The Silent Patient(42)
Jean-Felix turned back to me. “Sorry about that.”
“That’s all right. Your girlfriend?”
He smiled. “Just a friend … I have a lot of friends.”
I’ll bet you do, I thought. I felt a flicker of dislike; I wasn’t sure why.
As he showed me out, I asked a final question. “Just one more thing. Did Alicia ever mention a doctor to you?”
“A doctor?”
“Apparently she saw a doctor, around the time of her suicide attempt. I’m trying to locate him.”
“Hmm.” Jean-Felix frowned. “Possibly—there was someone…”
“Can you remember his name?”
He thought for a second and shook his head. “I’m sorry. No, I honestly can’t.”
“Well, if it comes to you, perhaps you can let me know?”
“Sure. But I doubt it.” He glanced at me and hesitated. “You want some advice?”
“I’d welcome some.”
“If you really want to get Alicia to talk … give her some paint and brushes. Let her paint. That’s the only way she’ll talk to you. Through her art.”
“That’s an interesting idea.… You’ve been very helpful. Thank you, Mr. Martin.”
“Call me Jean-Felix. And when you see Alicia, tell her I love her.”
He smiled, and again I felt a slight repulsion: I found something about Jean-Felix hard to stomach. I could tell he had been genuinely close to Alicia; they had known each other a long time, and he was obviously attracted to her. Was he in love with her? I wasn’t so sure. I thought of Jean-Felix’s face when he was looking at the Alcestis. Yes, love was in his eyes—but love for the painting, not necessarily the painter. Jean-Felix coveted the art. Otherwise he would have visited Alicia at the Grove. He would have stuck by her—I knew that for a fact. A man never abandons a woman like that.
Not if he loves her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I WENT INTO WATERSTONES on my way to work and bought a copy of Alcestis. The introduction said it was Euripides’s earliest extant tragedy, and one of his least-performed works.
I started reading it on the tube. Not exactly a page-turner. An odd play. The hero, Admetus, is condemned to death by the Fates. But thanks to Apollo’s negotiating, he is offered a loophole—Admetus can escape death if he can persuade someone else to die for him. He asks his mother and father to die in his place, and they refuse in no uncertain terms. It’s hard to know what to make of Admetus. Not exactly heroic behavior, and the ancient Greeks must have thought him a bit of a twit. Alcestis is made of stronger stuff—she steps forward and volunteers to die for her husband. Perhaps she doesn’t expect Admetus to accept her offer—but he does, and Alcestis dies and departs for Hades.
It doesn’t end there, though. There is a happy ending, of sorts, a deus ex machina. Heracles seizes Alcestis from Hades and brings her triumphantly back to the land of the living. She comes alive again. Admetus is moved to tears by the reunion with his wife. Alcestis’s emotions are harder to read—she remains silent. She doesn’t speak.
I sat up with a jolt as I read this. I couldn’t believe it.
I read the final page of the play again slowly, carefully:
Alcestis returns from death, alive again. And she remains silent—unable or unwilling to speak of her experience. Admetus appeals to Heracles in desperation:
“But why is my wife standing here, and does not speak?”
No answer is forthcoming. The tragedy ends with Alcestis being led back into the house by Admetus—in silence.
Why? Why does she not speak?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Alicia Berenson’s Diary
AUGUST 2
It’s even hotter today. It’s hotter in London than in Athens, apparently. But at least Athens has a beach.
Paul called me today from Cambridge. I was surprised to hear his voice. We’ve not spoken in months. My first thought was Auntie Lydia must be dead—I’m not ashamed to say I felt a flicker of relief.
But that’s not why Paul was calling. In fact I’m still not sure why he did call me. He was pretty evasive. I kept waiting for him to get to the point, but he didn’t. He kept asking if I was okay, if Gabriel was okay, and muttered something about Lydia being the same as always.
“I’ll come for a visit,” I said. “I haven’t been for ages, I’ve been meaning to.”
The truth is, I have many complicated feelings around going home, and being at the house, with Lydia and Paul. So I avoid going back—and I end up feeling guilty, so I can’t win either way.
“It would be nice to catch up,” I said. “I’ll come see you soon. I’m just about to go out, so—”
Then Paul spoke so quietly I couldn’t hear him.
“Sorry? Can you repeat that?”
“I said I’m in trouble, Alicia. I need your help.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I can’t talk about it on the phone. I need to see you.”
“It’s just—I’m not sure I can make it up to Cambridge at the minute.”
“I’ll come to you. This afternoon. Okay?”
Something in Paul’s voice made me agree without thinking about it. He sounded desperate.