The Dark Room (25 page)

‘What does that mean exactly?’

‘
Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose
.’

‘Are you saying: Once a Mafia boss, always a Mafia boss?’

An amused laugh floated down the line. ‘No, Protheroe,
you’re
saying it. I can’t afford a slander suit.’

‘Josh? It’s Jinx. Are you busy or can you talk for a minute?’

‘What is it?’ He sounded hostile, she thought.

‘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 for ever, she knew it was an impossibility. If Alan Protheroe didn’t prise 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 dwelt 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.

‘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 enquiries 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 letter, you made the very precise statement: “You have
my assurance that your daughter will not be pressured, Mr Kingsley, and will certainly not be expected to engage in any form of therapy unless she chooses to do so.”’

‘I may have said something along those lines, but I can’t vouch for the preciseness of the statement.’

‘My client can, Dr Protheroe. He is a cautious man and insists on having tapes made of every conversation that relates to his affairs. That is word for word what you
said.’

Alan shrugged. ‘All right. To my knowledge, those assurances have been honoured.’

Kennedy removed a folded piece of paper from his pocket and consulted it. ‘You sent my client a faxed letter last night in which you state: “One idea I’d like to
discuss is the possibility of a joint session where, under my guidance, you and Jinx can explore any rifts that may have developed between you.” May I ask if Miss Kingsley gave you permission
to suggest this to her father? In other words, has she chosen to engage in such an activity?’

‘Not yet. I thought it more sensible to seek his agreement first. There seemed little point in putting the idea to Jinx if her father wasn’t prepared to take
part.’

‘Nevertheless, Dr Protheroe, simply by suggesting a form of therapy, you have gone against my client’s express instructions to leave his daughter to recover at her own
speed. It is also clear from other statements in your fax that you have been encouraging Jane to talk about events that Mr Kingsley asked you very specifically not to mention because he felt they
would upset her.’ He quoted extracts from the letter: ‘“She finds it difficult to talk about herself.” “I have some problems understanding what compelled her to make
an attempt on her life.” “She retains a certain ambivalence following the death of her husband.”’

Alan shrugged again. ‘I don’t recall your client instructing me to keep his daughter in solitary confinement, Mr Kennedy. Had he done so, I would most certainly not have
agreed to take her.’

‘You will have to explain those remarks, I’m afraid.’

‘Jinx is an intelligent and articulate young woman. She is able and willing to participate in conversations. The only way to stop her talking would be to isolate her from
everyone in the clinic. Is that what her father wants?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘To stop her
talking
?’

The little man chuckled. ‘About what?’

‘I don’t know, Mr Kennedy.’ He balanced his pen between his fingers. ‘But then I’m not the one who’s worried. Your client is.’
Who the
hell was pulling the strings here? Adam or Jinx?

‘My client’s concerns are entirely related to his daughter’s welfare, Dr Protheroe. He believes firmly that any rehashing of the past will be to Jane’s
disadvantage, a point emphasized for him this morning when she threatened him with an injunction over the telephone. He feels, quite reasonably, that this abrupt return to her previous antagonism
is due to your refusal to abide by his wishes.’

Alan considered that for a moment. ‘Shall we get to the point?’ he suggested. ‘Is Mr Kingsley looking to control every minute of his daughter’s life or does
he want excuses not to pay?’

‘I am instructed to remind you of the assurances you gave my client when you undertook the care of his daughter.’

‘If you’re referring to pressure and unwanted therapy, then there’s no argument between us. Jinx has been subjected to neither.’

‘Yet you state in your fax: “She finds it difficult to talk about herself.”’ He looked up. ‘The clear inference is that you have sought to persuade her
to do just that.’

‘This is absurd,’ said Alan angrily. ‘I wrote to Mr Kingsley because I assumed he had his daughter’s welfare at heart and, as Jinx’s doctor, I believe
it to be in her best interests to seek a rapprochement with her father. However, if his only response is to send a solicitor to spout gobbledegook, then obviously she is right and I am wrong. Her
father is only interested in manipulating and controlling her, and little good can come from a meeting.’ He squared the papers on his desk. ‘Presumably there’s some sort of
implied threat in these repeated instructions of yours. Would you care to tell me what it is?’

‘Now you’re being absurd, Dr Protheroe.’

‘This is all beyond me, I’m afraid.’ Alan studied the solicitor with a perplexed frown. ‘I really have no interest in playing games with my patients’
well-being. If Mr Kingsley is seeking excuses not to pay, then I shall discuss the matter with Miss Kingsley herself. I have no doubts at all she will wish to honour the obligations her father
entered into on her behalf. Please tell your client that I have strong reservations about his reading of his daughter’s character. She is far less anxious than he appears to be about reliving
her past experiences. In addition, I cannot agree with the police presumption that she attempted suicide.’ He leaned forward. ‘You may also tell him that, in my professional opinion, it
is Mr Kingsley who represents the greatest threat to Jinx’s peace of mind. There is an ambivalence in her attitude towards him which can only be resolved by a clearing of the air between
them, particularly in relation to her husband’s death and to what she perceives as Mr Kingsley’s obsessive and continued need to interfere in her life. However, in the face of his
obvious unwillingness to talk to her, a clean break by means of an injunction would seem to be the only alternative.’ He placed his hands flat on the desk and pushed himself to his feet.
‘Good-day, Mr Kennedy. I trust you will have the courtesy to convey
my
views with the same assiduous detail with which you have just conveyed your client’s.’

The solicitor beamed as he, too, rose to his feet. ‘No need, Dr Protheroe,’ he murmured, patting his breast pocket. ‘I have it all on tape. I believe I told you
that Mr Kingsley insists on having taped records made of every conversation relating to his affairs. I know he will be interested to hear everything you’ve said. Good-day to you.’

The phone rang on Alan’s desk ten minutes later, and he picked it up with ill humour.

‘I’ve a Reverend Simon Harris for you, Dr Protheroe,’ said Hilda. ‘Do you want to speak to him?’

‘Not particularly,’ he grunted.

‘He says it’s important.’

‘He would,’ said Alan sarcastically. ‘It’ll be a red-letter day when someone doesn’t think what they have to say is important.’

‘You sound cross,’ said Hilda.

‘That’s because I am.’ He sighed. ‘All right, put him through.’

Simon’s voice came on the line. ‘Dr Protheroe? Do you remember me? I’m a friend of Jinx Kingsley. I came to visit her on Thursday.’

‘I remember,’ he said.

‘I find myself in a somewhat invidious position,’ said the younger man in a voice that was clearly troubled. He paused briefly. ‘Has Jinx told you that Meg and Leo
are dead, Dr Protheroe?’

Alan raised a hand to his beard and smoothed it automatically. ‘No,’ he said.

‘They were murdered, probably on the same day that she tried to kill herself.’

Alan stared across the room at a print of Albrecht Dürer’s
Knight, Death and Devil
, and thought how appropriate it was that he should be looking at that.
‘I’m so sorry, Mr Harris. You must be very upset.’

‘We’ve not had much time to be upset,’ said Simon apologetically. ‘We had the police here until an hour ago.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Alan again. ‘What makes you think Jinx knows?’

‘Her assistant told me.’

‘You mean Dean Jarrett?’

‘Yes.’

‘How does he know?’

Simon sighed. ‘Apparently the police visited her yesterday and she guessed something was wrong. She rang Dean during the evening and persuaded him to phone the Walladers for
confirmation.’ He paused again. ‘She knew before we did, as a matter of fact. My parents weren’t told until ten o’clock last night and only made the formal identification
this morning. My mother’s very bitter about it. She’s blaming Jinx for Meg’s death.’

Alan wondered what else his patient had withheld from him. ‘Why are you telling me this?’ he asked.

Another hesitation. ‘As I said, I find myself in an invidious position. My father, too.’ He cleared his throat. ‘It’s difficult to think straight when
you’re shocked – well, I’m sure you know that—’ He broke off abruptly. ‘Sir Anthony Wallader is going to
The Times
with accusations against Jinx and her
father, egged on by my mother. It’s understandable. They’re both very upset, as you can imagine – well, of course we all are.’ He blew his nose. ‘I’ve no idea
how much the newspapers are likely to print, but it could be very bad, especially if the tabloids get hold of it. My mother’s not very well – she’s . . . that is . . . Dad and I
felt Jinx should be protected from the worst of it – it’s little better than a kangaroo court – and I didn’t know who else to phone. I thought she’d have told you
– about their deaths anyway.’ His voice broke with emotion. ‘I’m sorry – I’m so sorry.’