Was that right? It didn't feel right. Even the woman in the mirror found that one hard to swallow. "Did Adam tell you I am very hostile to psychiatrists and psychiatry?"
"Yes, he did."
"Why does he think I tried to kill myself?"
"Because that's the conclusion the police have reached after their investigation into your crash."
"They're wrong," she said tightly. "I would never commit suicide."
"Okay," Protheroe said easily. "I'm not arguing with you."
She closed her eye. "Why would I suddenly want to kill myself when I've never wanted to before?" Anger roared in her ears.
He didn't say anything.
"Please," she said harshly. "I would like to know what's being said about me."
"All right. If you accept that there's a good deal of physical evidence to support the police theory, then the rationale behind it seems to be that you were upset by your broken engagement.
Your last real memory is saying good-bye to Leo when you left London two and a half weeks ago to stay with your parents at Hellingdon Hall. You probably don't remember doing it, but you've repeated that memory several times-to the police and to my colleagues at Odstock Hospital-and they have concluded, possibly wrongly, that it's important to you to preserve a happy memory over the memory of the night a week later when Leo told you he was leaving you for your friend, Meg Harris."
She considered this in silence for a long time. "Then they're saying my amnesia isn't entirely physical. There's an element of face-saving in it. Because I can't bear to think of Leo rejecting me, I've wiped his shabbiness out of my mind and then gone on to forget my own weakness in being unable to face life without him."
Her choice of words was fascinating. "In substance that's what your father's been told."
"All right." He saw tears glistening on her lashes. "If I was so distraught about Leo deserting me two weeks ago that I had to wipe the whole thing out of my memory, then why am I not equally distraught learning about it all over again?"
"I don't know. It's interesting, isn't it? How would you explain it?"
She looked away. "I was having too many problems adjusting to the whole idea of marriage. The only thing I feel now is relief that I don't have to go through with it. I'd say I wasn't distraught the first time."
He nodded. "I'm prepared to accept that. So, let's talk about it. Was the wedding your idea or Leo's?"
"The wedding was my father's idea, but if you're asking me whose idea it was to get married, then that was Leo's. He sprang it on me out of the blue a couple of months ago, and I said yes because at the time I thought it was what I wanted."
"But you changed your mind."
"Yes."
"Did you tell anyone?"
"I don't think so." She felt his skepticism as strongly as if he'd reached out and touched her with it. Oh God, what a bloody awful situation this was. "But I'm sure Leo must have known," she said quickly. "Does he say I was unhappy about him leaving?"
Dr. Protheroe shook his head. "I don't know."
She looked at the telephone by her bedside table. "I know Meg's home number. We could phone him and ask him." But did she want to do that? Would Leo ever admit that it was she who didn't want to marry him?
"At the moment he's not available. The police have tried. He's out of the country for a few weeks."
Not available. She already knew that. How? She licked her lips nervously. "What about Meg?"
"She's with him. I'm told they've gone to France." He watched her hands writhe in her lap and wondered what complicated emotions had driven the other two to betray her. "You were telling me why you changed your mind," he prompted her. "What happened? Was it a sudden decision, or something that developed gradually?"
She struggled to remember. "I came to realize that the only reason he wanted to marry me was because I'm Adam Kingsley's daughter and Adam's not poor." But was that true? Wasn't it Russell who had wanted to marry her for her money? She fell silent and thought about what she'd said. " 'He that diggeth a pit shall fall into it,' " she murmured.
"Why do you say that?"
"Because you're going to ask me if Meg Harris's family is wealthy."
He didn't say anything.
"They're not. Her father earns a pittance as a rural vicar." She ground her cigarette into the ashtray and fixed a smile to her lips. "So presumably Leo has discovered true love at last."
"Are you angry with Meg? Your stepmother tells me you've known her a long time."
"We were at Oxford together." She looked up. "And no, I'm not, as a matter of fact, but that's only because I'm finding it all rather difficult to believe at the moment. I only have Betty's word for it."
"Don't you believe her?"
"Not often, but that's not an indication of an Electra complex. She's the only mother I've ever known and I'm very fond of her."
He raised an amused eyebrow. "What did you read at Oxford? The classics?"
She nodded. "And a complete waste of time they were, too, for someone who was only ever interested in photography. I can do crosswords and decipher the roots of words, but apart from that my education was wasted."
"What is that?" He gave his beard a thoughtful scratch. "A defense mechanism against anyone who thinks you're over-privileged?"
"Just habit," she said dismissively. "My father finds my qualifications rather more impressive than anyone else does."
"I see."
She doubted that very much. Adam's pride in his only daughter bordered on the obsessional, which was why there was so little love lost between any of the inhabitants of Hellingdon Hall. How much did this doctor know? she wondered. Had he met Adam? Did he understand the tyranny under which they lived?
"Look," she said abruptly, "why don't I make this easy for you. I mean, I know this routine by heart. How old were you when your mother died? Two. How old were you when Adam remarried? Seven. Did your stepmother resent you? I've no idea, I was too young to notice. Did you resent her? I've no idea, I was too young to know what resentment was. Have you any brothers or sisters? Two half brothers, Miles and Fergus. Do you resent them? No. Do they resent you? No. How old are they? Twenty-six and twenty-four. Are they married? No, they still live at home. Do you love your father? Yes. Does he love you? Yes."
Protheroe's laugh, a great booming sound that would bring reluctant smiles whenever she heard it, bounced around the room. "My God," he said, "what do you do for an encore? Bite psychiatrists' heads off? I came to find out if you were comfortable, Jinx. As far as possible, I would like your stay here to be a happy one."
She lit another cigarette. He knew nothing. "I'm sure it will be. Adam wouldn't pay four hundred pounds a day unless he'd checked you out very thoroughly."
"You're the one who'll be calling the shots, not your father."
She flicked him a sideways glance. "I wouldn't count on that if I were you," she said quietly. "Adam hasn't made his millions by sitting idly by while other people express themselves. He's a very manipulative man."
Protheroe shrugged. "He certainly seems to have your best interests at heart."
She blew a smoke ring into the air. "Show me his heart, Dr. Protheroe, and I might believe you."
*4*
WEDNESDAY, 22ND JUNE, 53 LANSING ROAD, SALISBURY-8:05 p.m.
The young man was in no hurry to get up. He lay on the bed, his limbs sprawled in satiated contentment upon the rumpled bedclothes, watching the woman button her blouse in front of the mirror. Her reflected eyes stared warily back at him. Despite his airs and graces, and his liberal use of "please" and "thank you," she knew exactly what she was dealing with here, and it terrified her. She'd seen every type there was to see-or thought she had-but this one was in a class of his own. This one was mad.