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‘Her name is Olivia and she met with an accident about a year ago.’ Lady Swanson paused for breath. ‘She nearly died. She had extensive injuries and was in hospital for many months. When she recovered she had lost her memory. She can remember nothing. She can remember how to do things—cook, places—but she cannot remember her past.’
I nodded.
‘I was hoping hypnotherapy could help her remember her past.’ She leaned forward slightly, her lips parted. ‘Do you think you could…hypnotize her?’
I watched her and thought of the men in her life. How easy it must have been for such a beautiful woman to get anything she wanted from a man.
‘Lady Swanson, I’m not sure I am the right man for the job. Usually I treat people who want to lose weight, kick a bad habit, or who are afraid of spiders.’
‘I understand that, but do you think you could help her, though?’
‘To be honest, I’ve never had such a patient.’
‘Well, it’s worth a try then?’ she pressed hopefully.
‘But you have to bear in mind that not everybody can be hypnotized.’
She didn’t listen to that. Instead she broke into a smile. It was like the sun shining out from between a crack in a sky full of storm clouds. Yes, she was obviously one of those women who could whistle a chap off a tree, but… I was immune to it. For two years I had wandered around looking for even the smallest spark of the vibrant life that used to course through my veins. All I had ever found was ashes. Even now this beautiful, beautiful woman elicited nothing from me.
‘Oh that’s wonderful,’ she gushed softly. ‘You will take her on then?’
I felt almost as if she had subtly manipulated me. ‘I’ll try. No promises.’
‘I did some research on you and your work, and I am certain you are the best person for the job. If anybody can do it, you can.’
I froze at that.
Instantly her face lost some of its glowing enthusiasm. ‘I hope you don’t think I was snooping into your private affairs? I was only interested in your professional credentials…’
I smiled tightly: the personal stuff came up with the professional stuff. After the accident the two had become inextricably entwined. ‘Of course not. It is prudent to check out a practitioner before you go to see him.’
‘I just want what is best for my daughter. And you are that. Will you take on her case?’
‘Does your stepdaughter know you are here?’
She leaned back and looked out of the window. ‘A butterfly wing is a miracle, made up of thousands of tiny, loosely attached pigmented scales that individually catch the light and together create a depth of color and iridescence unmatched elsewhere in nature. Our identities are like the butterfly wing, made up of thousands and thousands of tiny, loosely attached memories. Without them we lose our color and iridescence. Olivia is like a child now. We make all the major decisions for her. The world is a frightening place for her.’
‘All right, Beryl will find an appointment for you.’
She smiled. A soft smile. And I had a vision. Her in bed with her shriveled husband. It was not only she who had done a quick Google search. It was not every day that Lady Swanson, of the Swanson dynasty, called my office for an appointment.
For a moment our eyes held and I saw something in hers. Interest. Desire. I let my eyes slide away.
‘Thank you… Marlow.’
‘Goodbye, Lady Swanson.’
‘Ivana, please.’
‘Goodbye, Ivana.’
I walked to the door, opened it, and let her out. As she passed me her perfume wafted into my nostrils. Expensive, faint, but still heady. From up close she was even more flawless. I closed the door and walked to my desk. I opened my drawer and taking out a bottle of Jack Daniel’s poured myself a huge measure. I knocked it back, swallowed, and closed my eyes. Fuck. Was it ever going to stop hurting? I walked to the window and watched Lady Swanson get into her chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce Phantom. She stared straight ahead. It was almost as if it was only a dream that she had come into my office and sat in my chair.
The intercom buzzed. ‘Can I come in?’ Beryl asked.
I sighed. ‘Yes.’
The door opened even before I had taken my finger away from the button.
‘Well?’ she asked, wide-eyed. ‘That was a very short first session. What did she want?’
‘She wants me to treat her stepdaughter.’
Her eyes became huge. ‘What? She wants you to treat Lady Olivia?’
‘How did you know that?’
‘It was all over the papers. She met with an accident and lost her memory. You have your work cut out for you.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Lady Olivia is known in the tabloids as ‘Miss Secretive’. She has never ever given an interview and furiously guards her privacy. There are no pictures of her behaving badly. Ever.’ Beryl came deeper into the room and went to my computer. She typed in a few words and turned towards me, her face filled with gossipy excitement, said, ‘Here. This is what she looks like.’
I walked toward the computer screen.
It was not a very good picture. A long lens photo. Grainy. And not even in color. But my cock twitched and woke up from its deep sleep.
