LITMIR.BIZ

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happened?’ Her voice was louder, clearer, almost normal. I felt sick with relief.

      ‘We made contact with a hostile force,’ I said glibly, ‘but that had nothing to do with Christian. He’s at peace with God, Katie, I promise you, and now that you know he’s at peace you’re at peace too.’

      ‘I don’t feel at peace,’ she whispered.

      That disturbed me very much. She was supposed to wind up calm, serene and strengthened, not shattered, shocked and more tormented than ever. My attempt at healing by hypnosis coupled with prayer seemed to have been a complete failure, but the hypnosis should at least have had a temporary calming effect even if the prayer had failed to produce a permanent improvement. ‘Marina, fetch some more water,’ I said, trying not to sound as baffled as I felt, ‘and bring a towel from the bathroom so that she can mop herself up. Katie, you must lie down on my bed in the next room. No, don’t try and get up – I’ll carry you.’

      She was as light as a famine-victim, and when I became aware of the weight-loss which the cut of her suit had concealed I realised her mental disturbance had affected her physical health. I knew then I should never have meddled with her. She needed a doctor, not an ordinand playing the wonder-worker, and as this stark truth ploughed through my mind I felt overpowered by my guilt and my shame.

      ‘Couldn’t find a towel,’ said Marina, reappearing with the refilled tooth-mug. ‘There was nothing on the rail.’

      Laundry day. I’d forgotten. I’d turned in my towel after breakfast. ‘I’ll get one from the airing cupboard – hang on, Katie – this way, Marina,’ I muttered, grabbing her wrist and drawing her out of the room. In the corridor I said rapidly: ‘Listen, I’ve got to talk to you, got to explain what happened so that you can understand what’s got to be done. All those disturbances were caused by her. When a psyche’s under extreme stress it can generate the paranormal happenings we witnessed just now when objects appear to move by themselves. The phenomenon’s sometimes called poltergeist activity – it comes out of the unconscious, out of something we don’t understand and don’t normally have access to. When I said just now that we’d made contact with a hostile force, that was just old-fashioned picture-language – like talking about poltergeists. What we actually encountered was a violent emanation of psychic energy from Katie’s unconscious mind.’

      ‘Then why did you yell out that command to Satan?’

      ‘Oh, forget that, it was just a safety precaution. What I was really doing was gaining control over the emanations.’

      ‘But –’

      ‘Look, just concentrate on the facts: Katie’s disturbed. It’s not the kind of disturbance that can be put right by prayer and meditation. She’s got to see a psychiatrist.’

      Marina was shocked but remained well in control of herself. My admiration for her deepened. ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘I’ll wheel on the big guns of Harley Street, but meanwhile how on earth do I get her home?’

      ‘I’ll fix her up, no need to worry, just give me an hour. Go for a drive.’

      ‘But what are you going to do?”

      ‘Talk to her, make her some tea, try anything that’ll get her back on her feet, but it’s better if you’re out of the way. Then I can focus on her without distraction.’

      ‘Okay, I understand.’

      ‘And as soon as you get her home call a doctor.’

      ‘Right.’ She glanced at her watch and walked briskly off down the corridor towards the main staircase.

      I waited till I heard the front door close far away in the hall. Then I took a clean towel from the airing cupboard and returned to Katie.

      IV

      She was crying. She lay face down on the bed like a discarded doll and her body shook with sobs. As I came in she raised her head from the pillow and turned over to lie on her back. Her eyes were swollen, her skin looked like parchment, her hair was matted. I barely recognised her.

      ‘I feel so guilty,’ she whispered.

      I made what I prayed was the right response: wordless sympathy. Sitting down on the bed beside her I took her hand comfortingly in mine.

      ‘I failed him somehow,’ she said. ‘I loved him so much but it wasn’t enough.’

      She was putting us both in the confessional – which meant I was being given the chance to behave like a priest instead of a psychic maverick. Desperate to redeem my catastrophic error I said earnestly: ‘I know you loved him,’ and I clasped her other hand so that a symbolic double-lifeline was established. Then I tried to concentrate on supporting her damaged psyche. The image of the discarded doll was helpful; I pictured an imaginary china doll, very beautiful but chipped and cracked; then I visualised myself sealing up the cracks, painting over the chips and attending to each detail with immense care.

      ‘In books love conquers everything,’ she said, ‘but it’s not like that in reality. My love didn’t conquer everything. My love ended in failure.’

      I had to be very cautious here. Some kind of reply was required but I was afraid of uttering a sentence which might be either a banality or simply untrue. I raised a metaphorical aerial to improve my reception of her thoughts but sensed nothing I could readily interpret. It was her guilt that interested me. I knew a surviving spouse could feel overpoweringly guilty – my father had been a classic example of that syndrome – but why Katie should be so full of guilt when she had done her best to be a model wife was not easy to perceive.

      ‘I know he was disappointed when Grace and Helen were born,’ she said, sparing me the need to reply as she spoke of her daughters, ‘but I did put everything right in 1965 when John arrived and Christian had the son he’d always wanted. I was so happy. But then it began all over again.’

      ‘What began all over again, Katie?’

      ‘It. I don’t know what it was. But something had happened to Christian. Something had gone terribly wrong.’

      After a pause I said: ‘When did this begin?’

      ‘Oh, ages ago, but it didn’t become chronic until about six months before he died. I think it started in 1961 when Helen was born. “You name it,” he said as if he couldn’t have cared less. Oh, how I cried! But then he recovered and was nice again … for a while. By 1963 I was in despair – but then the miracle happened and Marina joined us.’ She withdrew one of her hands from mine in order to wipe her eyes, but the tears had stopped and I knew that by listening I was helping her.

      I made a small noise indicating intense sympathy and deep interest. Then I reclasped her hand.

      ‘I love Marina,’ she said. ‘She’s such a wonderful friend. Christian loved her too because she was so bright and amusing and she never bored him. “If Katie were as bright and amusing as you are,” he said to her in 1963, “she wouldn’t be driving me up the wall.” “You absolute pig!” said Marina. “How dare you be so beastly about darling Katie!” I was terrified when she said that, but do you know what happened? He laughed. He actually laughed – and then he apologised to me and said sorry, he knew he’d been a bastard but he was going to reform. Of course that was when I realised we had to have Marina in our marriage.’

      ‘Ah,’ I said, trying to sound as if she had made an unremarkable observation. On an impulse I added: ‘How very perceptive of you.’

      ‘Well, she had such a wonderfully benign effect on him, you see, and she was so devoted to both of us. We’d known her for a long time – that grandmother of hers living almost next door to my in-laws – but because she was so much younger than we were we didn’t start to meet her at social occasions until about 1962. And then in the May of 1963 she gave that wonderful party at Lady Markhampton’s house in the Close … you

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