"I would, yes."
"And is it equally fair to say that in your telephone conversation with my client following receipt of his faxed letter, you made the very precise statement: 'You have my assurance that your daughter will not be pressured, Mr. Kingsley, and will certainly not be expected to engage in any form of therapy unless she chooses to do so'?"
"I may have said something along those lines, but I can't vouch for the preciseness of the statement."
"My client can, Dr. Protheroe. He is a cautious man and insists on having tapes made of every conversation that relates to his affairs. That is word for word what you said."
Alan shrugged. "All right. To my knowledge, those assurances have been honored."
Kennedy removed a folded piece of paper from his pocket and consulted it. "You sent my client a faxed letter last night in which you state: 'One idea I'd like to discuss is the possibility of a joint session where, under my guidance, you and Jinx can explore any rifts that may have developed between you.' May I ask if Miss Kingsley gave you permission to suggest this to her father? In other words, has she chosen to engage in such an activity?"
"Not yet. I thought it more sensible to seek his agreement first. There seemed little point in putting the idea to Jinx if her father wasn't prepared to take part."
"Nevertheless, Dr. Protheroe, simply by suggesting a form of therapy, you have gone against my client's express instructions to leave his daughter to recover at her own speed. It is also clear from other statements in your fax that you have been encouraging Jane to talk about events that Mr. Kingsley asked you very specifically not to mention because he felt they would upset her." He quoted extracts from the letter: " 'She finds it difficult to talk about herself.' 'I have some problems understanding what compelled her to make an attempt on her life.' 'She retains a certain ambivalence following the death of her husband.' "
Alan shrugged again. "I don't recall your client instructing me to keep his daughter in solitary confinement, Mr. Kennedy. Had he done so, I would most certainly not have agreed to take her."
"You will have to explain those remarks, I'm afraid."
"Jinx is an intelligent and articulate young woman. She is able and willing to participate in conversations. The only way to stop her talking would be to isolate her from everyone in the clinic. Is that what her father wants?" His eyes narrowed. "To stop her talking?"
The little man chuckled. "About what?"
"I don't know, Mr. Kennedy." He balanced his pen between his fingers. "But then I'm not the one who's worried. Your client is." Who the hell was pulling the strings here, Adam or Jinx?
"My client's concerns are entirely related to his daughter's welfare, Dr. Protheroe. He believes firmly that any rehashing of the past will be to Jane's disadvantage, a point emphasized for him this morning when she threatened him with an injunction over the telephone. He feels, quite reasonably, that this abrupt return to her previous antagonism is due to your refusal to abide by his wishes."
Alan considered that for a moment."Shall we get to the point?'' he suggested. "Is Mr. Kingsley looking to control every minute of his daughter's life, or does he want excuses not to pay?"
"I am instructed to remind you of the assurances you gave my client when you undertook the care of his daughter."
"If you're referring to pressure and unwanted therapy, then there's no argument between us. Jinx has been subjected to neither."
"Yet you state in your fax: 'She finds it difficult to talk about herself.' " He looked up. "The clear inference is that you have sought to persuade her to do just that."
"This is absurd," said Alan angrily. "I wrote to Mr. Kingsley because I assumed he had his daughter's welfare at heart, and as Jinx's doctor, I believe it to be in her best interests to seek a rapprochement with her father. However, if his only response is to send a solicitor to spout gobbledygook, then obviously she is right, and I am wrong. Her father is only interested in manipulating and controlling her, and little good can come from a meeting." He squared the papers on his desk. "Presumably there's some sort of implied threat in these repeated instructions of yours. Would you care to tell me what it is?"
"Now you're being absurd, Dr. Protheroe."
"This is all beyond me, I'm afraid." Alan studied the solicitor with a perplexed frown. "I really have no interest in playing games with my patients' well-being. If Mr. Kingsley is seeking excuses not to pay, then I shall discuss the matter with Miss Kingsley herself. I have no doubts at all she will wish to honor the obligations her father entered into on her behalf. Please tell your client that I have strong reservations about his reading of his daughter's character. She is far less anxious than he appears to be about reliving her past experiences. In addition, I cannot agree with the police presumption that she attempted suicide." He leaned forward. "You may also tell him that in my professional opinion, it is Mr. Kingsley who represents the greatest threat to Jinx's peace of mind. There is an ambivalence in her attitude towards him which can only be resolved by a clearing of the air between them, particularly in relation to her husband's death and to what she perceives as Mr. Kingsley's obsessive and continued need to interfere in her life. However, in face of his obvious unwillingness to talk to her, a clean break by means of an injunction would seem to be the only alternative." He placed his hands flat on the desk and pushed himself to his feet. "Good day, Mr. Kennedy. I trust you will have the courtesy to convey my views with the same assiduous detail with which you have just conveyed your client's."
The solicitor beamed as he, too, rose to his feet. "No need, Dr. Protheroe," he murmured, patting his breast pocket. "I have it all on tape. I believe I told you that Mr. Kingsley insists on having taped records made of every conversation relating to his affairs. I know he will be interested to hear everything you've said. Good day to you."
The phone rang on Alan's desk ten minutes later, and he picked it up with ill humor.
"I've a Reverend Simon Harris for you, Dr. Protheroe," said Hilda. "Do you want to speak to him?"
"Not particularly," he grunted.
"He says it's important."
"He would," said Alan sarcastically. "It'll be a red-letter day when someone doesn't think what they have to say is important."
"You sound cross," said Hilda.
"That's because I am." He sighed. "All right, put him through."
Simon's voice came on the line. "Dr. Protheroe? Do you remember me? I'm a friend of Jinx Kingsley. I came to visit her on Thursday."
"I remember," he said.
"I find myself in a somewhat invidious position," said the younger man in a voice that was clearly troubled. He paused briefly. "Has Jinx told you that Meg and Leo are dead, Dr. Protheroe?"
Alan raised a hand to his beard and smoothed it automatically. "No," he said.
"They were murdered, probably on the same day that she tried to kill herself."
Alan stared across the room at a print of Albrecht Diirer's Knight, Death, and the Devil and thought how appropriate it was that he should be looking at that. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Harris. You must be very upset."
"We've not had much time to be upset," said Simon apologetically. "We had the police here until an hour ago."
"I'm sorry," said Alan again. "What makes you think Jinx knows?"
"Her assistant told me."
"You mean Dean Jarrett?"
"Yes."
"How does he know?"
Simon sighed. "Apparently the police visited her yesterday and she guessed something was wrong. She rang Dean during the evening and persuaded him to phone the Walladers for confirmation." He paused again. "She knew before we did as a matter of fact. My parents weren't told until ten o'clock last night and only made the formal identification this morning. My mother's very bitter about it. She's blaming Jinx for Meg's death."
Alan wondered what else his patient had withheld from him. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked.
Another hesitation. "As I said, I find myself in an invidious position. My fat
her, too." He cleared his throat. "It's difficult to think straight when you're shocked ... well, I'm sure you know that-" He broke off abruptly. "Sir Anthony Wallader is going to The Times with accusations against Jinx and her father, egged on by my mother. It's understandable. They're both very upset, as you can imagine-well, of course we all are." He blew his nose. "I've no idea how much the newspapers are likely to print, but it could be very bad, especially if the tabloids get hold of it. My mother's not very well. She's, that is-Dad and I felt Jinx should be protected from the worst of it-it's little better than a kangaroo court-and I didn't know who else to phone. I thought she'd have told you-about their deaths anyway." His voice broke with emotion. "I'm sorry-I'm so sorry."
Alan listened to the quiet tears at the other end of the line. "I wouldn't worry too much," he said with a calm he didn't feel. "Jinx is an extraordinarily tough young woman''-even he hadn 't realized till now just how tough-"and I'm confident it's only a matter of days before her memory returns in full and she's able to set minds at rest." He thought for a moment. "Presumably we're talking about speculation and not fact? If there were any evidence against Miss Kingsley, the police would have confronted her by now. Am I right?''
Simon fought for composure. "As far as I understand it, yes, but we've been told very little. Sir Anthony's known since Saturday morning and he said that Leo had been bludgeoned to death ... The same way Russell Landy was."
"Does Jinx's father know Meg and Leo are dead?"
"I don't think so. Dad and I think their intention is to hit Jinx while she's vulnerable, but we can't see justice being done that way."
Alan was curious. "You're being very generous to her, Mr. Harris."
"Things aren't as straightforward as they might seem," Simon said tightly. "We're worried about my mother, and we don't want Jinx's suicide on our conscience. She'll be under a lot of pressure when the news breaks, and what she's tried once, it seems likely she could try again."
"Well, on that score at least I don't think you need worry," said Alan slowly. "If I had any doubts at all about her mental equilibrium, you've just laid them to rest. Thank you for letting me know, Mr. Harris."
He said good-bye and replaced the receiver with a thoughtful frown. What on earth was going on here? Did Adam Kingsley know? Is that why he'd sent Kennedy? God almighty! Were he and the clinic being dragged into some sort of conspiracy to pervert the course of justice? "SHI-IT!" he roared at Knight, Death, and the Devil. Why the hell had he agreed to take the bloody woman in?
He sought out Veronica Gordon, the sister in charge. "I've had it up to here," he told her, chopping at his throat. "I'm going AWOL for a few hours. If there's an emergency, get Nigel White to deal with it." He thought for a moment. "But if it's an emergency concerning Miss Kingsley, call me on the mobile. No," he corrected himself, "we'll go one step farther where she's concerned. I want her checked every half hour without fail. Got that? A physical check by you or one of the nurses every thirty minutes, and if you're worried at all, page me. Okay?"
Veronica nodded. "Any particular reason?"
"No," he growled, "just a safety precaution. Her father sent his blasted solicitor over to give me an ear bashing, and he's put the wind up me. I don't want to be sued for negligence if she takes it into her head to do something stupid."
"She won't," said the woman with confidence.
"Why are you so sure?"
"I've watched her. Everyone does exactly what she wants, including you, Alan, and people like that don't hang up their boots lightly."
"She's already had one go."
"Balls!" said Veronica with an amiable grin. "She may want her daddy to think she did, but if it had been a serious attempt, she'd be dead. My guess is, there were a lot of hidden agendas at work when she threw herself out of her car, and a little fatherly sympathy was one of them. Mind you," she added thoughtfully, "she didn't research the science of movable objects hitting solid tarmac very thoroughly. I'm not convinced severe concussion and amnesia were part of the original equation."
Alan shrugged. "It may not be part of the end game, either. You don't have to be Einstein to fake amnesia, Veronica."
She looked at him in surprise. "Are you saying she's a fraud?"
"Not necessarily," he lied. "I was merely stating a fact."
"But why would she bother with anything so elaborate unless she had something to hide?"
"Perhaps she does."
Fergus was leaning against Protheroe's Wolseley when the doctor emerged into the warm late afternoon and approached across the gravel. He gave a perfunctory nod towards the older man and ran a hand over the hood. "I thought it might be yours,'' he said. "I noticed it when I visited Jinx the other day. Do you want to sell it?"
Alan shook his head. "I'm afraid not. We've been together too long to part so easily." He put the key into the lock. "Have you seen Jinx, or are you on your way in?"
"Just waiting. She's wandering about the garden somewhere. Miles has gone looking for her. Did Kennedy give you a roasting then?"
"Is that what he's employed to do?"
"It depends on Dad's mood. I told him you were pretty highhanded with me on Saturday, so I thought maybe he'd ordered his Rottweiler in to remind you who foots the bill. I also told him I reckoned you had the hots for Jinxy." He peered at Alan out of the corner of his eye, judging his reaction. "Dad was bloody cross about it, so I'm not surprised he sent Kennedy over."
Alan gave a snort of amusement. "I doubt you have the bottle to tell your father anything, Fergus.'' He pulled the car door open. "As a matter of interest, how did you know Kennedy was here?"
"I saw him leave." He yawned. "Miles wants to meet you. I promised I'd keep you here till he got back."
"Another time perhaps."
"No, now." Fergus caught at his arm. "We want to know what's going on. Does Jinx remember something?"
"I suggest you ask her." Alan looked down at the restraining hand. "You're welcome to come and talk to me any time you like, just so long as you make an appointment first. But at the moment"-he placed his hand over the young man's and prised it off his arm "I've more important things to do." He smiled amiably and eased in behind the wheel. "It's been nice meeting you again, Fergus. Give my best wishes to your mother and brother." He shut the door and gunned the Wolseley to life, before spinning the wheel and roaring away down the drive.
When Sister Gordon did her rounds at nine o'clock that evening, she found Jinx standing by her window watching the remnants of the day burn to crimson embers. "Isn't it beautiful?" she said without turning round, knowing by instinct who her visitor was. "If I could stand and look on this forever, then I would have eternal happiness. Do you imagine that's what heaven is?"
"I guess it depends on how static you want your heaven to be, Jinx. Presumably you've watched this develop from a simple sunset into glorious fire, so at which point would you have stopped it to produce your moment of eternal happiness? I think I would always be wondering if the moment afterwards had been more beautiful than the one I was stuck with, and that would turn the experience into a hell of frustration."
Jinx laughed quietly. "So there is no heaven?"
"Not for me. Bliss is only bliss when you come upon it unexpectedly. If it lasted forever it would be unbearable." She smiled. "Everything all right?"
Jinx turned away from the window. "Exactly the same as it was half an hour ago, and the half hour before that. Are you going to tell me now why it's so important to keep checking on me?"
"Perhaps the doctor's worried that you've been overexerting yourself. You put the fear of God into me this afternoon with that wretched walk. It was too far and too long."
"It wasn't, you know," said Jinx idly. "I spent most of the time hiding." She smiled at the other woman's surprise. "I saw my brother coming and dove for cover in one of the outside sheds." She glanced back towards the window. "Dr. Protheroe told me he was expecting a visit from my father,'' Jinx lied easily. "So do you know if Adam ever came? I
thought he might pop in afterwards to visit me."
"I believe his solicitor came," Sister Gordon said, plumping up the pillows and smoothing the sheets, "but I don't think your father did."
Jinx pressed her forehead against the glass. "Why hasn't Dr. Protheroe been to see me?"
"He's taken himself off for a few hours R and R. Poor fellow," she said fondly, wishing, as she often did, that she hadn't saddled herself with Mr. Gordon. "He has a lot on his mind one way and another, and no one to share his problems with."
Jinx wrapped her arms about her thin body to stop the shivering. Did he have Leo and Meg on his mind? And was it Kennedy who'd told him?
Sister Gordon frowned. "You've been at that window too long, you silly girl. Quickly now, into your dressing gown and into bed. No sense catching pneumonia on top of everything else." She clicked her tongue sharply as she opened the dressing gown and slipped it over Jinx's shoulders. "You were lucky that young couple arrived when they did on the night of your accident or you'd have started pneumonia then."
"It was certainly convenient," said Jinx impassively.
THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC-MIDNIGHT
The Wolseley swung through the clinic's gates, its headlamps scything a white arc across the lawn. It was after midnight and Alan slowed to a crawl to avoid waking the patients with the crunch of wheels on gravel. He felt no relief about coming home, no sense of welcome at his journey's end, only a growing resentment that this was all there was. The temporary euphoria that a bottle of expensive Rioja over a meal of langoustines in garlic butter had given him had evaporated during his careful drive home, to leave only frustrated depression. What the hell was he doing with his life? Where was the satisfaction in ministering to a clutch of rich bastards with overinflated egos and no self control? Why hadn't Jinx told him Meg and Leo were dead? And why couldn't he get the damn woman out of his mind?
He drummed an angry hand on the wheel, only to wrench it in alarm as the lights picked out the white flash of a face, inches from the near-side wing, disembodied against the blackness of the trees bordering the drive. Shit! SHI-IT! His heart set up a sturdy gallop as he slammed his foot on the brake and brought the crawling car to an almost instantaneous halt. Half-hourly checks, he'd said, and she was out here dodging bloody cars.
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