Dark Room

got through to your stepmother, who gave me this number. She says you're okay to talk but that you've lost bits of your memory.'

'Josh Hennessey?' she echoed in surprise. 'As in Harris and Hennessey? You sound so close. Where are you?'

He gave a rumble of laughter at the other end. ' 'The very same, except that it's all Hennessey at the moment and remarkably little Harris. She's buggered off to France and left me nursing the office. I'm in a call box in Piccadilly.' He paused briefly and she heard the sound of traffic in the background. 'I'm damn glad the memory loss doesn't extend to your mates. There's a few of us eating our hearts out over this.' He paused again. 'We were really sorry to hear about your accident, Jinx, but your stepma says you're progressing well.'

She smiled weakly. Typical Josh, she thought. Always 'we,' and never 'I.' 'I'm not sure I'd agree with her. I feel like something the dog threw up. I suppose you know about Leo and Meg?'

He didn't say anything.

'It's all right, you don't have to spare my feelings. Matter of fact, I'm quite glad Leo found a good home.' Was she telling the truth? 'They're welcome to each other.'

'Well, if it's of any consolation to you, I can't see it lasting. You know Meg and her brief enthusiasms. She'll have some French guy in tow by the time she comes back, and poor old Leo will be on the scrap heap along with all the others. She's a two-timing bitch, Jinx. I've always said so.'

Liar, she thought. You adore her. 'She hasn't changed just because Leo prefers her to me,' she said. 'I don't bear any grudges, so why should you?'

He cleared his throat. 'How are you coping after the-well, you know.'

'You mean my suicide attempt? I don't remember it, so I'm fine.'

There was a short silence.

'Good. Well, listen, the reason I phoned is that I've been trying to get hold of Meg for the last eight days and I'm getting zilch response from her answering machine. She swore on her sainted granny's grave that she'd call in for her messages every day, but if she's doing it, then she sure as hell isn't replying to any of them, and I'm going slowly apeshit with all the work that's piling up. I've tried her brother and a few of her other friends to see if they know where she and Leo went, but they're as much in the dark as I am. You're my last hope, Jinx. Have you any ideas at all how I can contact her? Believe me, I wouldn't ask if I wasn't desperate. I've got a sodding contract here that needs her signature and I need to fax it through posthaste.' He gave an angry grunt. 'I tell you, the way I feel at the moment, I could wring her neck. And Leo's, too.'

Jinx jabbed her fingers against the vein above her eye that was pounding and rushing like a swollen river. A strangely murky image had floated into her mind as he spoke, a meaningless dark negative that relayed nothing to her at all except an intense frustration. She sought to hold on to it but, like a drowning man, it slipped away and left her cheated. 'Well, if it's France,' she said slowly, 'then they've probably gone to Leo's house in Brittany, but I'm afraid I can't remember the phone number, Josh, and I doubt he's got a fax either.'

'That doesn't matter. Do you know the address?'

She dug deep into her memory. 'I think so. It's Les Hirondelles, rue St. Jacques, Trinite-sur-mer.'

'You're a brick, Jinx. Remind me to take you out to dinner one day.'

She gave a shaky laugh. 'It's a date,' she told him. 'Assuming I can remember to remind you.' She paused. 'Did you really want Meg's address?'

He avoided an answer. 'I could come and see you at the weekend,' he suggested. 'Or are you hibernating?'

'Sort of,' she said, unsure if she wanted to see anyone. 'I'm vegetating.'

'Is that a yes or a no?'

The vein above her eye throbbed mercilessly. 'It's a yes. I'd love to see you,' she lied.

THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC-8:30 P.M.

For fifteen minutes paranoia held Jinx's hand. Ten times she had reached it out towards the telephone on the bedside table and ten times she had withdrawn it again. Her nerve had abandoned her along with her memory. She was afraid of eavesdroppers listening in. And what could she say that wouldn't sound foolish? At eight-thirty, as credits rolled on the television in the corner, she muted the sound, seized the telephone with sudden decision, and dialed a number.

'Hello,' said a brisk voice that belied its eighty-three years.

'Colonel Clancey?'

'Yes.'

'It's Jinx Kingsley. I wondered-are you busy or can I talk to you for a moment?'

'My dear girl, of course you can talk. How are you?'

'Fine. You?'

'Worried,' he said. 'Damned worried, if I'm honest. I feel responsible, Jinx. Daphne, too. We should have done more. Hold on a minute while I close the door. Bloody television's going full blast. Usual old rubbish, of course, but Daphne likes it.' She heard the receiver clatter onto their hall table, followed by the slam of a door and the distant yapping of Goebbels, their mild-mannered Yorkshire terrier. 'You still there?' he barked a moment or two later.

She felt tears of affection pricking at the back of her eyelids. He made himself out to be so much more ferocious than his funny little dog, and, in her mind, he was always Colonel Goebbels and the dog was Clancey. 'Yes. It's nice to hear you.' She paused a moment, wondering what to say. 'How's Goebbels?' She wondered why they'd called their dog Goebbels. Was it something she knew and had forgotten, or was it something she had simply accepted as she had accepted all their other eccentricities?

'Flea-ridden as usual. Daphne gave him a bath and he's looking like a mohair sweater. Absurd creature.'

She wondered if he was referring to the dog or to his wife. 'I'm worried about my plants,' she said, seeking