Dark Room

*13*

MONDAY, 27TH JUNE, THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC, SALISBURY-1:15 P.M.

Alan sensed that Jinx felt she had revealed too much of herself. He wondered if this was his last chance to learn what he could about her. "You told me your father wants you to leave, but you didn't say what you intend to do about it."

She propped her chin on her hand and gazed at him with a troubled expression, but there was something studied about the whole gesture. "I said I'd discharge myself back to Richmond and then take out an injunction to stop him ever interfering again unless he left well alone. Now I'm worried sick."

He gave a surprised laugh. "Why? I couldn't have advised better myself. You must be allowed the freedom to make your own choices."

"I wish you'd try to understand," she said helplessly. "It's not my freedom that's likely to be curtailed, it's yours. If Adam thinks you suggested the injunction-" She gave a small shrug and didn't finish the sentence.

"You're worrying unnecessarily," he said. "What can he possibly do to me?"

"He hasn't built his empire on charm, Dr. Protheroe. If he's going to do something, he'll do it quickly. He won't want you putting any more unpleasant ideas in my head."

"I can only repeat," he said, eyeing her curiously, "what can he possibly do to me?"

"That's what Russell said." She stood up abruptly. She might have added, And Leo and Meg, but she didn't.

Alan put through a telephone call to Matthew Cornell's father. "No," he assured him, "Matthew's doing well. I wondered if I could pick your brains on an unrelated matter."

"Go ahead."

"What do you know about Adam Kingsley of Franchise Holdings?"

"I'm a criminal barrister," Cornell reminded him. "Not a stockbroker."

"Which is why I called you," said Alan. "I've been told he began life as an East End crook, and I wondered if there was any truth in it."

"I see." There was a short pause. "All right, rumor has it that he was active alongside the Krays and the Richardsons in the fifties and sixties, but kept a much lower profile and turned legitimate as soon as he could. He was never charged with anything, because he adopted the Mafia cuscinetto system and erected buffers between himself and the violence his thugs meted out. But all that is hearsay, Protheroe, and not for public consumption. He's won damages in the past against two newspapers foolish enough to put that into print."

Alan doodled on the pad in front of him, wondering how to frame his next question. "How does he conduct business now?"

"Why? Are you thinking of investing in Franchise Holdings?"

"Maybe," Protheroe lied.

"There's the odd hint from time to time that he's used unorthodox methods to acquire property and land in the London Docks, but it's pure speculation. I'd say he runs as clean a ship as the next man. Matter of fact," he admitted, "I've a small sum invested in him myself."

"What about social skills? He was described to me as someone to be wary of in personal dealings. Would you agree with that?"

"What you'd expect from an East End boy made good." Cornell sounded intrigued. "I wouldn't want to get in too deep with him. Put it this way, he's not called the Great White Shark for nothing. If you work on the principle that he uses lawyers now as his buffers instead of hired muscle, then you'll probably have some idea of his modus operandi."

"What does that mean exactly?"

"Plus fa change, plus c 'est la meme 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."

THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC-3:00 P.M.

"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 forever, she knew it was an impossibility. If Alan Protheroe didn't pry 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 dwelled 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.

THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC-4:15 P.M.

"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 inquiries 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 honored."

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 gobbledygook, 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 honor 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 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 humor.

"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 Diirer's Knight, Death, and the 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."

Alan listened to the quiet tears at the other end of the line. "I wouldn't worry too much," he said with a calm he didn't feel. "Jinx is an extraordinarily tough young woman''-even he hadn 't realized till now just how tough-"and I'm confident it's only a matter of days before her memory returns in full and she's able to set minds at rest." He thought for a moment. "Presumably we're talking about speculation and not fact? If there were any evidence against Miss Kingsley, the police would have confronted her by now. Am I right?''

Simon fought for composure. "As far as I understand it, yes, but we've been told very little. Sir Anthony's known since Saturday morning and he said that Leo had been bludgeoned to death ... The same way Russell Landy was."

"Does Jinx's father know Meg and Leo are dead?"

"I don't think so. Dad and I think their intention is to hit Jinx while she's vulnerable, but we can't see justice being done that way."

Alan was curious. "You're being very generous to her, Mr. Harris."

"Things aren't as straightforward as they might seem," Simon said tightly. "We're worried about my mother, and we don't want Jinx's suicide on our conscience. She'll be under a lot of pressure when the news breaks, and what she's tried once, it seems likely she could try again."

"Well, on that score at least I don't think you need worry," said Alan slowly. "If I had any doubts at all about her mental equilibrium, you've just laid them to rest. Thank you for letting me know, Mr. Harris."

He said good-bye and replaced the receiver with a thoughtful frown. What on earth was going on here? Did Adam Kingsley know? Is that why he'd sent Kennedy? God almighty! Were he and the clinic being dragged into some sort of conspiracy to pervert the course of justice? "SHI-IT!" he roared at Knight, Death, and the Devil. Why the hell had he agreed to take the bloody woman in?

He sought out Veronica Gordon, the sister in charge. "I've had it up to here," he told her, chopping at his throat. "I'm going AWOL for a few hours. If there's an emergency, get Nigel White to deal with it." He thought for a moment. "But if it's an emergency concerning Miss Kingsley, call me on the mobile. No," he corrected himself, "we'll go one step farther where she's concerned. I want her checked every half hour without fail. Got that? A physical check by you or one of the nurses every thirty minutes, and if you're worried at all, page me. Okay?"

Veronica nodded. "Any particular reason?"

"No," he growled, "just a safety precaution. Her father sent his blasted solicitor over to give me an ear bashing, and he's put the wind up me. I don't want to be sued for negligence if she takes it into her head to do something stupid."

"She won't," said the woman with confidence.

"Why are you so sure?"

"I've watched her. Everyone does exactly what she wants, including you, Alan, and people like that don't hang up their boots lightly."

"She's already had one go."

"Balls!" said Veronica with an amiable grin. "She may want her daddy to think she did, but if it had been a serious attempt, she'd be dead. My guess is, there were a lot of hidden agendas at work when she threw herself out of her car, and a little fatherly sympathy was one of them. Mind you," she added thoughtfully, "she didn't research the science of movable objects hitting solid tarmac very thoroughly. I'm not convinced severe concussion and amnesia were part of the original equation."

Alan shrugged. "It may not be part of the end game, either. You don't have to be Einstein to fake amnesia, Veronica."

She looked at him in surprise. "Are you saying she's a fraud?"

"Not necessarily," he lied. "I was merely stating a fact."

"But why would she bother with anything so elaborate unless she had something to hide?"

"Perhaps she does."

Fergus was leaning against Protheroe's Wolseley when the doctor emerged into the warm late afternoon and approached across the gravel. He gave a perfunctory nod towards the older man and ran a hand over the hood. "I thought it might be yours,'' he said. "I noticed it when I visited Jinx the other day. Do you want to sell it?"

Alan shook his head. "I'm afraid not. We've been together too long to part so easily." He put the key into the lock. "Have you seen Jinx, or are you on your way in?"

"Just waiting. She's wandering about the garden somewhere. Miles has gone looking for her. Did Kennedy give you a roasting then?"

"Is that what he's employed to do?"

"It depends on Dad's mood. I told him you were pretty highhanded with me on Saturday, so I thought maybe he'd ordered his Rottweiler in to remind you who foots the bill. I also told him I reckoned you had the hots for Jinxy." He peered at Alan out of the corner of his eye, judging his reaction. "Dad was bloody cross about it, so I'm not surprised he sent Kennedy over."

Alan gave a snort of amusement. "I doubt you have the bottle to tell your father anything, Fergus.'' He pulled the car door open. "As a matter of interest, how did you know Kennedy was here?"

"I saw him leave." He yawned. "Miles wants to meet you. I promised I'd keep you here till he got back."

"Another time perhaps."

"No, now." Fergus caught at his arm. "We want to know what's going on. Does Jinx remember something?"

"I suggest you ask her." Alan looked down at the restraining hand. "You're welcome to come and talk to me any time you like, just so long as you make an appointment first. But at the moment"-he placed his hand over the young man's and prised it off his arm "I've more important things to do." He smiled amiably and eased in behind the wheel. "It's been nice meeting you again, Fergus. Give my best wishes to your mother and brother." He shut the door and gunned the Wolseley to life, before spinning the wheel and roaring away down the drive.

When Sister Gordon did her rounds at nine o'clock that evening, she found Jinx standing by her window watching the remnants of the day burn to crimson embers. "Isn't it beautiful?" she said without turning round, knowing by instinct who her visitor was. "If I could stand and look on this forever, then I would have eternal happiness. Do you imagine that's what heaven is?"

"I guess it depends on how static you want your heaven to be, Jinx. Presumably you've watched this develop from a simple sunset into glorious fire, so at which point would you have stopped it to produce your moment of eternal happiness? I think I would always be wondering if the moment afterwards had been more beautiful than the one I was stuck with, and that would turn the experience into a hell of frustration."

Jinx laughed quietly. "So there is no heaven?"

"Not for me. Bliss is only bliss when you come upon it unexpectedly. If it lasted forever it would be unbearable." She smiled. "Everything all right?"

Jinx turned away from the window. "Exactly the same as it was half an hour ago, and the half hour before that. Are you going to tell me now why it's so important to keep checking on me?"

"Perhaps the doctor's worried that you've been overexerting yourself. You put the fear of God into me this afternoon with that wretched walk. It was too far and too long."

"It wasn't, you know," said Jinx idly. "I spent most of the time hiding." She smiled at the other woman's surprise. "I saw my brother coming and dove for cover in one of the outside sheds." She glanced back towards the window. "Dr. Protheroe told me he was expecting a visit from my father,'' Jinx lied easily. "So do you know if Adam ever came? I thought he might pop in afterwards to visit me."

"I believe his solicitor came," Sister Gordon said, plumping up the pillows and smoothing the sheets, "but I don't think your father did."

Jinx pressed her forehead against the glass. "Why hasn't Dr. Protheroe been to see me?"

"He's taken himself off for a few hours R and R. Poor fellow," she said fondly, wishing, as she often did, that she hadn't saddled herself with Mr. Gordon. "He has a lot on his mind one way and another, and no one to share his problems with."

Jinx wrapped her arms about her thin body to stop the shivering. Did he have Leo and Meg on his mind? And was it Kennedy who'd told him?

Sister Gordon frowned. "You've been at that window too long, you silly girl. Quickly now, into your dressing gown and into bed. No sense catching pneumonia on top of everything else." She clicked her tongue sharply as she opened the dressing gown and slipped it over Jinx's shoulders. "You were lucky that young couple arrived when they did on the night of your accident or you'd have started pneumonia then."

"It was certainly convenient," said Jinx impassively.

THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC-MIDNIGHT

The Wolseley swung through the clinic's gates, its headlamps scything a white arc across the lawn. It was after midnight and Alan slowed to a crawl to avoid waking the patients with the crunch of wheels on gravel. He felt no relief about coming home, no sense of welcome at his journey's end, only a growing resentment that this was all there was. The temporary euphoria that a bottle of expensive Rioja over a meal of langoustines in garlic butter had given him had evaporated during his careful drive home, to leave only frustrated depression. What the hell was he doing with his life? Where was the satisfaction in ministering to a clutch of rich bastards with overinflated egos and no self control? Why hadn't Jinx told him Meg and Leo were dead? And why couldn't he get the damn woman out of his mind?

He drummed an angry hand on the wheel, only to wrench it in alarm as the lights picked out the white flash of a face, inches from the near-side wing, disembodied against the blackness of the trees bordering the drive. Shit! SHI-IT! His heart set up a sturdy gallop as he slammed his foot on the brake and brought the crawling car to an almost instantaneous halt. Half-hourly checks, he'd said, and she was out here dodging bloody cars.

"Jinx," he called, fumbling open the door and hauling himself out and upright with a hand on the car roof. "Are you all right?"

Silence.

"Look, I saw you." God help him if he'd hit her. He used the red light thrown by his rear lamps to scan the grass verge behind the car, but there was no huddled body there. "I know you can hear me," he went on, staring into the trees, searching for her. He walked round to lean against the passenger door. Sooner or later she would have to move and he d see the flash of the white face again. "I think you're a fraud, Jinx. The amnesia's crap and I don't believe for one second that you tried to kill yourself. It was a setup, pure and simple, designed to get your father on your side, and it sure as hell worked, even if you probably did yourself rather more damage than you intended. So are you going to tell me what it's all about?" He waited. "I should warn you I'm feeling pretty bloody ratty at the moment, and my mood isn't improved by hanging around in my own sodding drive because one of my patients wants to play silly buggers. But don't expect me to give up tamely and leave you here. You move one muscle, girl, and I'll catch you. So are you going to show yourself, or are we going to wait this out till daylight? Your choice."

There was a blur of movement, so quick and so close that he was completely overwhelmed by it. He lurched to one side but pain exploded in his shoulder as the solid metal head of a sledgehammer tore his arm from its socket. He ducked away from another arcing blow and scrambled round the hood of the car towards the open door of the driver's seat. With an instinct born of desperation, he threw himself behind the wheel and slammed the door. But as he reached across his chest to force the gear clumsily into reverse, the sledgehammer burst through the windshield towards his face.

Amy Staunton looked at her watch. "What's Dr. Protheroe want half-hourly checks for anyway?" she grumbled. "The girl's been fast asleep since ten o'clock."

"Ours not to question why," said Veronica Gordon. "Ours just to do or die. Finish your tea. I can't see five minutes making much difference here or there."

He didn't know if it was sweat or blood that was pouring down his face. As the car accelerated backwards, he only knew that he was in agony. With a sense of unreality he watched the figure-a man-vanish into the darkness before the Wolseley's back end piled into a solid oak tree. What the hell was going on?

The door handle of number 12 rattled and the door was pushed half open as the black nurse looked into the pitch-darkness inside. She heard something, and with a start of fear, she felt about for the light switch. "Are you all right, love?" She flooded the room with light, glanced at the bed, where Jinx was threshing her sheets into a tumbled mess, then looked towards the French windows, where the curtains flapped in the breeze. Tut-tutting impatiently, she crossed the room to close and lock the window; then she went to the bed and placed a gentle hand on the woman's forehead.

As though galvanized by an electric shock, Jinx sat bolt upright in the bed, mouth sucking frenziedly for air. She couldn't breathe ... dear God, she couldn't breathe ... She clutched at her throat in a vain attempt to dislodge whatever was blocking her airway. But it was earth, filthy acrid earth ... and it was killing her ... NO-O-O! She flung herself off the bed and burst through the bathroom door, wrenching at the cold-water tap in the basin and ducking her head under the icy water. She drew in breath on a gasp of shock and let the sweet, sweet water wash the taste of death away.

"Oh good God, girl," screeched the nurse, "what's got into you? You being sick? What you been taking? What you doing with your clothes on? You was fast asleep last time I checked."

Jinx slumped to the floor and stared at her from red-rimmed eyes. "It was a dream, Amy," she whispered. "Only a dream."

"Ooh, you're a wicked girl. I've never had such a fright in my life. You just wait till I tell Dr. Protheroe. I thought you'd done for yourself good and proper.'' She beat her chest. "I could have had a heart attack. And why did you open your windows? Top panes only after nine o'clock, that's the rule. What you been up to?"

Jinx curled into a ball on the tiled floor. "Nothing," she said.