embossed in silver.
Dirk couldn't immediately work out what it was about the book that had caught his eye, but he knew that some detail of the cover had struck a chord with him somewhere. He gave a circumspect glance at the girl whose coffee he had purloined, and whose five coffees and two croissants, one undelivered and uneaten, he had subsequently paid for. She wasn't looking, so he purloined her book as well and slipped it into the pocket of his leather coat.
He stepped out on to the street, where a passing eagle swooped out of the sky at him, nearly forcing him into the path of a cyclist, who cursed and swore at him from a moral high ground that cyclists alone seem able to inhabit.
Chapter 11
Into the well-kempt grounds that lay just on the owtskins of a well-kempt village on the fringes of the well-kempt Cotswolds turned a less than well-kempt car.
It was a battered yellow Citron 2CV which had had one careful owner but also three suicidally reckless ones. It made its way up the driveway with a reluctant air as if all it asked for from life was to be tipped into a restful ditch in one of the adjoining meadows and there allowed to settle in graceful abandonment, instead of which here it was being asked to drag itself all the way up this long gravelled drive which it would no doubt soon be called upon to drag itself all the way back down again, to what possible purpose it was beyond its wit to imagine.
It drew to a halt in front of the elegant stone entrance to the main building, and then began to trundle slowly backwards again until its occupant yanked on the handbrake, which evoked from the car a sort of strangled 'eek'.
A door flopped open, wobbling perilously on its one remaining hinge, and there emerged from the car a pair of the sort of legs which soundtrack editors are unable to see without needing to slap a smoky saxophone solo all over, for reasons which no one besides soundtrack editors has ever been able to understand. In this particular case, however, the saxophone would have been silenced by the proximity of the kazoo which the same soundtrack editor would almost certainly have slapped all over the progress of the vehicle.
The owner of the legs followed them in the usual manner, closed the car door tenderly, and then made her way into the building.
The car remained parked in front of it.
After a few minutes a porter came out and examined it, adopted a disapproving manner and then, for lack of anything more positive to do, went back in.
A short time later, Kate was shown into the office of Mr Ralph Standish, the Chief Consultant Psychologist and one of the directors of the Woodshead Hospital, who was just completing a telephone conversation.
'Yes, it is true,' he was saying, 'that sometimes unusually intelligent and sensitive children can appear to be stupid. But, Mrs Benson, stupid children can sometimes appear to be stupid as well. I think that's something you might have to consider. I know it's very painful, yes. Good day, Mrs Benson.'
He put the phone away into a desk drawer and spent a couple of seconds collecting his thoughts before looking up.
'This is very short notice, Miss, er, Schechter,' he said to her at last.
In fact what he had said was, This is ve short notice, Miss, er-' and then he had paused and peered into another of his desk drawers before saying 'Schechter'.
It seemed to Kate that it was very odd to keep your visitors' names in a drawer, but then he clearly disliked having things cluttering up his fine, but severely designed, black ash desk because there was nothing on it at all. It was completely blank, as was every other surface in his office. There was nothing on the small neat steel and glass coffee table which sat squarely between two Barcelona chairs. There was nothing on top of the two expensive- looking filing cabinets which stood at the back of the room.
There were no bookshelves - if there were any books they were presumably hidden away behind the white doors of the large blank built-in cupboards - and although there was one plain black picture frame hanging on the wall, this was presumably a temporary aberration because there was no picture in it.
Kate looked around her with a bemused air.
'Do you have no ornaments in here at all, Mr Standish?' she asked.
He was, for a moment, somewhat taken aback by her transatlantic directness, but then answered her.
'Indeed I have ornaments,' he said; and pulled open another drawer. He pulled out from this a small china model of a kitten playing with a ball of wool and put it firmly on the desk in front of him.
'As a psychologist I am aware of the important role that ornamentation plays in nourishing the human spirit,' he pronounced.
He put the china kitten back in the drawer and slid it closed with a smooth click.
'Now.'
He clasped his hands together on the desk in front of him, and looked at her enquiringly.
'It's very good of you to see me at short notice, Mr Standish - '
'Yes, yes, we've established that.'
'- but I'm sure you know what newspaper deadlines are like.'
'I know at least as much as I would ever care to know about newspapers, Miss, er - '
He opened his drawer again.
