of course, she invited him to join us, but to my immense relief, he declined her offer. I could not possibly have sat and watched her flirt with him for another minute. Bidding us goodnight, he went to his dinner.

  As we walked to our booth, Cookie turned to me with bright eyes. ‘Sorry to barge in on your tender scene.’

  ‘There was nothing to barge in on,’ I denied.

  She gave me a guarded look. ‘That’s all right then. Still, he is rather dishy for an NOCD.’

  ‘NOCD?’ I asked, puzzled.

  She gave me a funny look as if she had just realized that it was going to be a difficult night. ‘Not Our Class, Darling,’ she explained with a patronizing smile.

  10

  Olivia

  I woke up early the next morning and lay on my bed. My mobile phone was blinking. I picked it up—a message from Ivana.

  Hello, darling. Should I send Watson to pick you up today?

  I put the phone back on the bedside and listened. The flat was very silent and still. And it was warm. It was never warm at Marlborough Hall. I stretched luxuriously. It was nice to be back at my own flat. Since being discharged from hospital this was the first time I had spent a night here and I realized that it was probably the best sleep I had had since I could remember. No dreams. No nightmares.

  I curled up into the warmth of my sheets and thought about the night before. It was the first time I had gone out on my own. No Daddy, no Ivana, and not even the driver to babysit me. I just called a taxi and went out on my own. It had felt good. And while out I had bumped into Dr. Kane. I hugged the pillow tightly thinking about that look Cookie had interrupted.

  Of course, the rest of the night had disintegrated into intolerable boredom, but still nothing could take the glow away from my unexpected brush with Dr. Kane. Cookie spent the whole night talking about people I could not remember and hadn’t the least clue about. Every time I shook my head and confessed that I did not remember someone, which was all night, she would raise her voice significantly, as if I was not suffering from amnesia but was stone deaf. ‘Oh, but you must remember Pip or Bobo or...’

  ‘I don’t remember any of it. I’m sorry,’ I said when we parted.

  Cookie made a moue with her mouth. ‘Think nothing of it. It’ll all come back, I’m sure.’ And then we parted without agreeing to ever see each other again.

  I rolled out of bed and went into the bathroom. I stood in front of the looking glass. My hair was disheveled. I ran my fingers through it and replayed a very special secret: Dr. Kane telling me I have beautiful hair. I never considered my hair beautiful. It was so flyaway that if I did not use half a can of hairspray or tie it back in a ponytail it was always in my face. But he thought it looked like spun gold.

  And later he had stared at my mouth. I looked at my mouth, still swollen from sleep, and suddenly I was no longer standing in my bathroom, but somewhere else. Somewhere I did not recognize. It was not like an old photograph, flat, leached of color and fading, but crystal clear, vibrant and real.

  I was back in the past—I was remembering!

  I saw myself sitting in a plush, red velvet and gilt Louis the XIV armchair, naked but for a pair of shiny black stiletto boots. My hair was long and worn differently and I was wearing false eyelashes. The vision hung in front of me shimmering like a lost city, but so real I could almost reach out and touch it. My heart was racing in my chest. I had remembered a little piece from the past, but it was another piece of the jigsaw.

  And then the thought: How could it happen that I was sitting on a red velvet chair naked but for a pair of boots? I ran from the bathroom to my wardrobe to where all my shoes were kept. Some were still in boxes and I opened them all in a rush. But they were just normal shoes, the kind I usually wore. There were no shiny black stiletto boots. I sat back on my heels, confused. Was it really a memory or a figment of my imagination? But it was so real. Had I become confused with the hypnosis? I knelt in front of the open wardrobe. I felt numb and empty. The image of me naked on the red and gilt chair floated into my mind. It was a different me. In a different room. But it was me.

  I didn’t want to give it up. It was mine. I was ready for my past to return.

  I wanted to call Dr. Kane and tell him about the vision, but it was a Saturday and his offices would be closed. Perhaps it was a good thing. I remembered Ivana warning me to be on guard for false memories.

  Was it a false memory? False.

  I stood up and ran to my make-up drawer. I rifled feverishly through the neatly ordered cosmetics in there. I knew it was there. It had to be. And I froze. I found it: a shiver looking for a spine to run up.

  A pair of 100% mink false eyelashes.

  I opened the purple velour box, ran my thumb along the feathery edge, and I knew. The name of this version was Girl You Crazy and I had worn these before. When I was sitting on the red velvet chair. The memory was not false. It was real. What happened to the shiny boots?

  I closed my eyes and tried to force the vision back, but the curtain had tumbled down. All the solidity, sound, taste and smell were gone from the vision. It had become just another memory in my head. I felt strangely bereft and a tear rolled down my face. It burned like acid. Beneath the calm and the resignation I was still vanquished and raw. I swallowed hard. I shouldn’t cry. Ivana would be so disappointed if she knew that I was indulging in self-pity and hysteria on my first day away from my family.

  I remembered the neurosurgeon saying, ‘It’s all still there. It’s not a question of storage, simply one of access. With time… It could come back. Perhaps not all. Most. At least some.’

  I wiped my tears away with my hands. Then I went to use the bathroom. After I was dressed I opened the fridge and smiled. Ivana had had it stocked with everything I could possibly want. Milk, orange juice, eggs, bacon, thick slices of good ham, homemade pancakes, bottles of Oxford marmalade and jams bursting with chunky berries. I sat down to a bowl of cereal. I chewed slowly and…relished my solitary state.

  After I put away my breakfast things I phoned Ivana. She sounded anxious to have me back in Marlborough Hall. But I was enjoying my sense of freedom after having been in an almost child-like state. It was a nice change from my father treating me as if I was a mental patient that required kid gloves, and my stepbrother and half-sister giving me pitying looks when they thought I wasn’t looking.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I reassured her, but she made me promise to be home by Wednesday.

  After the call I put the phone down and wandered around the flat. I looked in cupboards, touched clothes, books and things that I had acquired and had no memory of. I opened a drawer and found cards—birthday cards from family and friends. An hour passed. I tried to imagine what I did in this flat before the accident and I could not imagine it. Daddy said I did some PR work for the company. But obviously it can’t have been an important job as my absence was not being noticed.

  And all that time I kept thinking of Dr. Kane and that look that had passed between us. For those few seconds I had not felt cold and numb. I’d felt alive. I knew I had not imagined it. Last night he wanted me as much as I wanted him. The clock in the living room chimed. It was nearly time for lunch. Outside it was a fairly decent day and I decided a walk in the brisk air would do me good. So I dressed warmly and left my flat.

  By the time I turned into New Bond Street the weather changed somewhat. Dark rain clouds were hovering above. I passed the designer boutiques where Ivana took me shopping when I first got out of hospital. She had impeccable taste and I was so lost and numb I totally left it to her to choose all my clothes and even my perfume. But now that I felt more like my own person I wanted different things.

  It was only after I turned left onto Burlington Street and continued down Vigo Street that I consciously realized where I had been going all along. I was on Regent Street when it started to rain. Huge fat drops that fell on my bent head, shoulders, breasts and hands. For a moment I did nothing, just felt them. The coldness.<
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  And then I raised my face up to the drops and let them break on my skin. I opened my mouth and they rained down on my tongue and ran down my throat. I began to laugh. It was the laugh of a mad woman. People who were hurrying under umbrellas turned to stare at me.

  I became drenched very quickly. My clothes stuck to me and I shivered with cold as I walked down Shaftesbury Avenue and turned into Rupert Street. Not far to go now. I walked up to the door of Number 34 and rang the bell. Please be in, I prayed.

  ‘Yes?’ His voice came through the speaker muffled but recognizable.

  ‘It’s Olivia,’ I replied.

  There was a shocked pause, then the buzzer sounded. The door to his flat was yanked open and he stood framed in the doorway looking down at me. He was wearing a gray T-shirt and faded blue jeans that clung to his hips. His eyes widened when he saw me. I swiped my hand down my hair. Rivulets of water ran down my body. I clenched my teeth to stop them from chattering and walked up the stairs toward him. I knew I must have looked like a drowned rat.

  An expression crossed his face. It could have been anger, frustration or even just plain irritation. ‘Come in,’ he said and quickly pulled me into his apartment.

  Instinctively I tried to snuggle into the wonderful heat of his sturdy form. But he closed the door and letting go of my hand took a step away from me. It was a rejection, pure and simple. But I knew I had not dreamed last night.

  ‘Get out of those and I’ll stick them in the dryer. You can have a hot shower in the bathroom. Come, I’ll show you where it is.’

  He was turning away when my chilled, sluggish muscles reached out and touched his arm. He spun around so quickly it was as if I had burned him. I looked up at him, startled. ‘Wait,’ I blurted through numb lips.

  Our eyes locked.

  Like a man in a daze he reached out and his long pianist’s fingers traced my jaw gently and caressed my cheek. As if he did not quite believe I was real. I turned my cheek toward the life-giving warmth of his palm.