Catherine was in a state of shock. She sat on the couch in her hotel room, listening to Lieutenant Hans Bergman, head of the ski patrol, tell her that Kirk Reynolds was dead. The sound of Bergman's voice flowed over Catherine in waves, but she was not listening to the words. She was too numbed by the horror of what had happened. All the people around me die, she thought despairingly. Larry's dead, and now Kirk. And there were the others: Noelle, Napoleon Chotas, Frederick Stavros. It was an unending nightmare.
Vaguely, through the fog of her despair, she heard Hans Bergman's voice. "Mrs. Reynolds...Mrs. Reynolds..."
She raised her head. "I'm not Mrs. Reynolds," she said wearily. "I'm Catherine Alexander. Kirk and I were...were friends."
I see.
Catherine took a deep breath. "How...how did it happen? Kirk was such a good skier."
"I know. He skied here many times." He shook his head. "To tell you the truth, Miss Alexander, I'm puzzled about what happened. We found his body on the Lagalp, a slope that was closed because of an avalanche last week. The sign must have been blown down by the wind. I'm terribly sorry."
Sorry. What a weak word, what a stupid word.
"How would you like us to handle the funeral arrangements, Miss Alexander?"
So death was not the end. No, there were arrangements to be made. Coffins and burial plots, and flowers, and relatives to be notified. Catherine wanted to scream.
"Miss Alexander?"
Catherine looked up. "I'll notify Kirk's family."
"Thank you."
The trip back to London was a mourning. She had come up to the mountains with Kirk filled with eager hope, thinking that it was, perhaps, a new beginning, a door to a new life.
Kirk had been so gentle and so patient. I should have made love with him, Catherine thought. But in the end, would it really have mattered? What did anything matter? I'm under some kind of curse. I destroy everyone who comes near me.
When Catherine returned to London, she was too depressed to go back to work. She stayed in the flat, refusing to see anyone or talk to anyone. Anna, the housekeeper, prepared meals for her and took them to Catherine's room, but the trays were returned untouched.
"You must eat something, Miss Alexander."
But the thought of food made Catherine ill.
The next day Catherine was feeling worse. She felt as though her chest were filled with iron. She found it difficult to breathe.
I can't go on like this, Catherine thought. I have to do something.
She discussed it with Evelyn Kaye.
"I keep blaming myself for what happened."
"That doesn't make sense, Catherine."
"I know it doesn't, but I can't help it. I feel responsible. I need someone to talk to. Maybe if I saw a psychiatrist..."
"I know one who's awfully good," Evelyn said. "As a matter of fact, he sees Wim from time to time. His name is Alan Hamilton. I had a friend who was suicidal, and by the time Dr. Hamilton was through treating her, she was in great shape. Would you like to see him?"
What if he tells me I'm crazy? What if I am? "All right," Catherine said reluctantly.
"I'll try to make the appointment for you. He's pretty busy."
"Thanks, Evelyn. I appreciate it."
Catherine went into Wim's office. He would want to know about Kirk, she thought.
"Wim - do you remember Kirk Reynolds? He was killed a few days ago in a skiing accident."
"Yeah? Westminster-oh-four-seven-one."
Catherine blinked. "What?" And she suddenly realized that Wim was reciting Kirk's telephone number. Was that all people meant to Wim? A series of numbers? Didn't he have any feelings for them? Was he really unable to love or hate or feel compassion?
Perhaps he's better off than I am, Catherine thought. At least he's spared the terrible pain that the rest of us can feel.
Evelyn arranged an appointment for Catherine with Dr. Hamilton for the following Friday. Evelyn thought of telephoning Constantin Demiris to tell him what she had done, but she decided it was too unimportant to bother him about.
Alan Hamilton's office was on Wimpole Street. Catherine went there for her first appointment, apprehensive and angry. Apprehensive because she was fearful of what he might say about her, and angry with herself for having to rely on a stranger to help her with problems she felt she should have been able to solve herself.
The receptionist behind the glass window said, "Dr. Hamilton is ready for you, Miss Alexander."
But am I ready for him? Catherine wondered. She was filled with a sudden panic. What am I doing here? I'm not going to put myself in the hands of some quack who probably thinks he's God.
Catherine said, "I - I've changed my mind. I don't really need to see the doctor. I'll be happy to pay for the appointment."
"Oh? Just a moment, please."
"But..."
The receptionist had disappeared into the doctor's office.
A few moments later, the door to the office opened and Alan Hamilton came out. He was in his early forties, tall and blond, with bright blue eyes and an easy manner.
He looked at Catherine and smiled. "You've made my day," he said.
Catherine frowned. "What...?"
"I didn't realize how good a doctor I really was. You just walked into my reception office, and you're already feeling better. That must be some kind of record."
Catherine said defensively, "I'm sorry. I made a mistake. I don't need any help."
"I'm delighted to hear that," Alan Hamilton said. "I wish all my patients felt that way. As long as you're here, Miss Alexander, why don't you come in for a moment? We'll have a cup of coffee."
"Thank you, no. I don't..."
"I promise you can drink it sitting up."
Catherine hesitated. "All right, just for a minute."
She followed him into his office. It was very simple, done in quiet, good taste, furnished more like a living room than an office. There were soothing prints hanging on the walls, and on a coffee table was a photograph of a beautiful woman with a young boy. All right, so he has a nice office and an attractive family. What does that prove?
"Please sit down," Dr. Hamilton said. "The coffee should be ready in a minute."
"I really shouldn't be wasting your time, doctor. I'm..."
"Don't worry about that." He sat in an easy chair, studying her. "You've been through a lot," he said sympathetically.
"What do you know about it?" Catherine snapped. Her tone was angrier than she had intended.
"I spoke with Evelyn. She told me what happened at St. Moritz. I'm sorry."
That damned word again. "Are you? If you're such a wonderful doctor, maybe you can bring Kirk back to life." All the misery that had been pent up inside her broke, erupting in a torrent, and to her horror Catherine found that she was sobbing hysterically. "Leave me alone," she screamed. "Leave me alone."
Alan Hamilton sat there watching her, saying nothing.
When Catherine's sobs finally subsided she said wearily, "I'm sorry. Forgive me. I really must go now." She rose and started toward the door.
"Miss Alexander, I don't know whether I can help you, but I'd like to try. I can promise you only that whatever I do won't hurt you."
Catherine stood at the door, undecided. She turned to look at him, her eyes filled with tears. "I don't know what's the matter with me," she whispered. "I feel so lost."
Alan Hamilton rose and walked over to her. "Then why don't we try to find you? We'll work on it together. Sit down. I'll see about that coffee."
He was gone for five minutes, and Catherine sat there, wondering how he had talked her into staying. He had a calming effect. There was something in his manner that was reassuring.
Maybe he can help me, Catherine thought.
Alan Hamilton came back into the room carrying two cups of coffee. "There's cream and sugar, if you like."
"No, thank you."
He sat down across from her. "I understand your friend died in a skiing accident."
It was so painful to talk about. "Yes. He was on a slope that was supposed to have been closed. The wind blew the sign down."
"Is this your first encounter with the death of someone close to you?"
How was she supposed to answer that? Oh, no. My husband and his mistress were executed for trying to murder me. Everyone around me dies. That would shake him up. He was sitting there, waiting for an answer, the smug son of a bitch. Well, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Her life was none of his business. I hate him.
Alan Hamilton saw the anger in her face. He deliberately changed the subject. "How's Wim?" he asked.
The question threw Catherine completely off guard. "Wim? He - he's fine. Evelyn told me he's a patient of yours."
"Yes."
"Can you explain how he - why he - is like he is?"
"Wim came to me because he kept losing jobs. He's something very rare - a genuine misanthrope. I can't go into the reasons why, but basically, he hates people. He is unable to relate to other people."
Catherine remembered Evelyn's words. He has no emotions. He'll never get attached to anyone.
"But Wim is brilliant with mathematics," Alan Hamilton went on. "He's in a job now where he can apply that knowledge."
Catherine nodded. "I've never known anyone like him."
Alan Hamilton leaned forward in his chair. "Miss Alexander," he said, "what you're going through is very painful, but I think I might be able to make it easier for you. I'd like to try."
"I...I don't know," Catherine said. "Everything seems so hopeless."
"As long as you feel that way," Alan Hamilton smiled, "there's nowhere to go but up, is there?" His smile was infectious. "Why don't we set just one more appointment? If at the end of that one you still hate me, we'll call it quits."
"I don't hate you," Catherine said apologetically. "Well, a little bit maybe."
Alan Hamilton walked over to his desk and studied his calender. His schedule was completely booked.
"What about Monday?" he asked. "One o'clock?" One o'clock was his lunch hour, but he was willing to forego that. Catherine Alexander was a woman carrying an unbearable burden, and he was determined to do everything he could to help her.
Catherine looked at him a long moment. "All right."
"Fine. I'll see you then." He handed her a card. "In the meantime, if you need me, here's my office number and my home number. I'm a light sleeper, so don't worry about waking me up."
"Thank you," Catherine said. "I'll be here Monday."
Dr. Alan Hamilton watched her walk out the door and he thought, She's so vulnerable, and so beautiful. I have to be careful. He looked at the photograph on his coffee table. I wonder what Angela would think?
The call came in the middle of the night.
Constantin Demiris listened, and when he spoke his voice was filled with surprise. "The Thele sank? I can't believe it."
"It's true, Mr. Demiris. The coast guard found a few pieces of the wreckage."
"Were there any survivors?"
"No, sir. I'm afraid not. All hands were lost."
"That's terrible. Does anyone know how it happened?"
"I'm afraid we'll never know, sir. All the evidence is at the bottom of the sea."
"The sea," Demiris murmured, "the cruel sea."
"Shall we go ahead and file an insurance claim?"
"It's hard to worry about things like that when all those brave men have lost their lives - but yes, go ahead and file the claim." He would keep the vase in his private collection.
Now it was time to punish his brother-in-law.
