Dark Room

'Meg's dead.'

There was a silence. 'I know,' he said.

She was shivering with cold, and her expression had a curiously vacant look, as if she were waiting for something. 'Who told you?'

'Simon rang,' he answered guardedly. 'They're both dead, Meg and Leo. How did you know, Jinx? Have you started to remember things?'

'No,' she said abruptly, 'I guessed. The police came here asking questions about them. What else did Simon say?'

'Nothing much, only that his mother's going out of her mind. She wants to know where Leo's parents live, so he called me.'

'Did you tell him?'

'I said I didn't know, so he's trying Dean Jarrett.'

It was her turn to hold the silence. 'You know quite well where they live,' she said at last. 'I remember telling you myself when Leo and I first got engaged. The wedding will be a nightmare, I said, Surrey gentry versus Hampshire parvenus, with each side trying to score points. And you laughed and asked which part of Surrey the Walladers came from. Downton Court, Ashwell, I told you.'

'I don't remember.'

He was lying, she thought. 'Why didn't Simon ring me?'

Another silence.

'I'm sorry,' she said.

'What for?'

'Meg's death. She was your friend as well as mine.'

'Is that what you called to tell me?'

Her grip on the telephone was so brittle that her fingers hurt. 'I wanted to know what people are saying, Josh. Do Meg's parents think I killed her? Does Simon?'

'What makes you think they were murdered?' he asked.

'I'm not a bloody fool, Josh.'

'No one's saying anything,' he said, 'not to me anyway.'

She didn't believe him. 'Why are you afraid of me?' she asked, addressing the fear she heard in his voice. 'Do you think I did it?'

'No, of course I don't. Look, I have to go. The police are due here any minute, and I'm trying to find out how the business stands with one partner dead. I'll ring back later when things calm down.'' He cut the line and left her listening to empty silence. Someone else she couldn't trust? Or someone as scared as she was?

She replaced the receiver carefully, doubts seething in her tired brain. Was anything he said true? And why was he afraid of her? Because he thought her memory was coming back? She went to lie on the bed and stared at the ceiling, knowing that safety lay in remembering nothing, but knowing too that she must eventually remember something. However much her father might want what was locked inside her head to remain there forever, she knew it was an impossibility. If Alan Protheroe didn't pry the truth out of her with his sympathetic existentialism, then somebody else would. And they wouldn't do it kindly, either.

Tears stung her eyelids. Common sense told her it would be suicidal-she dwelled on that thought for a moment-to relay memories that no one believed. For this time there was no Meg to give her an alibi.

THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC-4:15 P.M.

'There's a gentleman to see you, Dr. Protheroe,' said his elderly secretary, popping her head round his office door. 'A Mr. Kennedy. I told him you were busy but he says he's sure you can find time to talk to him. He's a solicitor, representing Mr. Adam Kingsley.' She pulled a face. 'He's very insistent.'

Alan finished the notes he was writing. 'Then you'd better show him in, Hilda,' he said.

A small, thin man with spectacles and a pleasant smile entered the room a few seconds later and shook Protheroe firmly by the hand. 'Good afternoon,' he said, proffering his card and taking the chair on the other side of the desk. 'Thank you for seeing me, Dr. Protheroe. Did your secretary explain that I'm here as Mr. Adam Kingsley's representative?'

'She said something to that effect,' agreed Alan, examining the little man, 'but I can't imagine why Mr. Kingsley feels he needs to send a solicitor.' Jesus Christ!

Mr. Kennedy smiled. 'I am instructed to remind you of the assurances you gave my client when you undertook the care of his daughter.'

Alan frowned. 'Say again,' he invited.

The little man sat back in the chair and crossed his legs. 'Mr. Kingsley is fond of his daughter, Dr. Protheroe, and very concerned for her welfare. He asked you to take her in as a convalescent patient because, following the prolonged inquiries he made earlier this year with a view to his wife becoming a patient at this clinic, he was satisfied that Jane would find the atmosphere here more congenial than the clinical surroundings of a hospital. In particular, he was keen to ensure that Jane would not feel pressured into taking part in any sort of psychiatric therapy that would remind her of her previous unfortunate experiences. To which end he asked you-as a doctor and not a psychiatrist-to take charge of her convalescence and leave her to recover at her own speed and in her own time.' He smiled his pleasant smile again. 'Would you agree that that is a fair summary of the faxed letter he sent you on the twentieth of this month?'

'I would, yes.'

'And is it equally fair to say that in your telephone conversation with my client following receipt of his faxed