Presence of Mind (22 page)

‘And what of Briony herself? How is she this morning?'

‘She has another headache. I haven't quite worked out what to tell her yet.'

He said flatly, ‘You're on dangerous ground, Ann. I'm not at all happy about the risks but I can see that from your point of view it's worth a try. Will you contact me when you learn the family's reaction?'

‘Yes. Thank you. I was going to ask if I might. I don't know how long I'll be away. If they won't take her, of course, we'll come straight back and I'll have no option but to agree to a hospital. If they do, I'll stay nearby for a while in case she – reverts to herself.'

‘Very well. Thank you for putting me in the picture. I shall be awaiting your phone call with some anxiety. In the meantime – good luck.'

Carefully I replaced the receiver. The die was cast.

My note to Lance was deliberately vague. I wrote that I had thought of someone else who might be able to help Briony and was taking her to see what could be done. I would phone in a day or two and let him know when I'd be back. In the meantime there was no need to make enquiries about boarding at the college. I repeated the same story to Mrs Rose and detected the relief she tried to conceal. It was very obvious that she was now extremely nervous of Briony and I could hardly blame her. All that remained was to tell Briony herself.

I began casually, ‘Darling, I suppose you realise now that you'll have to let this batch of exams go? You can take them later, when you're well again. In the meantime I think a few days away would do us both good. What do you think?'

‘If you like.' She had a hand against her head.

‘Daddy can't come with us, of course,' I continued artlessly. ‘He has his work to finish.'

‘Will he mind if we go without him?'

‘He understands,' I replied hopefully.

‘All right.'

‘You just sit quietly and relax and I'll pack the cases.'

I was thankful she hadn't even been interested enough to ask where we were going. In her present apathy she was also unlikely to notice that I was packing more of her luggage than my own. I felt sick with dread at the gamble I was taking. I knew nothing of the Camerons, not even if they were still alive, but faced with the equally unbearable alternatives to the plan I still felt it was a risk I had to take. I could no longer sit back and watch Lance and Briony destroy each other.

After an early lunch we set off for Heathrow as Lance and I had done exactly one week ago. Already it seemed in a different lifetime, a ‘previous existence', as Lance had once said. This time, unsure how long I'd be away, I left the car at one of the outlying car parks near the airport and we were driven to the terminal buildings in a mini bus.

At Glasgow we took a bus into town and then a taxi to the Lanark Hotel. The desk clerk remembered me and we were given a suite on the second floor. I had decided that Briony might not be well enough to use the public lounge and we needed more than one room in which to spend the days.

Also, I hoped to arrange for Gordon MacIntyre to come and see me that evening when she was in bed, and I would not have dared to sit talking to him downstairs, where it would be impossible to listen for Briony. The suite was compact, a bedroom with single beds, a bathroom and quite a pleasant sitting-room, complete with writing desk and television set.

It was just after six by the time we had settled into our room and unpacked our night clothes. Briony was still pale and tired and agreed readily to my suggestion that she should rest for an hour before dinner. Thankfully I left her and returned to the sitting-room, where I had noticed a pile of local directories under the telephone table. There were several pages of MacIntyres but I recognised the address from our Christmas card list. Gordon answered the phone himself, sparing me what might have been a difficult explanation to his wife.

‘This is Ann Tenby, Gordon – Lance's wife.'

‘Hello there!' He was clearly puzzled by my call. ‘Are you phoning from Suffolk?'

‘No, I'm here. In Glasgow.'

‘You are? I'd no idea you were coming up.'

‘Lance isn't with me, just – Briony. Gordon, I desperately need your help.'

‘Of course.' But there was a slight caution in the words. As Lance had remarked bitterly, Gordon must have wondered just what kind of a home he had been visiting. And now here was a hysterical woman he hardly knew requesting help.

I said quickly, ‘You might have noticed Briony isn't well. She keeps losing her memory.'

‘I'm sorry to hear that, but I don't quite see –'

‘I know, and I can't possibly explain on the phone. I'm at the Lanark. Could you possibly come along here and meet me later this evening – about nine-thirty?'

There was a brief, startled pause and I felt hysterical laughter welling in my throat. ‘Gordon, I may sound mad but I promise I'm not. Nor am I trying to compromise you, believe me! I just desperately need to talk to you, as Lance's friend.'

‘Of course I'll come. About nine-thirty, you said?'

‘Yes, it must be after Briony's in bed. I booked a suite so we have a sitting-room where we can talk, if you'll just come straight up. Rooms 202 and 203.'

‘I'll be there, Ann. Good-bye just now.'

So far, so good.

Briony agreed listlessly that she felt well enough to go down for dinner. Again the half-puzzled expression came and went on her face as memories assailed her which were not as recent as her visit the previous week. We ate, and the hands of the wall clock crept round. Seven-thirty. Eight. Coffee. Eight-fifteen. We returned to our rooms. Briony had a bath and went straight to bed. It was almost too easy. At exactly nine-thirty there was a soft knock on the door and I opened it to find Gordon, slightly apprehensive but as big and reassuring as ever.

‘Would you like me to ring down and order you coffee or a drink?'

“Not for me, thanks. I've just finished coffee at home.' He sat down on one of the small upholstered chairs, dwarfing it. With racing pulses I plunged immediately into the story I'd been rehearsing in my head for the last twenty-four hours.

‘Gordon, you said at home that Briony reminded you of Ailsa.'

He flushed and shifted uncomfortably. ‘Me and my big mouth!'

‘Will you tell me all you can about her?'

‘Oh Lord, Ann, this isn't all my fault, is it? I mean, you haven't left Lance because –'

‘I haven't left Lance at all. At least, only for a few days. Please, Gordon, it's imperative that you tell me. I'll explain why in a minute, but I promise it won't cause any trouble to Lance.'

‘Well,' he began reluctantly, ‘we were all at art school together, Ailsa, Lance, Elspeth and myself. We used to go round in a foursome and had some pretty wild times together, I can tell you.'

‘What was she like?'

‘To look at, you mean? Oh, a bonnie wee thing. She'd gorgeous red hair and a trim figure and she was bubbling over with fun. She was very talented, too. She and Lance often competed for first place.'

‘Did she by any chance have a little mole beside her mouth?'

‘Yes, she did. She used to call it her beauty spot.'

So Briony's ‘self-portrait' had been accurate enough. ‘And did she ever call Lance “Jamie”?'

‘Good lord – yes! I'd quite forgotten that.'

‘Go on, then. What happened?'

‘I'm not sure exactly, if you mean between her and Lance. One moment they were in each other's pockets as usual and the next she'd have moved out of the flat.' So they'd been living together. The knowledge knifed into me but perhaps I should have expected it. ‘Lance was very unforthcoming and I never asked him outright what had happened. Anyway, Elspeth and I became engaged about that time and we tended to spend more time alone together, especially as Lance no longer had a partner to make up a four. He won some big competition with that painting you have in your room, but he was very prickly even about that and refused to go out with us to celebrate. Then, I don't remember how, we heard somewhere that Ailsa had died. It completely knocked the sniffing out of us. She'd always been so very much alive. I remember being thankful that she and Lance had split up beforehand, so that it wouldn't be quite so hard on him, but he still took it very badly. Refused to speak of her at all, and after a bit we drifted apart. He'd changed, and I dare say I was too taken up with Elspeth to make the effort to win him back. Years later I heard of his marriage and wrote to congratulate him, and as you probably know we've kept in touch at Christmas ever since, though we hadn't met again until this week.'

‘How did he seem to you?'

‘On edge,' he answered quietly. ‘As though something was eating away at his innards. I told myself he'd just grown older, as we all have. Then, when your daughter arrived, and seemed somehow to know me – I haven't been called Mac for years, but the crowd at art school always called me that – well, I have to admit I was somewhat less than comfortable.'

‘I'm afraid what I have to tell you won't make you any more so.'

‘Oh?'

Slowly and as matter-of-factly as I could, I recounted the facts of our original meeting, Lance's affinity with Briony and the terms of our marriage. I told of her increasingly frequent headaches, the strangeness Mark had mentioned and her eventual disappearance. And as I spoke I was resignedly aware of how insane the whole thing sounded. I finished flatly, ‘So that's the position. I'm not convinced by all the medical rigmarole. In my opinion Briony is either possessed by Ailsa or she's a reincarnation of her.'

Gordon was staring at me, an almost comic look of incredulity on his face. ‘You're seriously trying to tell me –'

‘Very seriously. As you said, she recognised you and asked about your wife. You remarked then on how like Ailsa she was.' I unfolded the only concrete piece of evidence I had, the sketch Briony had labelled ‘self-portrait' which I had brought specially to back up my story. ‘Does this look like Ailsa?'

He looked at it and shook his head slightly as though to clear it. ‘It
is
Ailsa. She was always doing those lightning sketches. Where did you find it? Among Lance's papers?'

‘Briony drew it.'

‘
Briony?
But it says –'

‘Self Portrait 1958. Yes, I know.'

‘My God!' he said tonelessly.

‘Will you help me, Gordon?'

‘How can I possibly?'

I took a deep breath. ‘I want you to go and see the Camerons.'

‘What?'

As calmly as I could, I repeated the gist of the story Max had told us the previous evening.

‘You want me to go to the Camerons and ask if they'll take her in?' he repeated, staring at me rather wildly.

‘Yes. It seems to be the last hope. You do know them, don't you?'

‘I've met them, yes. But Ann, do you realise what you're asking of these people? They lost their daughter tragically when she was only twenty. What was more, she was a brilliant artist and had a rosy future ahead of her. Can you imagine how they must have grieved at her death? Put yourself in their place. How would you feel if, twenty years later, someone you'd never heard of suddenly appeared and said her daughter was a reincarnation of yours? I rather think you'd call the police.'

‘Quite possibly, and that's precisely why I need you. I want you to go first and prepare the ground, explain what I've just told you. After all, they know you, they'd listen. Then, if they agree, I'll go and see them myself, and only after that, if we're all still prepared to go through with it, I'll take Briony along. You can take that sketch with you.'

‘It seems so cruel,' he said in a low voice.

I leant forward urgently. ‘Gordon, have you any idea what this is doing to
me?
I have to face the fact that I might possibly be losing my daughter too, by giving them mine permanently to replace theirs. I'm sure if they loved Ailsa as much as I love Briony they won't dare to refuse at least to see her. After all, I'm offering to give them back what they lost.'

‘It's gruesome – unthinkable.'

‘Yes, but it might be her only chance of recovery.'

‘And if she does recover, what then? They simply have to let her go, having reopened all the old wounds? It would be like having her die twice.'

‘I hadn't thought of that.' I looked at him bleakly. ‘All right, if you think it's too much to ask I'll abide by your decision.'

‘Surely there's some other way?'

‘Only a psychiatric hospital.'

‘Mac!' We had been so intent on each other that we hadn't heard the door open. Now, in her dressing-gown, Briony/Ailsa stood gazing delightedly at us. ‘Oh, Mac! It
is
good to see you! How are things?'

In triumphant despair I turned to Gordon, watching the sweat break out on his hairline.

‘How's Elspeth? It seems an age since we saw you. You were thinking of buying that wee Scottie pup. Did you get it?'

Gordon was staring at her in appalled fascination, his mouth twitching. ‘Ailsa?' he said at last, his voice a croak.

‘Oh come on, now! It's not been
that
long, surely?'

My bleak satisfaction at this living confirmation dissolved suddenly, giving way to panic. What could I do? Briony had slipped away again and Max was no longer within easy reach. I said sharply, ‘Where's Briony?'

She turned from Gordon's discomfort and answered quietly, ‘She's gone away for a while. She had a headache all day, trying to keep me in.'

My heart somersaulted. Not for one moment had I anticipated a coherent reply to my question. I remembered now that Max had told us the alternate self was aware of the circumstances. Perhaps after all there was a means of dealing with her.