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After I’ve disposed of my umbrella, she reaches beneath her desk and pulls out a questionnaire attached to a clipboard. “You’re still a bit early, and Dr Craven is currently with another patient. Why don’t you fill out this form while you’re waiting?”
“Thanks.” I take the clipboard and sit on one of the big, leather couches.
“Would you like a glass of water or something?”
“No, thank you.”
“Coffee?”
I shake my head.
With a thin smile, Tara returns to her computer. I rest the clipboard on my knees and start filling out the questionnaire. It’s pretty standard stuff: name, address, date of birth, telephone number, prior medical history, etcetera, etcetera. It takes me less than five minutes to complete, and I’m just about to return the clipboard to Tara when a door opens and a stunning redhead steps out. I’m slack-jawed;she has the face of an angel and the body of a Hungarian catwalk model.
“Same time next week?” Tara beams.
The redhead tosses her hair and sighs. “Oh, yes, definitely. Doctor Craven’s so fabulous. I’ve recommended him to all my friends.”
Tara leans forward and squints at her monitor. “Let’s see … next Friday will be the fifteenth. Is five-thirty okay with you?”
“Perfect,” replies the redhead, looking at me. “All right Tara, I’m off. Goodnight.”
“Night, Jess. Safe journey. Oh, and don’t forget your umbrella.”
Tara presses the release button under her desk and lets the redhead out. As she goes, she flashes me a warm smile and mouths, “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight!” I squeak.
When she’s gone, I wonder why such a perfect-looking woman needs to see a hypnotherapist. Surely, she can’t have any hang-ups.
“You can go in now,” Tara says as I give her back the questionnaire. “Just go through the arches and it’s the first door to your left. No need to knock; just let yourself in. Dr Craven’s expecting you.”
“Thanks! See you later.”
“Have fun.”
I’m hit by a sudden pang of nerves as I follow Tara’s instructions. What if this is all a big mistake? What if I’ve wasted my money and get a big, fat nothing out of this? What if I can’t quit smoking? What then?
Oh, well, too late to back out now.
I stop outside a door with Dr Craven’s name on it.Smoothing down my skirt, I take a deep breath before turning the knob and entering. The room is completely quiet except for the rain slamming against the windows. The walls are stacked from ceiling to floor with books and the centre is dominated by twopadded chairs facing each other. An Art Deco lamp stands by the window, and a large mahogany table at the back is littered with important-looking documents.
I lick my lips. So far, there’s no sign of Dr Craven anywhere; I wonder if he’s maybe popped to the bathroom or something. Meanwhile, the rain outside is growing more intense, harsh winds pummelling the glass like a gorilla trapped in a phone booth. I shiver inwardly; I’mglad I don’t have to venture out again just yet.
Loosening my scarf, I step cautiously into the room to give things a closer inspection. On the edge of the table sits a Dictaphone and other recording equipment I suppose Dr Craven uses for hypnosis. Next to a stack of old cassette tapes is a well-thumbed copy of Dennis Wheatley’sThe Devil Rides Outand yesterday’sTelegraph. I’m just about to touch the Dictaphone when—
“Carly Singleton?”
I freeze mid-motion.The male voice is soft and sexy with a huskiness that lingers, caressing every syllable of my name like a lover.My whole body tenses, and my skin rises into goose bumps that travel the length of my shoulders, neck and back.
I feel uneasy.
Out of tune with everything.
I’m aware of every one of my heightened senses.Slowly, I find the courage to turn around.
“Hello, Carly, I’m Dr Nick Craven.” He slips his big, strong hand into mine and we exchange a greeting that seems to last forever. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long?”
“No.” I take an involuntary step back.“I-I haven’t been waiting long at all.”My pulse is going crazy and my heart is thudding like a machine gun.He releases my hand and a blast of heat shoots up my arm and licks me all over.
