He became aware that the German woman had asked him something and both she and her husband were looking expectantly at him. He saw the first seeds of suspicion grow in the Germans’ eyes. ‘Himmel!’ he exclaimed, stopping in his tracks and putting his hand to his mouth as if he had just remembered something important. He turned to Simone and said, ‘Helga! Komm!’ With that, he took Simone’s hand and pulled her across the road into one of the tourist shops. There was sweat on his brow as he half turned to see the Germans moving on. The woman kept glancing back and saying something to her husband but the immediate crisis was over.
They spent the next ten minutes pretending to browse through tourist trash before Macandrew risked a look outside the shop and thought it safe to move on. They hurried across the Archeveche to the left bank of the Seine and half walked, half ran along the footpath to the head of the Boulevard San Michel.
‘The University is just over there,’ said Simone, pointing to the other side of the street.
‘We can’t risk going there,’ said Macandrew, looking across to the sprawling concrete campus of the Seventh University of Paris, its tower blocks rising like urban weeds. ‘They know where you work. That’s how they got to your assistant.’
Simone put her hand to her head and said, ‘Sorry, I’m just not thinking straight.’
Macandrew put an arm round her. ‘Let’s find a cafe,’ he said, ‘somewhere to sit down. I don’t know about you but I could use a drink.’
They turned away from the university and continued walking until they found a small cafe where they took a table as far back from the door as they could. Simone sat staring at the table surface, unaware that a waiter had joined them and was hovering at her elbow. Macandrew ordered coffee and brandy for both of them.
‘I shouldn’t be sitting here,’ said Simone. ‘I should go to the police... I’ll have to inform the director... I need to find out how Aline is.’
‘If you were to tell me what all this is all about, then maybe we could both go to the police,’ said Macandrew. ‘It’s got something to do with the research that you and Burnett were working on, hasn’t it?’
Simone looked down at the table for fully thirty seconds before finally saying, ‘Maybe.’ She paused while the waiter put down their order and then took a sip of brandy before beginning, ‘John Burnett did not start researching Hartman’s tumours by accident. His wife lost her mind after the surgery to have one removed: she had to be committed to an institution. John took it very badly. He spent hours with her, trying to make sense of her condition. Over a period of time he became convinced that she was not raving incoherently as everyone seemed to imagine, but that she had assumed the personality of someone else — several other people in fact — but they were all mixed up inside her head.’
Macandrew nodded. ‘I guess that’s pretty much what I’ve seen in my patient.’
‘The medical staff at the hospital listened to what John had to say and between them, they tried out a series of techniques involving stimulation and sedation to see if they could stabilise Anne — John’s wife — to a single personality. To some extent they were successful. She would become one person for as long as a few hours under controlled conditions but she was never herself: she was never John’s wife: she was always someone else. John was heartbroken but he never gave up hope. He decided to work full time on Hartman’s tumours and their after effects.’
‘Could he just do that?’ asked Macandrew.
‘Luckily he could,’ said Simone. ‘He had already established an international reputation as a biochemist so his department at the university agreed to a change of research direction. They knew that if they turned down his request he would have left and gone elsewhere and they didn’t want to lose him.’
‘Makes sense,’ agreed Macandrew.
‘He made good progress, not least because he worked night and day on his new project. The thought of being able to do something to help Anne was such a strong driving force.’
Macandrew found himself regretting having lectured Burnett about the duty of a researcher.
‘John discovered that Hartman’s tumours secrete a protease that affects an area of the brain immediately behind the pineal gland. He managed to identify the specific brain cells involved and then obtained post mortem samples of them from a number of people who had died of natural causes. He wanted to find out just what the normal function of these cells was — it’s amazing how little we know about the human brain. He found that these cells produced a previously unidentified enzyme, which he called Theta 1.’
‘So, it’s the lack of this enzyme that causes the personality change?’
‘That’s right,’ said Simone. ‘John managed to get a grant from one of the cancer charities to expand the work and he employed a post-doctoral assistant to help with the research. He took on Ashok Mukherjee, an Indian biochemist with first class credentials and Mukherjee succeeded in purifying the enzyme. It was a very exciting time for them and this was where I came in. I’m a molecular biologist. John took me on to clone Theta 1 so that we could produce unlimited supplies of it.’
‘And you could start replacing it in brain damaged patients?’
‘That was the idea. We carried out some animal tests to see if there were any ill-effects associated with the enzyme but there didn’t appear to be so...’
‘John Burnett treated his wife with it?’
‘It was highly unethical I know, but... yes, he did.’
‘And?’ asked Macandrew expectantly.
‘Anne developed total memory loss. Her mind became a complete blank. She started each day without knowing anything at all She didn’t recognise anything or anybody.’
Macandrew grimaced.
‘John still didn’t give up hope. The fact that Theta 1 had affected memory suggested that he was on the right track. He started working on the protease that the tumours produced. He hoped he could synthesise a chemical equivalent in the lab that would mimic the effects of a tumour.’
‘Why?’
‘He suspected that the problem with Theta 1 treatment might be something to do with dosage or potency. He thought the purified stuff we made in the lab might be too strong so his idea was to counteract it with a bit of synthetic protease. That way, he might be able to strike the right balance.’
‘Clever,’ said Macandrew.
‘It was much easier to say than to do,’ said Simone. ‘Synthesising such a protease proved to be very difficult.’
‘But he succeeded?’
‘After six months hard work.’
‘What about his wife?’ asked Macandrew. ‘Did she ever get her memory back?’
‘In a way,’ said Simone uncomfortably.
‘What way?’
‘After more treatment, she stabilised as a fourteen-year-old girl living in London. John’s wife had in fact, been born and brought up in London.’
‘Are you saying that she had regressed to being a child?’ asked Macandrew.
‘Not exactly...’ said Simone, pausing as if uneasy about what she was going to say next. ‘She told us that her home had been destroyed in a fire that had swept through the city and that her mother had died of a great illness the year before. She was terrified of everything around her and recognised nothing.’
‘Are you saying what I think you’re saying...?’ said Macandrew.
‘The great fire of London was in sixteen sixty-six,’ said Simone. ‘A year after Black Death had ravaged the city. Anne could tell us about both these events in great detail.’