The Madman's Room

Meadows, claiming he’d had a hard day, took his leave after wishing Patrick good luck for the rest of the evening. Sarah went with him. Half an hour later it was Brian’s turn, and shortly after that Francis stood up.

‘I still have some paperwork to do before tomorrow,’ he told Patrick.

The latter, surprised and embarrassed to find himself alone with Paula, stammered:

‘I ought to make a move as well.’

‘Come, come,’ said Francis paternally, ‘I’m sure Paula has lots to tell you… You’re not going to bed for a while, are you, darling?’

‘No, of course not,’ she replied unconvincingly, making a show of collecting the cards to hide her blushes.

After the door closed behind Francis there was a heavy silence in the room. Blue Reed went to sit in one of the armchairs and started whistling Somebody Loves Me. Despite the melody the silence seemed even heavier. After five minutes had gone by, Paula went over to join her companion. She planted herself in front of him with arms crossed, frowning:

‘Dear friend,’ she said with heavy irony, ‘I’d like to know the meaning of this farce.’

Patrick feigned wide-eyed innocence:

‘Farce? What farce?’

‘Please don’t try to tell me you met Bessie by accident.’

Patrick lit a cigarette and closed the lighter with a sharp click.

‘As far as I know, I’ve a right to befriend anyone I want. I met Bessie in London and….’

‘I know how you met her. She told me, without saying who, but the extravagant way it happened should have tipped me off.’

‘I don’t follow.’

Paula smiled and sat down in another armchair:

‘How many women between the ages of twenty and thirty would you say there were in England?’

‘Now you’re asking… three million, maybe. I don’t know.’

‘And how many in the little village of Hatton?’

Patrick shrugged:

‘How would I know?’

‘Roughly.’

‘Twenty or thirty.’

‘Let’s say thirty, although that’s on the high side. That makes three million divided by thirty, in other words a hundred thousand. Which means there was a one in a hundred thousand chance of you happening on a girl from Hatton.’

‘It was a coincidence. They happen.’

‘Maybe,’ replied Paula wearily. ‘And in any case, I prefer not to know why… let it drop.’

Patrick, blowing perfect smoke rings, observed Paula out of the corner of his eye. She was slumped in her armchair with a far-off look in her eye, glints from the flames in her chestnut hair.

‘Paula, I have a distinct impression all’s not well with you.’

‘To say the least. But I’m not talking about me. I assume… has Bessie told you what happened to Francis a month ago?’

Patrick, who had noted Paula’s hesitation, nodded.

‘Yes, vaguely. The funny thing is, I ran into Francis a few days earlier, after his big win on the horses. I assume you know about that?’ Paula nodded. ‘He explained to me about how he’d come to make such a big bet on a single horse. He told me about Brian’s predictions, including “something else,” and was even joking about it as he boarded the train. I had no idea that prophecy would come true as well. It’s almost unbelievable… It seems the carpet in front of the fireplace was wet, just as on all the previous occasions?’

‘There’s no doubt about it.’

There was a moment’s silence, then Patrick asked Paula to go through everything in detail, as Bessie had left a lot out.

‘It’s enough to make you doubt your sanity,’ he observed, throwing his cigarette into the fire. ‘Francis doesn’t remember anything and neither does Sarah. It’s incomprehensible. In the extreme case, one might think it was a prank.’

Paula shook her head in disagreement.

‘That’s not their style. Not everyone’s like you. And anyway, Francis tried to minimise what had happened, as if it had been a fainting spell… and that’s not all.’

Patrick looked at her wide-eyed.

‘Oh, nothing really extraordinary, just a host of weird little things.’

‘Yes?’

‘In fact, almost all concerning Sarah. Haven’t you noticed how she’s changed?’

‘Of course. She seems a bundle of nerves and weary, so weary. Maybe she’s still thinking about her husband?’

‘I’d be surprised. Mike’s done his best to make her forget about him. In any case, that doesn’t explain her nervousness. And when I say nervousness, I mean hysterical. She loses her temper over trifles. Just the other night, she created a fuss about nothing. It was around half past nine and she went up to the study, where someone must have smoked.’

‘Smoked?’

‘Yes, a cigar. One of Harris’s, according to her. She tried to discover who was the guilty party. Everyone in the place was interrogated. In vain. And the more people denied it, the angrier she became.