by Jodi Taylor
The gates stood open. We pulled in and stopped at the barrier.
Jerry wound down the window and a guard leaned in. ‘Yes?’
Jerry jerked his thumb at me. I leaned forwards and said nervously. ‘I have an appointment with Dr Sorensen at two o’clock.’
He leaned in further. ‘It’s Mrs Cage, isn’t it?’
‘I remember you,’ I said, delighted to see a familiar face. ‘You were on Ted’s team. It’s Mr … Goodman.’
‘That’s right. How are you keeping?’
‘Well, thank you. And you?’
‘Can’t complain,’ he said in that voice which says he’s going to start any moment now. ‘Sign here please driver.’
Jerry scribbled something I was sure would be quite illegible, put the car into gear and we rolled up the drive.
I looked around. Nothing seemed to have changed.
‘Nice gardens,’ said Jerry, conversationally.
‘Yes, very nice.’
They were. Large hanging baskets in lovely shades of yellow and orange lined the immaculate gravel drive interspersed with tubs of red and white. All the hedges were ruler-straight and immaculate and the lawns closely mown. Over there was the bench where I’d sat with Michael Jones plotting our escape. We hadn’t got far, had we? Only just over a year later and we were both back here again. I began seriously to doubt whether I’d ever be free of Sorensen.
‘Although I prefer a nice veggie patch myself,’ said Jerry, dragging me back to the present. ‘You can’t beat a nice row of cabbages.’ I had no idea whether he was pulling my leg. His brown colour was deep and solid and giving nothing away at the moment.
We pulled up at the front doors. He switched off the engine and at once the door opened and one of the security staff came out, saying, ‘You can’t park here. Round the side please.’
I tried not to panic. Jerry had been most insistent about being able to get into the hall so he could have a good look around. Now, it didn’t seem as if he would get the chance.
He didn’t seem particularly bothered. ‘Give us a minute to get me passenger out, sonny. That’s thirty-three pounds fifty, missis.’
‘Oh,’ I said, flustered and scrabbling for my handbag. Would it be possible for you to wait for me, please? I won’t be very long.’
‘OK,’ he said amiably, settling back in his seat.
‘Not here,’ said the security guard, firmly.
I left them to it, climbing the shallow steps with a thumping heart and stepped through the open doors.
Very little had changed since my last visit. There were the same deep, comfortable armchairs, although at this time of year, the fireplace around which they were grouped was empty, apart from an expensive looking flower arrangement in shades of red and orange sitting in the grate. Smaller versions of the same arrangement stood on occasional tables. The same artwork was on the walls and the same stairs curved upwards to the private rooms upstairs. Through an open door, I caught a quick glimpse of the library, seemingly deserted on this fine day. The same expensive reception desk stood by the door, manned by an exquisite young man I didn’t recognise.
His glance ran over me. Even his delicate lilac colour sneered at me. ‘Yes,’ he said, dismissively. ‘Can I help you?’
I was certain he didn’t know who I was or why I was there. He would have a list of visitors on a clipboard but he hadn’t associated me with Mrs E Cage. He was someone who judged by appearances and, on the surface, I was definitely not a potential Sorensen Clinic customer. It would seem the frumpy look was working.
‘No, I don’t think so,’ I said, answering his question literally. ‘I’m here to see Dr Sorensen.’
He couldn’t be bothered to look at me this time. ‘I’m afraid Dr Sorensen has an appointment at two.’ With someone who didn’t look like Margaret Thatcher’s grandmother, presumably. I began to remember how much I’d disliked this place.
Knowing he’d never let me go, I said, ‘Oh, what a shame. And he was so insistent, too. Never mind. Please tell him Mrs Cage called,’ and turned to go, confident I wouldn’t get far.
He was out from behind the desk in a flash. ‘Mrs Cage, I’m so sorry. My mistake. If you could take a seat, I’ll just tell Dr Sorensen you’re here.’
Behind me, through the front doors, I could hear Jerry’s voice loudly demanding the whereabouts of the bog. The receptionist’s head snapped around so I took advantage of his lack of attention to wander away, ostensibly to look at the artwork. I stood behind a pillar, closed my eyes and let my mind wander … reaching out … letting it drift … yes, Jones was here. Somewhere. He was very faint. I wondered if he was unconscious.
I dragged myself back. The receptionist was loudly denying the existence of any facilities for members of the public. Behind him, I nodded at Jerry. Just once. Jones was on the premises.
‘Not a problem, mate,’ said Jerry, heading for the front door, still open on this nice day, and giving me a heart attack because that wasn’t part of the plan at all. ‘Any old flower bed will do.’
The whereabouts of an appropriate facility were suddenly remembered. They made him wait while they found him an escort and he used the time to lean on the desk, whistling softly between his teeth and not in any way running his eye down the list of patients and their room numbers, kept on a clipboard by the door in case of fire.
They bundled him off through a door on the left. I watched him go. He was on his own now because at the same moment, Dr Sorensen’s office door opened and here he came. He didn’t look much different either, except he’d grown a goatee. On some men it looks good. On him it looked ridiculous. Especially as he still favoured slightly too sharply cut pinstripe suits and with a waistcoat, even in this weather. His thin grey hair was swept back from his forehead and his eyes still reminded me of wet pebbles. His manner was quiet and controlled, but his greasy-milk colour swirled towards me briefly before being reined back again.
‘Mrs Cage, how nice to see you again.’
I turned my head and nodded. ‘Dr Sorensen.’
‘Would you like to come into my office?’
‘No.’
‘Ah,’ he said with some sort of grimace I thought might be a smile, ‘I had forgotten your penchant for answering questions literally. Please come into my office, Mrs Cage, so we can talk together in private.’
He turned and gestured.
I stood my ground. The receptionist sat at his desk, typing on a smart laptop. Two nurses were crossing the hall towards the library with their arms full of files, and the security guard was standing outside a door presumably waiting for Jerry to reappear. I wondered how long it would be before he went to look for him. Still, as Jerry had said, that was not my problem. My job was simply to deal with Sorensen in any way I thought fit. But I had witnesses, which was all I wanted.
I let my voice carry. ‘You should be aware, Dr Sorensen, that my solicitor knows I’m here today, as does my doctor, as do the staff at the local library, as do my neighbours, as do the members of the Local History Group – in fact, everyone I know, up to and including my taxi driver, is aware that I am here this afternoon, and another attempt by you to detain me here, illegally and against my will, is destined to go even more badly for you than the last time. Just a friendly warning. Just so we’re all on the same page.’
People were gaping. The receptionist, although staring diligently at his screen was listening with every fibre of his being, his delicate lilac colour deepening with excitement. I was quite sure there were people at the nurses’ station upstairs who would have heard as well. Sorensen, however, seemed not the slightest bit discomfited and why would he be? He did possess Michael Jones after all. Although not for very much longer.
He smiled politely and gestured ahead of him.
I took a deep breath, ignored my suddenly pounding heart, and walked quietly past him and into his office.
Chapter Nineteen
Not much had changed in here, either. He had a new, sleek, black l
aptop open on his desk, but otherwise it was all pretty much as I remembered it.
The same Turkish carpet lay in the centre of the room, surrounded by a gleaming parquet floor. Three or four original pieces of art hung around the walls – fashionable, but not necessarily good. If they were meant to make a statement then that statement was, ‘I have more money than taste.’ His huge desk sat in front of the French windows. I could just hear Jones now. ‘Big desk – small …’ As always, everything was minutely lined up with everything else, right down to the last sharpened pencil in the precisely placed pen pot.
He seated himself, gesturing for me to take one of the two visitor’s chairs opposite. I was certain he would expect me to choose the other one, just to be awkward, so I seated myself in the chair of his choice. Just to be even more awkward.
We looked at each other. I waited for him to begin.
He didn’t seem in any particular hurry, carefully shutting down his laptop and pushing it to one side.
‘Well now, Elizabeth.’
I ignored the provocation, staring over his shoulder at the garden outside, trying not to remember all the previous occasions I’d been here in this office, confronting this man.
He sat back, clasped his hands and said smoothly, ‘I know your husband lied to me about you in the past. I know Mr Jones is lying to me about you right now.’ He leaned forwards. ‘I have to ask myself, what is it about you, Mrs Cage? That’s two of our best people you’ve induced to deceive me. I’m not angry, you understand. I’m more curious than angry.’
I shrugged. ‘Isn’t it a sign of a serious mental disorder when you think everyone you meet is lying to you? Obviously, I don’t want to tell you your business, but I really think you should seriously consider the possibility that the problem might lie with you, rather than the rest of the world.’
His colour swirled about him, darkening slightly at the edges. Opposition could be overcome or ignored, but he was never comfortable with ridicule. There was no indication he had anything in the way of a sense of humour and not taking him seriously always wound him up. Small red tinges began to appear in his colour, like blood in milk.
‘Well, shall we leave that for the time being and discuss your success in locating little Keira Swanson without ever setting foot in the area.’
I remembered to keep my body posture loose and neutral. ‘I think you overrate my contribution. From what I could see on the news, she was less than one hundred yards from her home. She would have been found very soon, I think.’
‘I beg leave to differ. I don’t think anyone would ever have thought to look inside a tree.’
I shrugged. ‘Yew trees make new growth from the outside, frequently resulting in a hollow interior. I’m surprised you didn’t know that.’
He remained silent. I was almost certain he was restraining himself from re-aligning the objects on his desk. His office seemed very quiet. Half of me was listening for indications that all was not well on the other side of his door. Shouting, for example, or running footsteps. Or even the alarm bells going off. I made myself stop. That was exactly what Jerry had told me not to do. I must concentrate on what was happening in here, keep Sorensen occupied, and leave everything else to him.
‘What do you want, Sorensen?’
He sat forwards, clasping his hands on his desk, every inch the concerned megalomaniac.
‘We touched on this subject very briefly last year …’
‘During my last forced incarceration,’ I said brightly.
‘When you spent some time with us after your husband’s funeral,’ he corrected. ‘I realise that visit didn’t go well …’
‘Well, not for you,’ I said. ‘Didn’t your car get stolen? Or something like that?’
He sat back. ‘Another instance of your extraordinary powers of persuasion. How on earth did you persuade Michael Jones to steal my car?’
It was on the tip of my tongue to deny my involvement in this, and with some indignation too. As if Michael Jones had needed any encouragement from me. My sole contribution had been to hide on the back seat, trembling with fear at the thought of so comprehensively breaking the law. On the other hand, if Sorensen wanted to think of me as a dangerous and resourceful young woman, with astonishing powers of persuasion, then that was fine by me. Although it was a shame the pussy cat bow and the American Tan tights weren’t working. I would be having a word about that with Jerry. Next time, he could wear the tights.
He took advantage of my silence to press on. ‘In the matter of providing any information about you, Mrs Cage, Mr Jones has been less cooperative than I would like, but more cooperative than he realises. It’s been a struggle but we have begun to make some progress. While I’m gratified to see my training on techniques for resisting interrogation has proved effective, his intransigence is beginning to annoy me. I’m being forced to use methods of which you would not approve. I don’t have everything I need just yet, but it won’t be long now. I should perhaps take this opportunity to say that the longer these methods are employed, the less chance there is for Mr Jones to make a complete recovery afterwards. In the interests of Mr Jones’s welfare, I do recommend you reconsider your position.’
I smiled with my mouth only. ‘I rather think the question of Mr Jones’s welfare rests with you rather than me. You have only to desist and the problem is solved.’
‘I would be happy to do so. Perhaps we could discuss your provision of an appropriate incentive.’
My heart was thumping against my ribs. A trickle of cold sweat ran down my back. I made myself stay calm. Made my voice steady. ‘Perhaps you could come to the point.’
‘Mrs Cage, it was apparent to me – even on our first, brief meeting – that there is something extraordinary about you. Your ability to read and manipulate people is … remarkable.’
My stomach swooped. Did I do that? Surely not. That was what Sorensen did, not me. I didn’t manipulate people. Did I? All my old fears came rushing back. I remembered my dad advising me to keep my ‘gift’ hidden. Not to advertise the fact I was slightly different from other people. My chest tightened. It was a warm afternoon. I felt my scalp prickle. I would have loved to take off my jacket, but the polyester blouse would have dark patches under the armpits, and apart from that being something of which my mother would not have approved, I didn’t want Sorensen to realise I wasn’t anything other than completely calm. I wanted so badly to get up and leave but not yet. At least twenty minutes, Jerry had said.
‘Wait, wait,’ he said, putting out a hand. I suspected that, despite my best efforts, at least some of that had shown on my face. ‘Please do not be alarmed, Mrs Cage, I had no intention of upsetting you.’
He put a glass of water in front of me. I peered at it. I didn’t want to show any weakness, but not fainting was more important.
He seated himself again and clasped his hands in his lap. Neutral and unthreatening. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘We do seem to have the knack of getting under each other’s skin, don’t we?’
The cold water was very welcome. He waited while I sipped slowly and then set down the glass. ‘What do you want, Sorensen.’
‘I want you to work with me, Mrs Cage.’
This was normally the point at which our meetings would take a sudden turn downhill, usually with disastrous results for one or both of us. Bearing in mind what should be happening elsewhere and the need to keep him in here, I took a deep breath and said, slowly, ‘In what capacity?’
It was the first time I’d ever responded with anything other than a flat ‘no.’
His colour streamed towards me again and I tried not to flinch. We looked at each other for a while.
‘Actually,’ he said with disarming candour, ‘I’m not entirely sure. I suspect you possess remarkable powers of intuition and I would like to begin by working with those.’
‘For what purpose?’
‘Initially, to attend meetings, negotiations, summits, that sort of thing. To assist with our assessment
of various situations and the people involved therein.’
‘Are you saying you want me to tell you what people are thinking? I suspect you have over-estimated my abilities, Sorensen.’
His colour roared at me. I shifted slightly to avoid it. ‘And I suspect you’re doing it right now, Mrs Cage, because I don’t think you can help yourself. The only part of the procedure you seem to have some difficulty with is passing your impressions on to the right people. People who can use them to ensure … favourable outcomes.’
‘And who determines which outcome is most favourable?’
He shrugged. ‘That is not something with which you would have to concern yourself.’
I shook my head.
He persevered, saying quietly, ‘That would only be the beginning, Mrs Cage. The area in which I would really like you to work is … influencing … others. Persuading those who may feel a certain reluctance to proceed in a direction we feel would be most favourable. For all concerned.’
‘Against their better judgement.’
‘I prefer to think of it as for the good of others as a whole.’ My instinct was to stop. To back off. Not to get involved in this. Not even to show any interest, but I couldn’t let it go. I still had seven minutes to kill.
‘What others?’
He shrugged. ‘Many others.’
‘The government?’
‘On occasions.’
‘But not always?’
‘No, not always.’
I smiled. ‘Ah. You mean the people willing to pay the highest price.’
He ignored that, concentrating on his sales pitch. ‘Think about it, Mrs Cage. This is an opportunity for you to do some real good in the world. And to put your mind at rest, it wouldn’t just be … commercial transactions. Think back to Keira Swanson. No child need ever go missing again. Think of all the deaths and disasters you could prevent. Violence that might never happen. Haven’t you ever watched the antics of our leaders and thought – I could do better than that. Well, now you can. You can influence negotiations to bring about peace. End the incessant warfare. Bring down corrupt governments and restore prosperity.’
