Boundy laid the book on his desk almost reverently, then half sat on the desk edge. ‘Just over twenty years ago, I gave the first paper on our findings at a conference in Chicago. It was based on an assessment of twenty- six pairs of identical twins reared separately. Do you know what the response of my fellow professionals was?’
‘No.’
‘It was a rhetorical question. The response was divided between those who accused me of incompetence and those who accused me of dishonesty.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Frieda.
‘To take one example, one twin lived in Bristol and the other in Wolverhampton. When they were reunited in their late thirties, they discovered that they had both married women called Jane, divorced them and married women called Claire. They both owned miniature railways as a hobby, they both cut out savings coupons from the back of cereal packets, they both had moustaches and sideburns. Then there was a pair of female twins. One lived in Edinburgh, the other in Nottingham. One was a doctor’s receptionist, the other a dentist’s receptionist. Both liked to dress in black, both were asthmatic, both were so afraid of lifts that they took the stairs even in tall buildings. And so on and so on. When we examined non-identical twins, the effect disappeared almost completely.’
‘So why the accusations?’
‘Other psychologists just didn’t believe me. What was it that Hume said about miracles? Anything – fraud, human error, whatever – is more likely, so that’s what you should assume and that’s what people did assume. People stood up after my talk and said that I must have been mistaken, that the twins must really have known about each other. Or that the researchers went looking for resemblances and cherry-picked the evidence, the argument being that any two lives will probably have something odd in common.’
‘I think I would have been dubious,’ said Frieda.
‘You think I wasn’t?’ said Boundy. ‘We checked everything. The twins were interviewed by different researchers, we checked the subjects’ backgrounds, everything. We tried to knock it down, but the findings were robust.’
‘If it’s robust,’ said Frieda, ‘then what the hell’s it about? You’re not talking about some kind of ESP, because if so…’
Boundy laughed. ‘Of course not. But you’re a therapist. You think that we’re just rational beings, that we can talk about our problems and…’
‘That’s not exactly -’
Boundy continued as if he hadn’t heard her. ‘People talk about our brains being like computers. If that’s true – which it isn’t – then the computer comes into the world with a lot of its software pre-installed. You know, like a female turtle that spends its whole life at sea. It doesn’t learn how to come ashore, lay its eggs and bury them by watching its mother. Certain neurons just start to fire in ways we don’t understand and it just knows what to do. What my twin studies showed is that a lot of what look like responses to the environment, decisions made using free will, are just the working out of patterns that the subject was born with.’ Boundy spread his hands like a magician who had just performed a particularly clever trick. ‘So there we are. Problem solved. You don’t have to worry about going mad.’
‘No,’ said Frieda, not looking at all as if she was relieved by what she’d heard.
‘The problem is that these separated twins are getting rarer. Social workers are less likely to separate them, adoption agencies keep them together. It’s good for the twins, of course. Not so good for people like me.’ He frowned. ‘But you haven’t answered my question. Why was it so urgent?’
When Frieda answered, it was almost as if her mind was elsewhere. ‘You’ve been very helpful,’ she said. ‘But there’s something I’ve got to do.’
‘I might be able to help you. Do you want to find out more about the family of your patient?’
‘Probably,’ said Frieda.
‘It’s just that my team have got a great deal of expertise in finding out about the hidden histories of families. Discreetly. We’ve built up some useful informal contacts over the years. They’re good at finding out things about people’s families that they don’t know themselves. In the way that you seem to have stumbled across, but a bit more systematically.’
‘That might be useful,’ said Frieda.
‘If there’s anything I can do to help…’ said Dr Boundy. His tone had now become warmer, and almost casual. ‘It might make up for my rudeness when you arrived. I’m sorry about that, but you walked into the middle of one of those ghastly occasions when we invite the neighbours in. You know the sort of thing. It’s the worst time of year.’
‘I understand.’
‘Obviously they won’t be able to get on to it until after the holiday. As you know, Britain is now closed for business for the next ten days or so. But if you give me the names of these two brothers, their addresses perhaps, any other details you know of, maybe we could make some checks when we’re all back.’
‘What kind of checks?’ said Frieda.
‘Family-tree stuff,’ said Dr Boundy. ‘And if they’ve had any dealings with the social services, any criminal records, credit problems. It would be for your eyes only. We’re very tactful.’ He picked his book up from his desk and handed it to Frieda. ‘You can read this and see how careful we are.’
‘All right,’ said Frieda, and she wrote down the two names and addresses.
‘Probably nothing will come of it,’ said Dr Boundy. ‘I can’t promise anything.’
‘Don’t worry.’
He took the book back from her. ‘Let me sign it for you,’ he said. ‘At least it’ll stop you going off and selling it.’ He wrote in it and then handed it back to her.
She looked at the inscription. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘Can I offer you some lunch?’
She shook her head. ‘You’ve been a great help. But I’m in a hurry.’
‘I quite understand,’ he said. ‘Let me show you out.’
He walked her to the front door, talking as he did so of colleagues they might have in common, of conferences they might both have attended. He held his hand out to shake hers, then seemed to think of something. ‘They’re interesting,’ he said, ‘these separated twins. I did a paper once about twins where one of them had died in the womb. They seemed to know, even if they didn’t know, if you know what I mean. It’s as if they were in mourning for something they didn’t know existed and were forever trying to recover it.’
‘What’s the effect of that on a life?’ asked Frieda. ‘Feeling incomplete like that. What do you do with it?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Boundy. ‘It feels important, though.’ Now he shook her hand. ‘I hope we’ll meet again soon,’ he said.
He stood and watched as she climbed into the van and as it trundled down the drive, narrowly missing a parked Mercedes that belonged to the Master of Professor Boundy’s college. After he closed the front door, he still didn’t join the guests. He stood in thought for a few moments, then walked back to his study and shut the door. He picked up the phone and dialled.
‘Kathy? It’s Seth. What are you doing?… Well, stop and come over here and I’ll tell you about it when you get here… I know it’s Christmas, but Christmas happens every year and this is once in a lifetime.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Half an hour?… Fine. I’ll be here.’
Boundy put the phone down and smiled, listening to the hum of conversation and chink of glasses in the room beyond.
Chapter Thirty
Frieda got back into the van and Josef turned off the radio. He looked at her expectantly.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ she said. ‘And give me your mobile. I’ve got a call to make.’
But there was no signal for a few miles. When at last a single bar appeared on the mobile screen, she ordered Josef to stop.
‘I smoke,’ he said, and climbed out of the van.
