Chapter Nineteen

Lying in bed in her terraced cottage just off the West Wing in the asylum, Dr Eris looked across at the man she was now quite confident she was going to marry. He really was very handsome. What you might call very ‘English-looking’, with his mop of blond hair presently flopping over his forehead. As John shuffled onto his side, he kissed her gently. Claire thought how very considerate a lover he was. Just as he was careful. There were to be no little ‘accidents’. Which was fine by her. She didn’t need to take that particular route to get John down the aisle. After dealing with Helen, she felt everything was in hand.

It still puzzled her as to why Helen had been so set on John. He was an attractive man, but he wasn’t really someone who had women swooning at his feet – not like the very dashing Matthew Royce. On looks alone, Helen and Matthew were a perfect match. Both dark-haired and drop-dead gorgeous. Never mind that they worked in the same industry and clearly had shipbuilding in their blood.

She sighed. Hopefully, Helen would bore of being single – she wasn’t getting any younger, and with any luck she would turn her amour away from John and focus on a man who was not only available but very clearly keen on her.

As she sat up in the narrow bed and looked around the small bedroom of her rented digs, she looked forward to the day when they would have their own house. As soon as John proposed, she was going to start gently suggesting that they should move to London. Once the war was won, of course.

‘How’s your star patient doing?’ Dr Parker asked. Helen had said Henrietta was doing really well, but it was always good to hear a professional opinion.

‘Oh, she’s good. Very good,’ Dr Eris said, sliding out of bed and putting on a dressing gown. She couldn’t let on to John that she knew who her ‘star patient’ really was – just as she knew John could not tell her that he too knew Henrietta’s real identity. John would never betray Helen’s confidence.

She went into her kitchenette to make a pot of tea.

‘Thank goodness I got them to stop the electroconvulsive therapy that Dr Friedman was so keen on,’ Dr Eris shouted through. She was even more thankful now that she knew there was nothing really wrong with the poor woman and the only reason she was there was because her husband had wanted shot of her.

She heard John’s mumbled agreement. They were not huge fans of the various shock therapies that seemed to have grown in popularity over the past decade or so.

‘I’m also rather pleased that I’ve just about weaned her off most of her medications,’ she added. They had previously discussed her concern about the variety of drugs Henrietta was on. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if in years to come they discover that some of the drugs she’s been taking have actually been making her unwell – not curing her.’

She popped her head round the corner and smiled at John, who was now sitting up in bed, his hands clasped together on top of the sheets.

‘Do you think there’ll ever be a time when she can leave the asylum. Permanently?’ he asked.

‘Mmm.’ Dr Eris hesitated. Not likely. Not if Charles Havelock has his way. ‘That’s a difficult one to call. I think, for now, I’d like to see how she adapts to seeing life without the thick filter of medication.’

She turned back to finish the tea-making, suddenly feeling a little rankled by John’s interest in Henrietta’s welfare, which, she felt, was more to do with the fact that her ‘star patient’ was Helen’s grandmother than because of Henrietta herself.