She had a pretty face, a bit like Martha’s but with more pronounced cheek bones and a complexion that appeared as if her face had been carved from marble. To complement her statuesque features, Dr Atkinson’s wardrobe included a short pencil skirt and tight blouse, which Donald prudishly thought was too small, but as her cleavage held his attention, he had to admit that the white silk top did complement her perfectly formed breasts, which after a moments further scrutiny, he was sure were slightly smaller but definitely more pert than Ingrid’s… Donald closed his eyes and tried to shake the image and all such lurid thoughts from his head …his new friend was becoming too much of a bad influence he thought, as the sexually charged clouds started to clear and instead of some nubile nymphomaniac sat next to him, Dr Atkinson remerged out of the haze.
“Is everything alright Donald? Would you like some water?” The doctor asked, concerned that her patient seemed to be on the verge of fainting.
“No, thank you, I’m fine.” Donald replied as he cleared his throat. He was beginning to think that his former self might be more lecherous than he cared to admit and whilst that would please Ingrid, he didn’t think Martha would appreciate such a transformation of his character.
“Right then, well if you’re sure. So this will be the first session where you’ve undergone hypnosis and I just wanted to explain a few things first before we begin. The most important point is that you don’t expect too much… I can’t promise that this type of treatment will help you, but if it can begin to unlock your memory then it will have been a tremendous success. What I’m looking for is a key. Now the key might be small, like you get in a Yale lock or it could be huge, like the one that is used on the clinic’s oak front door… but the size or the type is irrelevant. What we want is anything that will begin to reveal what’s locked away inside your head.”
“So you don’t think that my past is lost, that it was erased by the beating I took.” Donald interrupted her.
“Good Lord no!” She over emphasised a little too loudly. “Look, I don’t know what Dr Woodrow told you about your condition but maybe I should just take a few moments to explain. Your brain is like some complicated computer and although we don’t know precisely how we store the facts and images we encounter every day, we do know that they are all stored permanently somewhere within the brain. Now all that has happened to you is that the connections, which would normally allow you to access these facts and pictures has been disrupted. But… and here’s the amazing thing, the brain has the ability to somehow rewire itself, to go around any blockage… all it needs sometimes is an external stimulus or a distraction. You see it might be that your brain doesn’t want you to remember and therefore we need to distract it, so we can access the key that will unlock that part of the brain which appears blocked.”
“And you think that the hypnosis might provide the distraction I need?”
“I hope it will, yes… now shall we make a start?”
“What happened? Did you learn anything doctor?” Donald asked, as his eyes slowly opened and the foggy haze of the hypnosis cleared. He’d not felt himself drift away but a quick glance at the antique wall clock told him he’d been somewhere for the past forty minutes.
“Every session has its merits and this one was no exception, although I can’t tell you anything new but that’s to be expected after only one session. It doesn’t happen immediately, it’s like peeling an onion, we get through one layer and another appears and then another until finally we reach our goal. Perhaps today we took away the first layer and that’s a good start.” The doctor sounded positive, although privately she’d been disappointed not to find out anything new about Donald.
“So what happens now?” Donald asked. As he pushed himself up, his head, which felt light and woozy, began to spin, making Donald feel as if he’d been drinking.
“We repeat the sessions every day until we make the breakthrough and in between sessions you go about your normal life at the clinic. I gather the therapists have put together quite a program of events to try and stimulate your brain, and I would encourage you to attend each and every one of them.”
“What about trips out… I’d like to go into Oxford and look around, perhaps something there may help?”
“By all means, although I would recommend that you always go with your partner… Ingrid isn’t it? At least that way you have each other, should anything happen.” Donald’s grimace didn’t escape Dr Atkinson’s eagle attention.
“I know she may seem carefree and uncomplicated but that’s all a show… as is her insatiable desire to break the Guinness World Record for being the most prolific nymphomaniac on the planet.”
“You know?” Donald was almost speechless at the doctor’s revelation.
“What about Ingrid’s proclivity for propositioning staff and patients alike. Oh yes I know all too well.” Dr Atkinson said in a way that didn’t seem to be breaking any patient consultant confidentiality… it was just a fact of life.
“Has she… you know…” Donald didn’t really know how to put his question without causing some offence.
“What, come on to me? Oh yes, every time we have a session together. Her propensity for disrobing is legendary here at the Wolvercote.”
~~~~~
“So how are you feeling now?” Helen asked, as she gently stroked Henri’s hair. She’d not seen him since the wedding and reception at the hotel… not because she’d been avoiding the newly married couple, the separation had been solely down to the fact that Rachel had surprised everyone at the reception by announcing that she’d secretly booked an all-inclusive honeymoon in the Caribbean.
“The doctor reckons the plaster casts will be off in around another six weeks and then I’ll be on crutches for another four or five.” Henri replied from the comfort of the bed in the private side-ward. He’d been flown back from Georgetown and had been taken from Newquay Airport straight to the orthopaedic department of the Royal Cornwall Hospital by private ambulance. The entire cost of the medical evacuation and repatriation had been met by the MediVac Travel Insurance policy that Rachel had taken out when she’d booked the holiday, along with Henri’s life insurance.
He took another sip from the plastic tube, as Helen held the bottle of orange close to his mouth.
“Have they caught the driver yet, do you know?” She’d expected Henri to be bad but seeing him with all his limbs in plaster and his face resembling a chequer board of bruises had made her tremble with shock. She replaced the drinks container on the small side table and wiped his mouth with hers.
“God I’ve missed you.” He whispered in her ear, as she hovered momentarily against his bearded face.
“I thought I’d go out of my mind when Rachel told Patrick that you been knocked down and nearly killed.”
“I never saw the bloody car Helen and the police were worse than bloody useless. They told Rachel that they couldn’t find any trace of the vehicle or the driver.”
“Where was Rachel, when all this happened? I mean she must have been very lucky.” As she spoke, Helen lovingly stroked Henri’s face and the first tears welled up in her eyes.
“She wasn’t there… that’s one of the reasons the police had so little to go on, she didn’t see anything. We’d just got back to the hotel after having dinner at a small beach restaurant, when Rachel remembered she’d left her bag under the table, so I dashed back and she went off to the bar to order us both a nightcap. I’d just left the place and was about to cross the road when… bang! The car came from nowhere and ploughed straight into me… I’d not even put a foot on the road and I swear to God the car didn’t have any lights on.”
“So you weren’t actually in the road when you were hit?” Helen couldn’t hide her astonishment.
“Well not when he hit me, but that’s where I ended up by all accounts.”
“It must have been quite a shock for Rachel when she came looking for you and found you sprawled out in the road like that… if that had been me I’m not s
ure I’d have known what to do.” Helen admitted reluctantly. She’d found it hard to like the devious woman since finding out the truth about the proposal… it wasn’t anything as mundane as petty jealousy, she just knew that Rachel didn’t deserve a man like Henri.
“But it wasn’t Rachel that found me. She’d taken the drinks up to the room and had fallen asleep on the bed. She only realised I’d not come back to the room sometime later and by then I was in the Intensive Care Unit of the local hospital.”
“How was Henri when you left him?” Patrick asked. A stranger may have thought it a kind question to ask under the circumstances, but Rachel knew he was hoping she’d tell him that there’d been complications and he’d slipped away in his sleep.
“Well he’s still alive. They want to send him home but I’ve told the doctors that it won’t be possible… I mean where do they think he’s going to sleep? In the kitchens or the restaurant perhaps… maybe they think we can make a bed up for him in front of the fire. Anyway I think I’ve convinced them to keep him in for now until I can sort out somewhere to take him.” Patrick thought she sounded fraught, tired and just a little angry.
“What about if he stays out at our house, you know whilst he recovers? I mean we’ve got plenty of room… he could have the guest wing all to himself and there aren’t any stairs, it would be ideal.” Patrick dropped the bombshell and waited for Rachel’s reaction. He hadn’t thought about the plan in advance, the idea had just popped into his head, like most good ideas. But if Patrick thought Rachel might object, her actual reaction was a pleasant surprise.
“I could pay for a nurse or maybe Helen would like to care for him. I mean she doesn’t actually work does she? Whereas I will be looking after the restaurant whilst he’s recovering…” A wistful look crossed her face. “… That reminds me. Your Mr Dickens, how much does he love his food? Because I was thinking perhaps I could open the restaurant one night as a special favour to him… you know like a private party. He could bring his security or whoever looks after him but there’d be no other diners, just him. He could even select his own menu or give me suggestions. Obviously you’d be there, because it would have been all your idea… as a thank you for his patience… or whatever other bullshit sort of story you want to spin him. What do you think?” Rachel added the last question as an almost afterthought, as she placed her arms around Patrick and bent down to caress the nape of his neck with her lips and tongue, making his senses dance with expectation as his body quivered under her labial massage.
“But why and why now?” He said tilting his head back so he could see Rachel’s eyes and better understand her motives.
“It’s all very simple Patrick.” She replied in the mode of a demented Sweeney Todd slowly running his cutthroat razor up and down the worn leather strap. “Why? Because, we want him out of our lives. Why now? Because, Henri and Helen won’t be around to get in our way.” She bent forward and gently kissed his forehead. “I mean if we get Henri all trussed up at yours, Nurse Helen will keep both of them occupied and out of our hair… oh and it might prove entertaining to get a couple of spy cameras wired up to that home entertainment system you’re so proud of.”
Patrick didn’t respond for a moment but then just as Rachel thought she might have pushed him too far, his face contorted in laughter. His raucous belly laugh lasting a full minute during which time the devious look on Rachel’s face was gradually replaced by one of seething resentment. She pulled herself free of Patrick’s grasp and was just about to confront his mockery with a few home truths of her own, when he suddenly stopped.
“My God, you’re a callous, devious bitch aren’t you?” He complimented her with a knowing smirk.
“I know… but that’s why we make such a great team, because you’re such a cold, calculating, cheating bastard…!”
~~~~~
Donald didn’t know whether he’d been pleased with his first hypnotherapy session or not. On the one hand there’d been no startling dark revelations… but then neither had he seemed to make any progress towards finding out something as simple as his real name and that had been the very least he’d expected before starting the treatment. After all, if he wasn’t a wanted criminal or a man on the run from his past, why had his mind shut out the world and concealed his true identity.
Of course, he realised he was making the assumption that the loss of his memory was some great sub-conscious plot of his own making and not the result of the blunt-force trauma, which had short-circuited his brain… but the longer he went without remembering anything the greater the paranoia grew.
“So did you remember anything?” Ingrid asked as they sat on the top deck of the number 56 bus into Oxford. They’d sat in silence from Witney, but as the bus passed underneath the A34 and headed for the next roundabout, she’d not been able to contain her inquisitiveness a moment longer.
“I mean there must have been something… I know on my first session I started to remember snippets of my childhood. It was like reading my autobiography… we started at the first page of chapter one and carried on from there. Over the next few sessions, my life appeared quite normal and uneventful until we reached my puberty and my early teens, then the recollections started to falter. The doc says something must have happened to me right about then that left an imprint on my brain, which it doesn’t want to remember, rather it’s just obliterated the experience from my conscious. She thinks the accident was only responsible for causing my initial amnesia, thereafter my subconscious took over and decided to use the accident as an excuse for locking away all my bad memories. I’ve no idea what she’s talking about, but I always go along to every session expecting it to be the one… you know the one where the great revelation happens and everything makes sense.”
Donald’s jealousy at Ingrid’s ability to remember something made him blush with guilty embarrassment but before he could apologise for his feelings, the bus stopped abruptly, causing them both to grab the rail that ran along the top of the seat in front of them.
Glancing out of the window to his right, Donald saw the group of students whose antics had made the driver apply his brakes so harshly. He had no idea what motivated them to push the bed across the road or why some of them were dressed as doctors and nurses, whilst others carried buckets and placards asking for money, but their jollity made him smile ruefully and wonder what anxieties, if any, the group of youngsters were masking with their high jinks, as they went about the city collecting money for the ‘St Giles Diamond Jubilee Trust’… as the banner on the side of the bed proudly proclaimed.
Donald had read the sign for a second time, before he’d understood its significance in relation to what he’d forgotten. Like someone who had misplaced their ringing mobile phone, he urgently searched his pockets, until in the very last one he found the small red box.
“Are you alright?” Ingrid asked worriedly, as the bus jerked forward to restart its delayed journey into the city.
“Yes… it’s just that I wanted to give you this.” Donald handed the box to Ingrid. “I found them this morning when I put my jacket on and I thought you might like them.”
Ingrid slowly, as if she wanted the moment of surprise to last as long as possible, lifted the lid to reveal the two diamond ear studs nestled perfectly in their silk nest.
“Oh Donald, they’re gorgeous… where did you get them?” She asked, sounding more ungrateful and accusatory than she had intended. “Sorry, what I mean is they must have cost you a small fortune… so why have you given them to me and not St Martha?” She bit her tongue and immediately wished she could have retracted the snide remark, which had more to do with her most recent hypnotic revelations about the presents her uncle had given her as a child, than any harm Martha had done her.
Of course her mother’s brother hadn’t given her diamonds to wear… his presents had been more silky and trimmed with black lace.
Donald knew such a gesture could be misconstrued but had reasoned that he’d wanted to let Ingrid know h
ow much he liked her and wanted to be her friend, even though he loved Martha.
“I haven’t worn the jacket since the incident at Ambleside… it’s just been hung in the wardrobe. The box I found in one of the pockets and I’m guessing Samantha put it there when we were sat talking to Dr Woodrow. I remember hearing afterwards that the police had come to speak to her over the apparent theft of some jewellery, but they found nothing by all accounts and now I know why.”
“So why didn’t you let Dr Atkinson know? I’m sure she would have contacted the police in Ambleside.” Ingrid asked, as she took one of the studs out and looked at it as if it were a telescope. In the bright light it twinkled, glittered and mesmerised her.
“I couldn’t do that.” Donald said innocently. “Samantha was in enough trouble as it was, if I hand the diamonds back, they’ll surely keep her locked away and she needs help, not a prison cell.” Ingrid replaced the stud and smiled lovingly.
“That’s a kind thought Donald. The question now is what are we going to do with them?” Before Ingrid had finished speaking, the answer had sprung into her head. “I know we could each wear one… as a sort of pact of friendship and anyway one stud is so much more fashionable than two, especially for men.” She said eagerly, as she held one of the studs against her ear lobe. “We could get our ears pierced today, whilst we’re in town, come on what do you say?”
Donald hadn’t thought too much about the consequences of his generous gift. There’d been no ulterior motive or hidden message in the present, he’d just thought they’d make Ingrid happy and jewellery wasn’t something that Martha craved or desired. He’d racked his brains to think if he’d ever seen her wear anything other than her mother’s plain wedding ring but had drawn a blank… so he’d decided that two brilliant cut diamond ear studs might just be a little too racy for Cromarty.
Stranger at the Wedding Page 27