Her Own Rules/Dangerous to Know (16 page)

C
HAPTER
E
IGHTEEN

M
eredith was nothing if not decisive. Once she had agreed to see the psychiatrist, she told Amy to make an appointment for the following week.

After that she endeavored to put the matter out of her mind; she had always had the ability to pigeonhole problems until it was the appropriate time to deal with them. And so she managed to get through the next few days without dwelling too much on her health or mental state. Fortunately, there were no more attacks.

On Tuesday afternoon, when she walked into Dr. Hilary Benson's private office, her first impression was of a good-looking but stern woman. The doctor had a rather lovely face with high cheekbones, and the palest of blue eyes that appeared almost transparent. But her mouth had a severe set to it and her dark brown hair was pulled back in a plain chignon that was singularly schoolmarmish.

There was a no-nonsense, businesslike air about her, and for a split second Meredith was put off, thinking that she might be a cold fish. Then she recalled her physician's words. Jennifer had told her that Hilary Benson was a sympathetic person as well as a brilliant psychiatrist.

I must give her a chance, give this a chance, Meredith decided. She needed to understand what was wrong, why she was having these attacks on a regular basis. According to Jennifer, only a psychiatrist could help her get to the root of the problem.

After greeting Meredith pleasantly and shaking hands, Dr. Benson said, “Come and sit down, Mrs. Stratton.”

“Thank you,” Meredith answered, and followed the doctor over to the desk, where they sat facing each other.

Meredith, studying the doctor, decided that she was probably the same age as Jennifer and herself; in her early forties.

The psychiatrist said, “Dr. Pollard and I have spoken at length. She has filled me in, given me your medical history in general. Apparently you're a very healthy woman.”

“Yes, I am, thank goodness,” Meredith replied, smiling faintly.

Dr. Benson nodded and sat back in her chair, taking stock of Meredith for a moment. Beautiful woman. Puts up a good front, she thought. But there's pain in her, hurt. I can see it in her eyes. Getting straight to the point, she said, “Jennifer believes you could be suffering from psychogenic fatigue.”

“So she told me.”

“Let's talk about that fatigue, the attacks you've been having. When did the first one occur, Mrs. Stratton?”

“Early in January. I was in Paris on business. I'd been traveling part of the day, and that night, after I'd checked into my hotel, I felt quite ill. Exhausted, a bit queasy . . . nauseated.”

“Where had you traveled from?”

“England. Not a long trip by any means, and traveling doesn't affect me usually. I have a lot of stamina and tremendous energy, Dr. Benson.”

“So feeling ill was unusual for you. I understand.” There was a moment's pause, then Hilary went on. “Had anything happened to upset you that day?” She put her elbows on the desk, steepled her fingers, and looked over them at Meredith.

“No, it hadn't. To tell you the truth, I thought I was probably coming down with the flu. That morning I'd been outside for a long time in the cold, in the snow. I'd been wandering around a ruined abbey. I thought that—” Meredith stopped short, abruptly cutting herself off.

“You thought what, Mrs. Stratton?” Dr. Benson asked, giving Meredith a quiet, encouraging smile.

“I was going to say that I thought I'd caught a chill when I was lingering at the abbey. But come to think of it, something odd
did
occur that morning, something quite strange really.”

“And what was that?”

“I had a peculiar sense that I'd been there before. It was a feeling of déjà vu.”

“But you had
not
been there before. Is that what you're saying?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Can you recall how you actually felt?”

Meredith nodded.

“Will you tell me about it, Mrs. Stratton?”

“Yes. But let me explain something, Dr. Benson. I saw the abbey for the first time the day before . . . I was looking at it from the window of an inn, viewing it across snow-covered fields. It was beautiful. And I realized I was curiously drawn to it. The next morning I had a little time to spare, I was waiting for my English partner to get up, come down to breakfast. Well, anyway, not to digress . . . I had a little free time, so I went to look at the abbey close-up. As I approached the ruins I felt that I was literally being pulled toward them, and that even if I'd wanted to, I couldn't have turned back. A short while later, when I finally walked into the actual ruins, I had the queerest feeling that I'd been there before. It was strong, rather overwhelming.”

“And you
are
positive you didn't know this place?”

“Oh yes. I had never been to Fountains Abbey before; I was visiting Yorkshire for the first time in my life.”

“I see. Did you experience anything else? Did you have any other emotions that morning?”

“Yes, I did, as a matter of fact. I felt a great sense of loss. And sadness . . .” Meredith paused. There was a reflective look on her face when she added quietly, “I experienced a feeling of true sorrow.”

“Have you any idea why?”

“Not really, although I do recall that I had a sudden flash of clarity at that moment. I was sure that I had lost someone there, someone very dear to me. Or, rather, that someone had been
taken
from me. It seemed to me that I
knew
those ruins, and I sensed a tragic thing had happened there. Yet it didn't feel like a bad place. Quite the opposite. I had a sense of belonging, and I was at ease.”

“Do you know England well, Mrs. Stratton?”

“Not really, although I've been going there for more than twenty years. However, as I just said, I had never been to Yorkshire.” Meredith leaned forward, gave the psychiatrist a piercing look. “How do you explain what happened to me that morning?”

“I don't think I can. At least, not at this moment.”

“Do you think my experience at Fountains Abbey triggered the first attack?”

“I don't know.” Hilary Benson shook her head. “The human mind is a strange and complex piece of machinery. It takes a lot of understanding. Let's leave your experience at the abbey alone for the moment and go in another direction. I understand from Dr. Pollard that you're an Australian. Please tell me a little about yourself, about your background.”

“I'm from Sydney. I grew up there. My parents were killed. In a car crash. When I was ten years old. Relatives brought me up.” Meredith sat back in the chair, crossed her legs, and gave the psychiatrist a cool, very direct look.

Hilary Benson returned this glance and thought: Her expression is candid but she's lying. I know it. What she's just said has been well learned. She's repeating it by rote to me, just as she's done so before, to countless others.

After a short pause Hilary said, “How sad for you to be orphaned so very young. Who was it that brought you up?”

“Relatives. I just told you.”

“But
who
exactly?”

“An aunt.”

“I see. Did you have any siblings?”

“No, I didn't. There was just me. I was always on my own.”

“Is that actually how you felt, that you were on your own, even though you had an aunt?”

“Oh yes, I always felt that way.”

“Tell me how you came to this country, Mrs. Stratton.”

“I'll be happy to,” Meredith replied, and then added, “I'd like you to call me Meredith, Dr. Benson.”

The doctor nodded. “Of course. Please give me a little background about your arrival in America.”

“I came with an American family who'd been living in Sydney. The Paulsons. I'd been working as an au pair for them since I was fifteen. Mr. Paulson was transferred back to the States two years later, when I was seventeen, and they asked me to go with them. So I did.”

“And your aunt didn't object?”

“Oh no. She didn't care. She had four daughters of her own. She wasn't interested in me.”

“And so she gave her permission for you to travel to America with the Paulson family? Am I understanding this correctly?”

Meredith nodded. “She helped me get my passport.” Meredith made a small grimace. “She was glad to be rid of me.”

Hilary Benson frowned. “You were not very close, then?”

“Not at all.”

“And what about your parents? Were you close to them?”

“Not really.”

“But you were an only child. Only children are usually very close to their parents.”

“
I
wasn't, Dr. Benson.”

The psychiatrist was silent. She looked down at the pad in front of her, made a few notations on it. She was more convinced than ever that Meredith was lying about her background. It seemed to her that everything was too well rehearsed, and Meredith spoke in monosyllables, as if she were afraid to elaborate in case she made a mistake. Or revealed something she was trying to hide.

Hilary put down her pen and looked up, smiling at Meredith. “You came to New York with the Paulson family. Did you ever go back to Australia?”

“No, I didn't. I stayed here. In Connecticut. That's where we lived, near New Preston. Up above Lake Waramaug. I was with the Paulsons for another year and then Mr. Paulson was transferred to South Africa. He was a troubleshooter for an international advertising agency, and he was always moving around.”

“And did you go there with them?”

“No, I didn't want to go to Johannesburg. I stayed in Connecticut.”

“Alone?
You were only eighteen.”

“Well, Mrs. Paulson agreed I could stay on, because I had found myself a job. At the Silver Lake Inn. She came to meet the Silvers and liked them. They were providing room and board as well as a wage, and she approved. The Silvers were from an old family and well known, very respected in the area.”

“So at the age of eighteen you were on your own, working at an inn. How did you feel about this? About being so . . . so independent.”

“I was pleased, but I wasn't really on my own, Dr. Benson. The Silvers treated me like family right from the beginning, and they made me extremely welcome. I felt at home, as I'd never felt before in my life, actually.”

“If I am understanding you correctly, they treated you like a daughter. Am I right, Meredith?”

“Not a daughter, no, they weren't that much older than I was. More like a sibling, a younger sister.”

“How old were the Silvers?”

“Amelia was thirty-six when I went to work there, and Jack was thirty-two.”

Hilary Benson nodded. “And what was your job at the inn?”

“I started as a receptionist, but it was always understood, right from the beginning, that I would help Amelia with the office work. She was very overloaded, and since she was paralyzed, things weren't easy for her. I became her assistant as well as the receptionist. And I helped Jack a lot with the management of the inn.”

“What had happened to Amelia Silver? Why was she paralyzed?”

“She'd had a riding accident when she was twenty-five, just after they were married. She injured her spine and she lost the baby she was carrying. It was a great tragedy But she coped very well.”

“Tell me more about her. She was obviously someone you cared about.”

“Oh yes, I did. She was remarkable, and she taught me so much. Not only that, Amelia was the most beautiful woman I've ever known, ever seen. She was like Vivien Leigh in
Gone With the Wind.
That was the first thing I said to Amelia . . . that she resembled Vivien Leigh.”

“Then she must have indeed been beautiful. You say she taught you many things. Would you explain this to me, please?”

“She loved art, antiques, and decorating, and I learned about those things from her. But I also learned about courage . . . she was so courageous herself. And I learned about dignity and decency from Amelia Silver. Those were some of her other qualities.”

“What you're saying is that she gave you certain values.”

“Yes. And so did Jack. I learned about true kindness from him, and he encouraged me, helped me to understand business. He taught me a great deal about running an inn, almost everything I know, in fact. He was a very smart man.”

“Was it a busy hotel?”

“Only on weekends. It was quiet during the week. Silver Lake Inn was and is very much a weekend retreat, and all the year round. But more people came in the good weather, in the spring and summer, than they did in winter. And we were always full in the fall, of course, when the leaves changed color. People loved to come and see the foliage. They still do.”

“You describe the inn in a very loving voice, Meredith.”

“I do love Silver Lake. I always have, from the very first moment I saw it. And it was the first real home I ever knew. My first safe haven—” Meredith stopped. She had said too much. She shifted slightly in the chair and focused her eyes on the painting above Hilary Benson's head.

Hilary said,
“Safe
haven . . . had you not felt safe before then, Meredith?”

“It's just an expression,” Meredith hedged.

“You speak so beautifully about the Silvers, I know you must have loved them, obviously still do. How are they—”

“They're both dead!” Meredith exclaimed, interrupting the psychiatrist.

“I'm sorry to hear that. Their passing must have been a great loss to you.”

“It was. I was heartbroken.”

“When did they die?”

“Jack died in 1973. He was only thirty-six. And Amelia about a year later, just a bit longer than a year, actually, late in 1974. She was young too, only forty-one.”