Incarnate (61 page)

She’d stayed in England for a while, for Joyce’s sake. When Molly had gone home with her, Joyce wouldn’t cross the threshold. Molly had never been sure why, and hadn’t wanted to ask. Joyce had stayed at Molly’s while she’d sold the house and bought herself a flat with enough money left over to buy a long lease on accommodation for a new day center. Molly had waited to be sure -Joyce settled back into her work, which certainly seemed to be what she needed, then at last she’d joined Martin, breathing a secret sigh of relief that the months of living with Joyce and her relentless helpfulness were over. As soon as she met Martin’s mother, they liked each other so much—

“That they all lived happily ever after,” Guilda snarled.

Dr. Lovell was taken aback by her sudden viciousness, even though she ought to be used to it by now. “I suppose you could put it that way.”

“I don’t want to put it any way. I’m not interested, can’t you understand? Why are you making me listen to all this?”

“Because you asked me to find out,” Dr. Lovell said patiently.

“I most certainly did not. What are you trying to do to me?” Guilda plucked at the bedclothes as the sedative took hold. “They told you to tell them where I was, didn’t they?” she cried, her voice trying to rise to a shriek.

“No, Guilda, not at all. Nobody wants anything of you except that you get well. Try and sleep now. I’m sorry I disturbed you.”

“Try and sleep? Why, you crazy woman, don’t you understand—” But Dr. Lovell had closed the door and was walking away from the muffled voice. Certainly Guilda was the most difficult patient she had ever had to deal with, even now that they’d discovered Guilda had only been pretending to swallow her sedatives. Dr. Lovell disliked authorizing injections against the patient’s will, disliked the screams and struggles and the patient’s loss of dignity, but in a case like this it was the only answer.

She looked in on some of her other patients and chatted to one of the nurses and then went to her office, still thinking about Guilda. One thing Guilda never failed to do was to make Dr. Lovell feel unsure of herself. It was a talent schizophrenics had, but she was immune to it in all the others. Of course Guilda had asked her to write to Molly Wallace and the rest of them; otherwise, obviously, she would never have done so. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t recall being asked.

She gazed through her window at the dark grounds under the black sky. She hadn’t intended to tell Guilda much more in any case. Of the people she had tried to contact, only Molly Wallace had replied—rather warily. Dr. Lovell noticed, for she hadn’t given a return address. She wouldn’t have told Guilda that except for Joyce Churchill and Freda Beeching, who had last been heard of in a rest home somewhere up north, all the others were missing, still sought by the police: Danny Swain, Helen Verney and her child, even Stuart Hay. Dr. Lovell didn’t know what to make of it herself.

She wasn’t sure how long she had been standing at the window when it occurred to her to wonder what she was looking for. Of course, she was trying to recapture the momentary impression she’d had from Guilda’s window that there was something unfamiliar at the far end of the avenue. She could see nothing there that shouldn’t be. Either it had been heavy traffic on the road or she was tired; in fact, she undoubtedly was. That was Guilda’s other little talent: whether or not she was sedated, she always left Dr. Lovell feeling she could sleep for hours. Just now there was no reason why not. Dr. Lovell was asleep almost as soon as she sat at her desk, and before long she began to dream.