panic fought its way to the surface. ‘I don’t know if there’s anyone to make enquiries... I don’t know if I’ve got any family...’
A terrible sense of desolation swept over her. She covered her face with her hands. Her skin felt too tight for her bones, her cheeks and jaw all angles and sharp lines. ‘I don’t even know what I look like.’
Opening the locker, the nurse brought out a grubby, finger-marked mirror and handed it to her. ‘Well, at least that should cheer you up.’
A pale, heart-shaped face surrounded by a cloud of dark silky hair stared back at her. There was an ugly purple bruise spreading over her right temple. Almond-shaped eyes, a short, straight nose, high, slanting cheekbones and a disproportionately wide mouth, the lips of which looked bloodless, did little to cheer her.
The blue eyes, so deep they looked violet, and the fine, clear skin, seemed to be her best features. Well, my girl, you’re no beauty, she told herself silently as she handed back the mirror.
Looking down at her hands, she saw they were slim and shapely, the oval nails free of polish, the fingers bare of rings.
She felt a peculiar relief.
When the nurse had rinsed the glass and refilled it with tap water, she said, ‘It looks as if you’ll be here for the night at least, so would you like a little supper?’
‘No, thank you. I’m not hungry.’
‘Then get some sleep. Perhaps by morning your memory will have come back.’ Switching off the light, the nurse departed.
Oh, if only! It was terrifying, this feeling of being lost, isolated in a black void. She lay for what seemed hours, trying fruitlessly to shed some light on who she was and where she’d come from, before finally falling asleep.
Some time later she woke with a start, hugging her pillow in a death grip.
Someone was just closing the door. Failing to latch, it swung open a few inches, letting a crack of light spill into the room from the corridor.
‘I’ve no intention of waiting until morning.’ Just outside the door a masculine voice spoke clearly, decisively.
Sounding flustered, the nurse said, ‘We don’t normally release patients this late.’
‘I’m sure you could make an exception.’
‘Well, you’d have to speak to Dr Hauser.’
‘Very well.’
They began to move away.
‘I couldn’t let her go without his permission, and I’m not sure if... Oh, here he is...’
Though she could still hear the murmur of conversation, the actual words were no longer clear. After a minute or two the voices came closer, apparently returning.
Dr Hauser was saying, ‘We certainly need the bed, but I’m afraid I can’t allow—’
That authoritative voice cut in crisply. ‘I want her out of this place. Now!’
Stiffly, the doctor said, ‘I have my patient’s welfare to consider, and I really don’t think—’
‘Look—’ this time the tone was more moderate, the impatience curbed—I’m aware you do some very good work here. I’m also well aware that this kind of charity hospital is always drastically underfunded...’
There was a pause and a rustle. ‘Here’s a cheque made out to the hospital. It’s blank at the moment. If you’ll make the necessary arrangements for her immediate release, I’ll be happy to make a substantial contribution towards the hospital’s running costs.’
Sounding mollified, the doctor said, ‘Will you step into my office for a moment?’ and three pairs of footsteps moved away.
Sitting up against her pillows, torn between hope and anxiety, she waited. Was this someone come for her? If it was, and please God it was, surely a familiar face would bring her memory back?
It seemed an age before one set of footsteps returned and the door swung wider. ‘Ah, you’re awake. Good.’
The doctor switched on the shaded night-light. ‘Have you remembered anything?’
Her throat moved as she swallowed. ‘No.’
He came to sit on the edge of the bed. ‘Well, you’ll be pleased to know you’ve been identified as Clare Saunders...’
The name meant nothing to her.
‘And you’re English. That accounts for the accent’
Of course she was English. Yet both the nurse and doctor had American accents. That fact hadn’t really registered until now, almost as if subconsciously she’d expected to hear American accents... ‘But I’ve never been to the States.’ She spoke the thought aloud.
‘You mean until you came to live here?’
‘I live in England.’ Of that she was sure.
‘At the moment you’re living here in New York.’
‘New York! No, I can’t possibly be living in New York.’ For some reason the idea scared her witless. ‘You must have got the wrong person.’
He shook his head. ‘You’re Mrs Clare Saunders. Your husband has given us definite proof of your identity.’
‘My husband! But I haven’t got a husband!’ That was something else she was sure of. ‘I’m not married!’
Reacting to the note of rising hysteria in her voice, Dr Hauser said sharply, ‘Now, try to stay calm. Amnesia can be extremely upsetting, but it should only be a matter of time before your memory returns in full.’
‘What if it doesn’t?’
‘In the vast majority of cases it does,’ he said a shade irritably. ‘Believe me, Mrs Saunders, you have nothing to fear. We are quite sadsned—both with your husband’s identity and with yours. We’re prepared to let you leave at once, and as soon as Mr Saunders has signed the papers that release you into his care, he’ll be here.’
What would have been good news a short time ago was all at once terrifying. If only she didn’t have to go tonight. By tomorrow her memory might have returned.
She caught at the doctor’s arm. ‘Oh, please, can’t I stay until morning?’ But even as she begged she sensed there was no help to be had from that quarter.
‘Do you know where this hospital is situated?’
‘No.’ It was just a whisper.
‘This downtown area is rough,’ he told her. ‘Late at night we get a lot of drunks and people injured in brawls. You obviously don’t belong in a place like this, and I can’t blame your husband for wanting to take you home without delay.’
He patted her hand. ‘Don’t forget, all your doubts will be set at rest if you recognise him.’
