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They were in the left wing of the mansion, in the dispensary, what had once been the ballroom of Whitbey House. Ann Chambers lay sleeping peacefully in one of the sixteen field-hospital beds. Under Dr. Silver’s supervision, the medical staff had given her a complete checkup, then a bath, and then she had been made comfortable.
Silver was a tall man, easily six-four, with a deep, commanding voice that he modulated with the skill of a radio broadcaster. His tone could be strong, but at the same time the sound of his voice would carry no farther than those in the immediate conversation—all the while conveying an utter confidence and authority that was not to be questioned.
He was good at what he did. He knew it. And those he dealt with knew it.
“Dissociative?” Charity repeated.
Major Silver nodded.
“Amnesia is too commonly misunderstood,” he went on, “and, accordingly, very often misinterpreted. Broadly, amnesia is defined as profound memory loss. Ann has dissociative amnesia. A person blocks out critical information, usually something that is stressful or traumatic. Thus, she would be dissociative to that event.”
Charity looked at Ann, then back to Silver.
“I believe that we can rule out transient global amnesia,” he said.
It was obvious from Charity’s expression that that meant nothing to her.
“Transient global amnesia is the loss of all memory,” he explained, “but only temporarily. It has elements of severe anterograde amnesia, which is caused by brain trauma and involves the ability to form new memories, and retrograde amnesia, the ability to recall memories only hours old. The reason we can discount it is because it’s most commonly associated with vascular disease.”
“Vascular disease?” Jamison repeated. “Isn’t that an older person’s disease?”
Dr. Silver nodded. “Right. Which brings us to the dissociative amnesia called fugue amnesia.”
Jamison shook his head.
“Also known as fugue state,” Silver explained. “As in, a disoriented state of mind. Some even call it ‘hysterical amnesia.’”
Jamison noticed that Charity seemed to respond to the term hysterical.
“What causes it?” Charity said.
“A traumatic event,” Dr. Silver went on, “something that the mind simply is not able to handle. Such as witnessing a murder, a particularly bad automobile collision, a—”
“A bombing?” Charity interrupted. “From an air raid?”
“Yes,” he replied, nodding softly. “I am thinking that she must have seen her friend struck down by the bricks, as you described. That could cause it.”
Charity considered that.
“Is there any treatment?” she said.
“Time,” Major Silver said. “Time and love. Sedation sometimes is necessary. Pyschotherapy, talking with a psychiatrist, can be helpful. In extreme cases, there’s hypnosis and sodium amobarbital, which helps recall lost memories. Left alone, however, the memory can slowly return. Or it can suddenly return. And the patient may or may not recall what caused the trauma.”
Charity smiled. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time. Thank you, Major.”
Bob Jamison found Charity Hoche in the pub. She was at the bar, nursing what appeared to be a martini cocktail made with Prime Minister Churchill’s personal recipe.
She heard his footsteps approaching and turned toward him as he took the seat beside her.
“Just got off the secure line with Ed Stevens in London. He said to tell you congratulations, and thank you, and that he will speak with you personally tomorrow about quote saving the OSS unquote from the wrath of Ann’s father—”
“Brandon Chambers,” Charity furnished.
“—whom he is right now trying to contact via the transcontinental telephone line. He said he’ll then have our doctors here talk with whatever doctors Chambers wants and then they can decide where Ann goes next.”
“What about Dick?”
“I have had the news that Ann is here sent to Stan Fine at OSS Algiers. But nothing more, not any details.”
