The President's Wife Is on Prozac

by Jayne Lind

  The President’s Wife Is On Prozac

  A Novel

  by

  Jayne Lind, PhD

  Kindle Edition Copyright 2006 Jayne Lind

  All characters as well as the plot of this novel, other than named historical characters and events, are the creation of the author and bear no resemblance to any person living or dead.

  ISBN 1448623790

  EAN-13 9781448623792

  Jayne Lind is a clinical psychologist and author. She has had two non-fiction books published as well as two other novels.

  Other books by Jayne Lind:

  Talk With Us, Lord

  Are You Running On Empty?

  In The Days of Noah

  The Vicar and the Village

  Chapter OneLondon

  The harsh buzz of the intercom jolted Taylor from her thoughts. “A gentleman is here to see you, Dr. Leigh. I know it’s late, but he says it’s urgent.”

  Taylor leaned over her desk, face in her hands, and breathed deeply. What was it now? Her last client had only just left, a demanding, draining woman. All Taylor wanted was to go home, have a microwave meal, a glass of wine and relax. It was the end of a long day and, for all she loved what she did, she knew she needed to be better at keeping the boundaries between work and the rest of her life. “Give me a moment, please,” she replied to Tina.

  Some days, days like this one, when she had to reach deep inside herself and give far more than she ever thought possible, she doubted her choice of profession. Psychology had always held a fascination for her. It was a way to help people, a way to explain her own past and that of her clients, and a way to shake a fist at her mother at the same time. However, she badly needed a holiday.

  Tomorrow, she told herself, just twenty-four hours before I’ll be on board a plane to Venice with Karl. All I have to do is get through this unexpected meeting, listen to the guy, offer support, and let him know I’ll be there for him when I come back in a week. Soon, I will be lying on the Lido beach.

  Taylor stood up wearily as she heard a knock on the door, but it opened before she could get there. Clearly, this was not someone who was used to taking no for an answer. Perhaps, she thought with a sigh, she wouldn’t be the right therapist for him.

  The man in front of her didn’t look like a normal client, whatever normal meant. He was tall, very good looking and dressed in what appeared to be a hand-tailored suit, but that wasn’t it. Lots of her clients were wealthy. They had to be if they wanted ongoing therapy, although she did see many clients for the National Health Service. Rather, it was more the absolute confidence and composure the man displayed.

  “Dr. Leigh, my name is Josh Harmon,” he said, extending his hand. She shook it briefly and gestured to a chair, nodding to Tina before she shut the door to let her know everything was all right. Mishaps were rare, but she was smart enough never to work alone and this kind of last-minute appointment was highly irregular. One buzz on the button hidden under the table between the two armchairs and Tina would be on the phone to security.

  “How can I help?” Taylor asked, sitting down opposite him. He gazed at her for a long moment. Was he sizing her up? This was a switch.

  “I’m here on official business.” He reached into his inside pocket, drew out his identification and handed it to her.

  MI6, she read, the British secret service. This must be about a client of hers, someone in trouble with the law. She handed back the ID and nodded for him to continue.

  Looking at her intently, he began, “Dr. Leigh, please be assured that you are under no coercion in the matter I’m about to bring up. If you decide to help us, it will be entirely your decision. What I do require is that you promise to keep what I tell you as confidential as anything you have ever heard in the privacy of your office.”

  Taylor nodded, realizing this wasn’t what she had been expecting. To give herself time to think, she reverted to the usual script she used with new clients. “Yes, of course. I certainly will keep this confidential. Unless…”

  “Unless?” he asked in a sharp voice.

  She read concern in his face and spoke quickly to clarify. “There are two instances in which psychologists are duty bound to break confidentiality. Those are in the case of homicide or suicide.”

  “If a person tells you he or she is suicidal,” he asked, “you are bound to inform someone?”

  “Yes, that’s right, in order to protect the person from himself.”

  The agent nodded and was silent for a moment. Then, he asked, “Can you tell a particular person, say an agreed doctor, rather than anyone else? In other words, can you tell someone who would have it within his or her power to make sure the person didn’t commit suicide, but no one else?”

  “Yes. In fact, I would choose that person very carefully. He or she would have to guarantee that the client was not left alone and wouldn’t have the means to carry it out.” Taylor was growing impatient. “What is this about?”

  Josh Harmon nodded again and there was another long pause. Now that she knew he wasn’t a client, she found this man’s caution slightly frustrating. She guessed that, working in MI6, he had to keep a certain distance.

  After what seemed like an eternity, he spoke again and what he said caught her like a body blow. “The President’s wife is depressed. The First Lady of the United States.”

  Taylor stared back in disbelief as her thoughts came tumbling, one after the other. “And you want me to see her?”

  “Yes,” he replied briskly, in a calm, low voice, “but it is more complicated than that. We want you to leave your practice in London and take up residence in the White House. You would see Mrs. Carlson every day, or as often as she needs and has time for, until she is over this.”

  “But why me?” Taylor asked, certain her anxiety revealed itself in her face and voice.

  “There are others we could ask, but you are our preferred choice for several reasons. You are unknown by sight by anyone in politics or the press in the United States. You are single. You have no children. You grew up in the United States, so you understand the culture. You have all the right credentials—you were recommended by the U.S. Embassy here in London. We have made thorough checks and your reputation is excellent, especially your record of helping patients with depression.”

  He paused for just a second and then continued in a more urgent tone. “Dr. Leigh, you must understand that the press cannot be allowed to find out about this. No one from Washington could be seen going in and out of the White House. It would only be a matter of time until someone would recognize them if they were from the States. That is why we are asking you. This has to remain highly confidential and you are best placed to deliver that, not someone who practices there.”

  Live in the White House—how does someone do that, Taylor wondered? Would she be hidden in a subterranean basement? “So, I would have to leave my clients, my friends, and live in the White House? For how long?”

  “You don’t have to do anything,” he replied. “As I said, we are not coercing you in any way. But yes, that would be required. We have a cover story in place. Your friends and clients will be told that your mother is ill and that you need to be with her. Your clients will be moved to other therapists. I realize that this is a lot to take in, and that this may seem extreme, but you of all people must understand what it must feel like to be in that situation, to need help, desperately, but to be unable to ask.” He paused for a moment, holding her eyes with his gaze. “As for how long, hopefully no more than six months.”

  Taylor nodded, wondering how deeply they had dug in their back
ground checks. Then he smiled and even in the midst of her confusion, she warmed to his smile. “I…I gather I’ll be recompensed for this….”

  “Yes” he interrupted. “You will be paid $500,000, plus all expenses, of course.

  Five hundred thousand dollars, a sum she had never even dared to aspire to. How could she turn that down, she wondered, realizing and at the same time, not liking the fact, that the money might make her decision for her. Not much altruism there, lady.

  “I don’t expect you to give me an answer now,” Josh went on. “Here’s my card—don’t hesitate to phone me if you have any other questions. You have until tomorrow morning to decide. I’ll phone you at your flat early—would seven be all right?” He stood up to leave before she answered his question.

  Taylor rose from her chair as well. “Yes, that would be fine.” She didn’t know what else to say, but he didn’t seem to expect her to say anything.

  He extended his hand and this time, gave her a firm handshake, and did she imagine it? Did his hand linger in hers a few seconds more than was normal? With a nod, he opened the door and left.

  ***

  Josh Harmon left the psychologist’s office with mixed feelings. Had he been unfair to Dr. Leigh? He didn’t really give her enough details to decide, but then he was following his brief. However, that wasn’t what was bothering him. He pictured her in his mind—her expressive eyes, her short, auburn hair that shone and swirled loosely around her head as she spoke with amazement at his message. She had been shocked—well, who wouldn’t be? No one in his profession, but the ‘civilians’ as they were called, the ordinary people who led ordinary lives, wouldn’t any of them be shocked at what he proposed? Would she say yes? If not, he probably would never see her again. He had a portfolio that told him everything he needed to know about her which, of course, included a photo, but it didn’t do her justice. She was tall. When they both stood up, her gaze met his and he liked that; he liked women he didn’t have to look down on. And even dressed in her professional looking business suit, she was striking. He wondered what she would look like in a bikini.

  He knew this assignment was important, but he also felt it beneath him, far beneath him in fact. Yes, the First Lady was a significant person, but she wasn’t a head of state. And he was used to dealing with much more dangerous assignments, counter-terrorism, organized crime, and lately, child trafficking. He rationalized that he was in a senior position and thus trusted with this very secret operation, but he was resentful about the interruption in his work. Catching the perverts who watched children being tortured—it was the most significant work he’d ever done, the most satisfying, and yet at the same time, the most appalling. Now he was being treated like a junior trainee, asked to accompany a woman on a plane. Amateur stuff, the sort of assignments he had carried out in the beginning. These days he barely took an evening off, never a holiday. He was as dedicated to the children he wanted to rescue as he had ever been to his country.

  He took his current girlfriend, Brittany, to a West End musical that night. His preference was for drama, but Brittany had ambitions to appear on stage and this was her type of performance. The meeting with Dr. Leigh meant he was late picking her up, but that was nothing new. Brittany, with her long, blonde hair, straight as if it had been ironed on a board and her perfect figure. They had very good seats in the stalls, Row D, and the lights from the stage reflected onto her flawless face. Even without makeup, in the mornings, she was as beautiful a woman as Josh had ever seen. She modeled in her spare time and sold perfume at Harrods as her day job. He liked being seen with her; he enjoyed knowing other men were staring. So what if she laughed a bit too loudly for his comfort during the show, she always laughed at his jokes as well, no matter how pathetic they were. Not to mention her redeeming qualities when they were alone.

  Ordinarily he would have been relieved to have a night off with no worries, but he found himself thinking about Dr. Leigh, wishing she would phone. He put his phone on vibrate during the show.

  Snap out of it, Josh, he told himself. Keep focused, as he had always been. That’s how he had risen in the ranks to his current position. First Eton, then Oxford, where he read law, then straight into MI6 with one promotion following another in rapid succession. Idealistic, he wanted to help the world, to protect it, to do something meaningful with his life. And he’d achieved it; he was there. It meant constant travel; it meant almost literally not having a home, which meant having a normal relationship was next to impossible. Until lately, the adventure and the challenge of his assignments were enough to satisfy him, but he was becoming restless. He wanted more, just what he wasn’t sure. Settle down and watch the play, he admonished himself. Enjoy the present. And tomorrow, you will see Dr. Leigh again and perhaps get to know her a bit better. That is if she said yes.

  ***

  When Taylor arrived at her small flat in Notting Hill, she threw off her clothes and stepped into the shower. The hot water surrounded her, enveloped her, easing the tightness in her neck and shoulders, tightness she felt from the moment the agent first entered her office. Stepping out, she wrapped a small towel around her wet hair and a warm terry cloth robe around her body. Padding into the kitchen with bare feet, she opened the fridge, sliced off a hunk of Gruyere cheese, poured herself a glass of wine, and then dialed Karl’s mobile number. He didn’t answer. She left him a message, saying it was important, and sat down at the small desk in her living room to begin a list of questions for the next day.

  After the shock of the agent’s request, her first reaction was to be flattered, but now the cold hard facts were surfacing. She was asked to leave her life, the one she had carefully constructed all these years, to postpone moving forward, to live in a suspended state for as long as six months. And her clients—there were several whom she knew would feel abandoned, who wouldn’t understand, and who would resent having to see one of her colleagues. Others, who were healthier in terms of their emotions, would be able to suspend therapy until she returned. Would she say yes? Could she say yes?

  The cover story sounded flimsy. Why couldn’t she tell her friends and her clients she was working for MI6? Wouldn’t that sound more plausible? Some of her friends knew how she felt about her mother, would they buy that she was suddenly a dutiful daughter? And what about Karl? What was she going to tell him? Would this mean the end of their relationship? He obviously couldn’t see her during the time she was in the States. She made as complete a list as she could and went to bed around midnight. Karl did not phone back. She was worried about him, about their relationship, and about their holiday, to which she had been so looking forward.

  Three hours later, having tossed and turned, she gave up and got up. It was three o’clock. Josh Harmon told her she could phone him at anytime, but surely, he didn’t mean in the middle of the night. She still had a myriad of questions, but she knew what she was going to do.

  ***

  Taylor was dressed and drinking her second cup of coffee when Josh Harmon rang her doorbell. He had phoned an hour earlier, saying it was best if he came to her flat, that it was safer to talk there. She let him in and once again was struck how extraordinarily good looking he was. Drop-dead gorgeous, her best friend Karen would say.

  Although his hair was a mixture of steel gray and black, he didn’t look that much older than her and she noticed a twinkle in his deep green eyes when he smiled, a twinkle that wasn’t there yesterday in her office.

  “Good morning!” he said, as he flashed a toothpaste commercial smile.

  Taylor responded to his smile—it was infectious. “Coffee?” she asked, holding up the cafetierre she had prepared.

  “Yes, black please.

  “She poured him a cup and sat opposite him on the sofa, hoping she could relax, hoping she had made the right decision.

  “You look tired,” Josh said, with a sympathetic expression on his face, “I imagine you had trouble sleepin
g last night.”

  Taylor nodded, thinking she must appear worse than the image she’d seen in the mirror that morning.

  “Yes, in fact, I’m exhausted. I don’t think I slept at all,” she replied.

  Josh took another sip of his coffee as his eyes swept around the room. “This is a nice flat. Are you going to hate to leave it?”

  Taylor realized he assumed her answer was yes, yes to leaving here and going to Washington, D.C. Was he trained to do this? Ask trick questions? She sighed and said, “I am going to hate to leave it.”

  “Then you’ve decided?” Josh asked, his smile vanishing into his coffee cup.

  Taylor nodded. “Yes. I don’t see how I can turn this down. I hate to leave my clients more than I hate to leave this place, but it’s only for a short time, right?”

  “Well, we hope so. The First Lady has been prescribed an anti-depressant, but the White House physician feels strongly that she needs someone to help her come out of her depression. Hence their request to you.”

  Josh put his cup down. “Now, since you’ve decided, we need to make the most of our time. I want you to go to your office this morning and bring home your laptop and whatever else from there you might need. Then return home and pack only one overnight case for the plane. You may pack several other cases which will be brought over later today on a commercial plane, but you don’t need to take everything. If you need more clothes, books, whatever, you will simply request them and they will be bought for you.”

  “Do you work there? At the White House?” Taylor asked, realizing as soon as she said the words that, of course, he didn’t.

  “No, I don’t.” he answered, smiling, “I’m simply the courier, if you like. I will accompany you on a private plane and then turn you over to the secret service, who do work there.” Taylor picked up from the coffee table the list of questions she had formulated last night. “I have so many questions about actually living in the White House.....” she began.