Forget Her Name(96)

‘I know who you really are, Nick,’ Dad continues icily. ‘I’ve known for some time, thanks to Wainwright.’

Dominic’s eyes widen at the use of his childhood name.

‘I didn’t want to precipitate a crisis with Cat, so I said nothing. But that horse has well and truly bolted. So your little charade here is finished.’ Dad pauses, his face a mask of cold authority. ‘If you stay away from Cat, I won’t pursue this any further. But if you persist, I will intervene, don’t think I won’t. I doubt the police will believe you weren’t involved in Wainwright’s death, for instance.’

Dominic says nothing, but I can feel his sudden stillness.

‘I’m sorry for what happened to Felicity. It was a terrible tragedy, a talented young life cut short.’ Dad glances towards the woman in the bed, a sudden throb of emotion in his voice. ‘Yes, I come here sometimes to sit and read to her. And ask her to forgive me. Though I’ve never been able to forgive myself.’

I stare at him. ‘For what?’

‘For not managing your condition better. And for not being a stricter parent at times. Perhaps if I hadn’t let you have your way so often . . .’ He shakes his head, then looks at Dominic, a significant edge to his voice. ‘I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my daughter. Do we understand each other?’

Dominic hesitates, then nods silently.

‘Good, I’m glad.’ Behind my father, I can see Nurse Trudi hanging about in the hallway, peering over his shoulder with a curious expression. Dad lowers his voice, choosing his words carefully as though aware of this unwanted audience. ‘Because none of us will come out of this unscathed if you decide to go public. You’ve had your revenge. You’ve turned Cat back into Rachel. Don’t make things any worse than they already are.’

I twist away from Dominic and run towards my father.

‘I’m sorry,’ I tell him wildly. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’

Dad opens his arms.

‘Hush, darling, it’s all forgiven,’ he says, and clutches me to his chest, then kisses my forehead. ‘Are you hurt?’ He puts a finger under my chin and raises my face to examine me, his eyes dark with concern. ‘Christ, what’s that on your cheek? Did that bastard hit you?’

I bury my face in his chest. ‘Take me home, Daddy,’ I say huskily, not looking at Dominic again. ‘It’s over.’





Epilogue

‘You can’t put the genie back in the bottle,’ Dr Aebischer tells my father, his tone apologetic. ‘We’ve come to the end of our usefulness, I’m afraid. To keep Catherine here any longer would be against her best interests. The best thing you can do is take your daughter back to London, and continue with the therapy sessions we’ve started here.’

I ignore them, staring out of the window at the snow instead. It’s been a poor year for the ski resorts again, one of the warmest springs for a decade, but the mountains are still white-capped. Anyway, what does it matter what these doctors say? I’ve been here for weeks now, locked in this bedroom, only let out for exercise or therapy sessions, and Dr Aebischer is about the fifth specialist to assess me. The others have said the same, but Dad doesn’t want to listen. He won’t give up but I’m beginning to wish he would.

The bedroom is cold, but through choice. I turned down the thermostat deliberately. I wanted to feel the cold.

My dress is white, knee-length, buttoned up to the neck. It’s prim and controlled, the sort of outfit Catherine might wear.

I hate it.

But it’s what I need right now. To be controlled.

‘Medication can only do so much, you see,’ Dr Aebischer continues in that very correct Swiss accent. He’s the clinic director, a large man with a bald head and a kind smile. I like him instinctively. He tends to oversee treatments rather than deal with patients individually. ‘As my colleagues have informed you, it’s a question of therapy now. Therapy and integration.’

‘I thought it was a question of money,’ Dad says coolly.

The clinic director inclines his head. ‘Your donations to our research work have been most generous, and we are very grateful. But whether Catherine stays another month or another year, it will not change our recommendations.’

‘Last time we were here—’

‘Last time your daughter attended this clinic, other doctors were in charge. Doctors whose views are no longer held to be valid by the current team. Also, Catherine was going through adolescence. Highly suggestible, subject to hormonal surges, her personality not quite formed.’ Dr Aebischer shakes his head. ‘She’s an adult now. The same aggressive approach will not work, whatever your Dr Holbern has told you.’

‘I don’t see why we can’t at least try.’

‘I’m going to be frank with you, Mr Bates. I’ve read Catherine’s notes in some detail. All the records we held on file from her last visit, in fact.’ The doctor pauses. ‘I understand why Dr Holbern has recommended you go down the same route as last time. It did work with Catherine, to a certain extent. But we don’t do those particular therapies anymore. They were discredited some years ago. Too many cases of patients regressing after treatment. Even worsening.’

I look round at them, interested at last.