Doctor Klein’s hand went up to a point above his right eyebrow where it hovered for a second or two. It was a curious gesture. She had observed him do it before. He asked if she really wanted to hear the results of his assessment.
‘I do. I want to see whether you will tell me anything about Oswald which I don’t know already,’ Ella said. She was tall and attenuated and very fair. Her ash-blond hair was bobbed and she wore pearl earrings. She looked extremely elegant in a silk trouser suit with narrow trousers and tunic top in a subtle shade of a very pale greenish-gold. From a distance she looked no more than thirty. In fact she was fifty-nine.
‘You think you know him well?’
‘I believe I do, yes. Oswald enjoys talking about himself, doesn’t he?’
‘Yes. He is quite uninhibited. He believes I am one of the few people who understand him. He says he can trust me. I don’t know why he should think that. He is so pleased with my services, he promises to double my fees.’
‘Oswald is certainly generous to people he wants to impress.’
‘You realise, don’t you, that you are asking me to betray my patient?’ Doctor Klein’s lips twitched into what might have been a smile. He was a large shapeless man with white marsupial cheeks and he spoke in soft and uninflected tones, without a trace of any accent. He reached out for his notebook.
‘Is patient confidentiality part of the Hippocratic oath?’
‘I never took the oath, actually … I hereby swear by Apollo Physician and Asclepius and Hydieia and Panaceia and all the gods and goddesses – I have no idea how it goes on.’ He put on his rimless glasses, opened his notebook and started leafing though it.
They were in Ella’s room, sitting beside one of the long curved windows. It was a pleasantly furnished room. Off-white rugs on the gleaming parquet floor – fawn-painted walls – an oval mirror surrounded by lights – a dressing table with intricately shaped scent bottles and two hairbrushes with ivory handles. The only splash of colour was provided by a bowl containing blood-red roses.
The window was open. The sea outside was liquid sapphires that sparkled in the sun. Ella watched the waves rise up and move apart – ‘in planes of blatant impossibility’. She shaded her eyes. There was something magical about an island; the mere word suggested fantasy. But the sea would be truly terrifying if there ever was a storm. None of the mainland was visible. Ella had the strange feeling that all contact with the world had been lost. An island was a world of its own – a world, perhaps, from which you might never return?
Doctor Klein was speaking.
‘Oswald has an overweening sense of his own infallibility and his confidence in his own talents and powers is quite alarmingly exalted. He has a grandiose self-image and is reluctant to concede the possibility that he might ever become the subject of valid criticism. He compares himself to Rommel and Napoleon. Even if infinitesimally challenged, he becomes offended. He has difficulty masking his indignation and when his voice rises, it is –’
‘Staccato with outrage?’
‘Yes.’ Doctor Klein looked up from his notes. ‘You certainly know him well. He sees no need to justify himself or his actions on any count, regarding it as self-evident that he is right, in spite of all the evidence to the contrary. His capacity for self-analysis is limited.’
‘Non-existent, surely?’
‘A typical response to a question he doesn’t want to answer is to deflect it with a question of his own. He demonstrates a marked reluctance to examine his behaviour or the consequences of his actions. He lacks insight and the concept of a wider responsibility is completely alien to him –’
Ella had the peculiar feeling that she had known Doctor Klein a very long time, well before he had joined Oswald’s entourage – that perhaps he and she had met in some other life, that they had some shared destiny. In his company she found peace. She had chosen to turn to him for solace the way some people turned to open spaces, to a forest in spring, or to the sea. There was something mythical about him … Something mystical … A figure out of some strange dream … The gentle ogre … The benevolent behemoth …
It occurred to her that Doctor Klein must hate Oswald as much as she did. He had never said so, but he wouldn’t be sitting here with her, betraying his patient’s confidences otherwise …
‘You are lost in a brown study, Ella,’ she heard Doctor Klein say, as though from far away. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes. Sorry. Please go on. I know it is terribly perverse of me, but I find it extremely comforting listening to you dissecting him so mercilessly.’
‘Oswald has mastered the appearance of affect, but it is unlikely that this is more than a convenient mask. He is insensitive, overbearing and emotionally immature –’
‘He is a tyrant and a bully,’ she whispered. ‘Does he say anything about me? Does he ever try to justify the way he treats me?’
‘He mentions you from time to time, yes.’
‘What does he say? Please, tell me. I want to know.’ She prepared for the blow by clenching her hands into fists and half-closing her eyes.
‘He says you “provoke” him, sometimes by design, sometimes unintentionally. He admits he was in love with you once, deeply and passionately, but that was “aeons ago”. He still has an overriding need for physical love, though he is no longer attracted to you. In his opinion, you have never been able to understand the way he “operates”. You have no idea what makes him “tick”. He describes you as “clinging”. He catches you looking at him “with distaste and scorn”. Is that true?’
‘I suppose it is true.’
‘You are the “grudge-bearing type”. You tend to “live in the past”. You seem incapable of “cutting your losses”. You don’t smile enough. You don’t know the meaning of “letting go”. He refers to you alternately as “saintly Ella” and “that masochistic martyr”. He is annoyed by what he perceives to be your self-righteousness.’
‘Am I self-righteous?’
‘Not in the least. Oswald hates your “passivity”. He resents the way you refuse to get angry with him and have a “proper fight” … He admits you are extremely competent in most things you undertake. No, he doesn’t seem to see anything wrong with the way he treats you. He regards himself as your benefactor. He believes you should be grateful to him –’
‘He actually said that?’ Ella was aware of her senses becoming preternaturally acute. Her ears throbbed with the crash of the sea and the wild shrieks of seagulls. Her nostrils twitched at the reek of something loathsome, some detestable putrescence that came from the direction of the little beach below the rocks.
‘He said you were consumed by sexual jealousy because of his affectionate interest in Maisie. He suspects you of wanting to harm him – or her.’
Although the day was very warm, Doctor Klein wore a black suit and a black tie. He always wore a black suit and a black tie. It was impossible to imagine him dressed in any other way. Ella believed he had three or four identical-looking black suits hanging in his wardrobe.
As she watched him, he started melting –
She was crying. It happened often these days. Silent tears ran down her cheeks. She didn’t make a sound.
‘I am sorry,’ she said, pressing her handkerchief against her lips. ‘Please go on.’
‘Are you sure you want me to?’
‘Yes.’
‘You are upset.’
‘I am not. I am fine, really.’ She dabbed at her eyes. ‘Please go on.’
‘Oswald sees himself as a Julius Caesar kind of figure. Unappreciated, tragically misunderstood, threatened, betrayed, doomed. He suspects that members of his staff in the city are in the pay of some of his big business rivals. He’s got it into his head that they are plotting his assassination. He has a recurrent dream about it.’ Doctor Klein paused. ‘Oswald believes he will be safer living on an island, but is afraid that he is going to die a violent death.’
Ella said slowly, ‘Sometimes when people believe strongly enough that they are going to die, they do die …’