Her Own Rules/Dangerous to Know

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  Have you seen them? she cried. The girl with the long striped scarf? The boy with the cap? Please tell me if you’ve seen them.

  The children turned en masse, veered to the right, began to walk toward the sea. She had never seen the sea before. The water was black, the color of oil. She shuddered and called to the children to come back. They did not heed her. She was afraid, shivering with fright. The children marched on. No! she cried. Stop! Still they paid no attention. They marched on and on, marched right into the sea. Slowly they sank, disappeared from sight. Oh God, no! she cried. Nobody heard her.

  The landscape was empty. She was the only one left. And then she saw them. They were skipping toward her holding hands. The little girl with the scarf and the boy in his school cap. She waved. They waved back. She began to run. She was getting closer and closer. The labels pinned to their coats were huge, bigger than before. They fluttered in the wind, blew against their necks, obscuring their faces. Suddenly they turned around, veered to the right and began to walk toward the sea. No! she shouted. No! Stop! Don’t go there! They did not listen. She ran and ran. Parts of the arid landscape opened up, cracking in half. She jumped over the cracks. Went on running. Her breathing was labored. Finally she caught up with the children. She reached out, grabbed the boy’s shoulder. He resisted. Then slowly he swung around. She screamed. He had no face. She grabbed the girl’s arm. The girl turned. Meredith screamed again.

  “Mother, what’s wrong, what is it?” Jon exclaimed, bursting into her room, snapping on the light as he did. He hurried over to the bed.

  Meredith was sitting up, her eyes wide with fright, her face and neck damp with perspiration. She shook her head.

  Her son sat down on the bed. He stared at her closely, took hold of her hand, wanting to comfort her. Again he asked, “What is it, Mom?”

  Meredith took a deep breath. “I had a strange dream, a nightmare, actually.”

  “It must’ve frightened you. I heard you screaming.”

  “Yes, it must have. I’m sorry I woke you, Jon.”

  “That’s okay.” He frowned. “What was the nightmare about?”

  “It doesn’t make sense, it was very muddled.” She forced a smile onto her face, hoped it reassured him. “Let’s forget it. I’m all right, really. Go back to bed, honey.”

  Jonathan leaned forward, kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I’m just across the hall if you need me.”

  “I’m fine,” she replied.

  Long after Jonathan had returned to his own room, Meredith lay awake, remembering every detail of the dream, pondering on it.

  It was a dream she had first dreamed many years before, when she was young and still lived in Sydney. It had recurred off and on over the years, and then it had stopped all of a sudden when she was in her thirties. Unexpectedly, she was having the dream again—twice in the space of two months.

  The details were always the same. The barren landscape, sinister, and godforsaken. The children marching to their doom in the sea. Her desperation as she tried to find the little girl and boy.

  She always woke up in a cold sweat. And she was always fearful when she awakened. Why? What did the dream mean?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “How many of these attacks have you had?” Dr. Jennifer Pollard asked, scrutinizing Meredith across her desk.

  “I had two in January, two in February, three in March, and two this month . . . last Thursday at Catherine’s engagement party and again on Sunday. The last was the worst one yet. It lasted most of the day, and I felt more debilitated than usual. So much so, I didn’t go to the office yesterday. When I went to work this morning I was still feeling very tired. I thought I’d better come to see you.”

  “I’m glad you did,” the doctor answered. “Earlier, on the phone, you told me the symptoms are always the same—nausea and a feeling of total exhaustion. Are there no other symptoms, Meredith?”

  “None at all.”

  “No vomiting, fever, pains in your stomach, diarrhea, high temperatures, headaches, migraines?”

  Meredith shook her head. “No, nothing like that. I just feel sort of queasy, but mostly very tired, exhausted really.”

  “I see.” Jennifer brought her hand up to her chin, looking thoughtful.

  Meredith leaned forward intently. “Jennifer, what do you think is wrong with me?”

  “Frankly, I’m not sure. First we must give you a very thorough examination, then I’ll be able to make a proper diagnosis.” As she was speaking, the doctor opened the folder in front of her and scanned the top page. “I looked at your records just before you arrived, and you had a checkup three months ago, at the end of December. You were in perfect health then, Meredith.”

  “Yes, I know, that’s why I’m so baffled.”

  “We’ll get to the bottom of it, don’t worry.” Closing the folder, the doctor went on briskly. “All right, then, let’s start by getting the tests done.”

  She stood up, walked around the desk.

  Meredith also rose.

  Jennifer Pollard put her arm around Meredith’s shoulder. “Don’t look so apprehensive. We’ll get to the bottom of the problem.”

  “What do you think it could be?”

  Jennifer hesitated, then said, “Any number of things, but I don’t want to make guesses. Also, I’m not going to pretend it’s nothing, Meredith, I’ve too much respect for your intelligence, and in any case, you know that’s not my way I believe in being very honest with my patients. The kind of exhaustion you’ve described can mean any number of things. It could be caused by anemia, a hormonal disorder, or a chronic infection of some kind. Then again, it might be tiredness due to burnout.”

  “Not burnout, no!” Meredith exclaimed. “Most of the time I’m full of energy and vitality.”

  “Let’s go in to Angela,” Jennifer said, leading the way out of her office and down the corridor. “You know the routine after all these years. Angela will take blood samples, do the EKG and a chest X ray. We’ll also need a urine sample from you. Once these tests are completed, I’ll give you a thorough physical examination.”

  Opening the door of the small examination room, Jennifer said, “I’ll send Angela in with a gown, so you can get undressed.”

  “Thank you,” Meredith murmured.

  Exactly one hour later Meredith was dressed again and sitting in her doctor’s office, once more staring at Jennifer Pollard. Her expression was worried and there was a questioning look in her eyes. “What did you find?”

  “Nothing.” Jennifer smiled at her confidently “As far as I can tell, there’s nothing physically wrong with you. No lumps, no swelling anywhere, and you didn’t flinch when I put pressure on your abdomen. And your reflexes and blood pressure are normal. Of course, I don’t know what the blood and urine tests are going to reveal, and I won’t have the results for a couple of days. But frankly, I’m pretty sure they’re going to be normal too. It seems to me that you’re as physically fit as you were three months ago.”

  “Then how do you explain the attacks?”

  “Not sure.” Jennifer leaned back in her chair, focused her eyes on Meredith. “Nerves, maybe? Stress? You push yourself very hard. For as long as I’ve known you, which is a good ten years now, you’ve been a workaholic, to use a nasty word. And stress can play havoc with a person’s nervous system.”

  “I realize that, but I don’t feel stressed out, not at all. Very honestly, Jennifer, I’ve been taking it a lot easier lately, especially when I’m in France. I’m remodeling an inn there, but I have a very good French partner who takes a load off my shoulders. And I spend long weekends with my boyfriend in the Loire. He has a country house there.” Meredith leaned forward and finished, “I’ve never been happier on a personal level. Business is good, the kids are great.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Jennifer answered. A reflective expression flickered in her eyes, and after a moment she asked, “Is there anything at all worrying you?”

  “No. And as I just s
aid, my life has never been better.”

  Jennifer nodded. “Let’s see what the blood tests tell us. I’ll call you as soon as they come in. Probably by Thursday, Friday at the latest.”

  Meredith was signing a batch of letters late on Thursday afternoon when the private line in her office rang. Picking up the phone, she said, “Hello?”

  “C’est moi, chérie.”

  “Luc!” she exclaimed. “How are you, darling?”

  “Not so good, I am afraid.”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice rising slightly, her concern apparent.

  Luc sighed over the transatlantic line and explained. “I am so terribly sorry about this, Meredith, but I cannot now come to New York this weekend. I am afraid I am stuck here in Lyons. Because of the job, I am needed here.”

  “Oh Luc, what a shame, I was so looking forward to it,” Meredith said. “I’m very disappointed, darling, but I understand. Work has to come first.” She, too, sighed resignedly.

  “I have to be on the spot,” he continued. “There is an unanticipated condition in the foundation that is going to require major redesign. I can’t just delegate this particular part of the job. We have run into subsurface ledgerock that requires redesigning the foundation in the first of the buildings. It is vital that I am here. I’m meeting with the contractor and structural engineer tomorrow. We’ll complete the design on Saturday and bring in the crew next week.” There was a fractional pause before he laughed quietly and said, “I don’t suppose you could come to Lyons, could you?”

  “I’d love to, but I can’t. I told you, I have the closing on the inn tomorrow. And I have to be in New York on Tuesday for a meeting with the bank. Henry Raphaelson is going to the Far East the following day, so I can’t change that appointment. Next week is a bit tough for me, Luc. I’m due in Paris soon, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “I hadn’t, ma chérie, I was just hoping to see you before.”

  Meredith glanced at the calendar on her desk. “I was planning on being there at the end of April, and I will be staying the whole month of May, you know.”

  “Well, that is wonderful! I am happy. But I shall miss you, Meri.”

  “And I will miss you too,” she said. They went on talking for another ten minutes. For a moment Meredith almost confided in him, almost told him about her visit to the doctor, then changed her mind. She did not want to worry him. He had enough problems with the shopping center in Lyons.

  “There’s absolutely nothing physically wrong with you, Meredith,” Jennifer Pollard said, leaning back in her chair, smiling at her. “I’m happy to tell you the blood and urine tests are normal.”

  Meredith smiled back, filling with relief and then she frowned and asked, “But this morning when you called the office you told Amy you wanted to see me, talk to me.”

  The doctor nodded. “I do.” Jennifer cleared her throat and went on. “There’s still something wrong. Those attacks. Now, in my experience, people who suffer from the kind of exhaustion you described to me earlier this week usually do so all the time. In other words, it’s chronic. And permanent. It doesn’t come and go the way you have described your attacks.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning that your attacks could easily become increasingly frequent, until, in the end, you, too, have the exhaustion on a permanent basis rather than only occasionally.”

  Meredith was silent; she sat staring at the doctor.

  “Let me explain something to you, Meredith,” Jennifer said. “Very often this kind of exhaustion is due to psychological causes.”

  “Do you think that’s the case with me?”

  “Possibly. You could be suffering from psychogenic fatigue.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “That the cause of your tiredness is an emotional problem. Or, alternatively, you could be depressed without knowing it.”

  “I’m definitely not depressed!” Meredith answered with a dry laugh. “When I was here on Tuesday, I told you my life was on an even keel and rather wonderful these days. I’m in love with a fabulous man, he with me.”

  “I believe you, and I’m happy for you. However, let’s not dismiss the idea of psychogenic fatigue due to an emotional problem, or an upset mental state. What’s causing it, the thing that’s bothering you, doesn’t necessarily have to be of this moment. It could go back in time.”

  “How do you treat something like that?” Meredith asked nervously, eyeing her doctor warily.

  “We have to determine the nature of the actual problem, get to the root of it, then treat it.”

  “Psychiatry. Is that what you’re getting at, Jennifer?”

  “Yes, it is. If you are suffering from psychogenic fatigue, I recommend that you see someone immediately. The illness, and it is an illness, is not going to go away on its own. Furthermore, it could become chronic.”

  “Who . . . who would you recommend?” Meredith asked quietly.

  “Dr. Hilary Benson. She’s very sympathetic, you’ll like her. And she’s a brilliant psychiatrist. Her office is just around the corner from me on Park and Sixty-ninth.”

  Meredith leaned back in the chair, looking worried.

  “There’s nobody saner than you, Meredith,” Jennifer said swiftly, responding to the look in Meredith’s eyes. “I can testify to that. Listen to me, you might not have psychogenic fatigue at all. It could be stress . . . I said that to you earlier in the week.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then you will go and see Hilary Benson?”

  Meredith nodded.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Meredith was nothing if not decisive. Once she had agreed to see the psychiatrist, she told Amy to make an appointment for the following week.

  After that she endeavored to put the matter out of her mind; she had always had the ability to pigeonhole problems until it was the appropriate time to deal with them. And so she managed to get through the next few days without dwelling too much on her health or mental state. Fortunately, there were no more attacks.

  On Tuesday afternoon, when she walked into Dr. Hilary Benson’s private office, her first impression was of a good-looking but stern woman. The doctor had a rather lovely face with high cheekbones, and the palest of blue eyes that appeared almost transparent. But her mouth had a severe set to it and her dark brown hair was pulled back in a plain chignon that was singularly schoolmarmish.

  There was a no-nonsense, businesslike air about her, and for a split second Meredith was put off, thinking that she might be a cold fish. Then she recalled her physician’s words. Jennifer had told her that Hilary Benson was a sympathetic person as well as a brilliant psychiatrist.

  I must give her a chance, give this a chance, Meredith decided. She needed to understand what was wrong, why she was having these attacks on a regular basis. According to Jennifer, only a psychiatrist could help her get to the root of the problem.

  After greeting Meredith pleasantly and shaking hands, Dr. Benson said, “Come and sit down, Mrs. Stratton.”

  “Thank you,” Meredith answered, and followed the doctor over to the desk, where they sat facing each other.

  Meredith, studying the doctor, decided that she was probably the same age as Jennifer and herself; in her early forties.

  The psychiatrist said, “Dr. Pollard and I have spoken at length. She has filled me in, given me your medical history in general. Apparently you’re a very healthy woman.”

  “Yes, I am, thank goodness,” Meredith replied, smiling faintly.

  Dr. Benson nodded and sat back in her chair, taking stock of Meredith for a moment. Beautiful woman. Puts up a good front, she thought. But there’s pain in her, hurt. I can see it in her eyes. Getting straight to the point, she said, “Jennifer believes you could be suffering from psychogenic fatigue.”

  “So she told me.”

  “Let’s talk about that fatigue, the attacks you’ve been having. When did the first one occur, Mrs. Stratton?”

  “E
arly in January. I was in Paris on business. I’d been traveling part of the day, and that night, after I’d checked into my hotel, I felt quite ill. Exhausted, a bit queasy . . . nauseated.”

  “Where had you traveled from?”

  “England. Not a long trip by any means, and traveling doesn’t affect me usually. I have a lot of stamina and tremendous energy, Dr. Benson.”

  “So feeling ill was unusual for you. I understand.” There was a moment’s pause, then Hilary went on. “Had anything happened to upset you that day?” She put her elbows on the desk, steepled her fingers, and looked over them at Meredith.

  “No, it hadn’t. To tell you the truth, I thought I was probably coming down with the flu. That morning I’d been outside for a long time in the cold, in the snow. I’d been wandering around a ruined abbey. I thought that—” Meredith stopped short, abruptly cutting herself off.

  “You thought what, Mrs. Stratton?” Dr. Benson asked, giving Meredith a quiet, encouraging smile.

  “I was going to say that I thought I’d caught a chill when I was lingering at the abbey. But come to think of it, something odd did occur that morning, something quite strange really.”

  “And what was that?”

  “I had a peculiar sense that I’d been there before. It was a feeling of déjà vu.”

  “But you had not been there before. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Yes, it is.”