‘Have you thought about what we said last time?’ asked Fry.
But Maggie responded with another question. ‘Do you know how many visitors I get?’ ‘No.’
‘Do you know what it’s like sitting here wondering whether anybody will come?’
‘I’m sorry.’
Maggie slammed back the arm of the lamp as far as it would go, throwing the full glare of the bulb into Fry’s face.
‘That’s the one thing I told you I wouldn’t tolerate. Do not feel sorry for me. Understand?’
Fry had to bite back the natural response, reminding herself that this was a woman who was in a psychologically delicate balance. She needed careful handling, not an all-out row. Not the accusation of self-pity and hypocrisy that had sprung to her lips.
‘Let’s start again, shall we?’ ‘Be my guest.’
‘What I’d really like to do,’ said Fry, ‘is take you back to when it happened, to jog your memory. I want you to try again, Maggie.’
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‘Why should I?’
‘For Jenny Weston’s sake. And to help us stop him from killing any more. Maggie - you can’t refuse.’ Maggie blinked, and hesitated. ‘Your colleagues
always used a different approach. They tried to be sympathetic, to put me at my ease - all that sort of thing. I hated it.’
‘I don’t care about that. I’ve got a job to do. I need you to help me.’
Maggie stared at her. ‘Coffee?’ she said, and reached for the cafetiere.
Fry nodded. Her clenched fingers began to relax. She looked around the room while Maggie poured. The place really wasn’t welcoming at all, even with a comfortable chair and the smell of fresh coffee. What would bring Maggie’s memories out into the light again? When you had suffered that sort of trauma, you needed some kind of closure. It was possible that her memories wouldn’t be fully released until they had her attacker behind bars.
On the other hand, there might be something deeper inside that was keeping Maggie’s mind shut down. She had to find a trigger that would release those memories.
Fry had a twin-deck tape recorder set up. She had fully expected Maggie to refuse to be taped, but she had agreed readily; in fact, she had seemed almost relieved. Perhaps the tape machine could be a compromise, an impersonal middle ground. She probably thought a tape couldn’t bring back memories, only capture the ones you already had. But Fry wasn’t sure about that. Today, she meant to take Maggie further.
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For a few minutes, they sat comfortably over their coffee. They even made a bit of small talk about the weather and Maggie’s neighbours, just as if Fry were a friend paying a social call. Who knew - there might even be chocolate biscuits with the coffee.
‘I feel as though I’m getting unfit sitting here all day,’ said Maggie. ‘Before I know it, I’ll be putting weight
on.
No chocolate biscuits, then. Fry unwrapped two fresh tapes and inserted them in the machine.
‘You don’t look as though you have any trouble with your weight, Diane,’ said Maggie.
‘I don’t have time to put weight on.’ It was the answer she always gave when people asked her. She tested the tape machine, and both tapes began to turn. ‘Ready?’ ‘There’s something I want to tell you first.’
‘Yes?’ ‘I’ve decided to go back to work,’ said Maggie.
‘Is that wise?’ said Fry, immediately thinking of the dangers to Maggie rather than of the psychological advantages of getting her back into the outside world.
‘I’ve got to get out of this apartment some time.’ ‘You must take precautions for your own safety. We’ll send someone to your office to check out the security arrangements.’
Maggie sighed. ‘If you insist.’
‘If you’re going back to work, I’ll have to make an appointment, I suppose. Solicitors’ time is expensive, isn’t it?’
Maggie smiled at the comment. Fry liked to see her smile. It almost gave her an appearance of normality.
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But there was still a pain haunting her eyes, and still a strange physical vulnerability in the glimpse of pink gum.
‘I’ll pencil you in for Friday,’ said Maggie. ‘Two o’clock, at our offices in Mill Street.’
Fry made a show of getting out her diary and writing it down. ‘Fine. At least it will take your mind off things. Do you find your work interesting?’
‘Interesting?’ Maggie considered the word. ‘I suppose some people might think so. But in fact it’s ninety per cent drudgery. Wading through mountains of paperwork until your eyes are sore, filling in reports and applications. Sitting in endless meetings.’
‘Join the club.’
‘And there are the most objectionable of people to deal with. Their concerns are unbelievable. It’s all jealousy and selfishness and greed. Husbands and wives, children and parents, colleagues and business partners - all desperate to know about what someone else is up to. The times they have asked me to employ enquiry agents to look into their sordid little affairs. And not just the clients, either. My partners are just as bad.’
‘You don’t get on with your partners?’
‘We work together satisfactorily. But they’re all the same - complacent, self-centred and obsessed. They’re so singleminded that their lives are empty shells. They’ll discover it one day, but it will be too late.’
Fry nodded. The description Maggie had just given of her partners echoed her own file. Maggie Crew’s history was one of professional achievements, and little else. Maggie talked of empty lives. But it only took a
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glance round the room to see whose life was the emptiest of all.
