The excitement was rising inside him, it had an operatic quality, yes, like Don Giovanni, the music of the excitement was erupting inside his head, and he had to struggle to contain himself.

  Now the Carters" phone was ringing. Susan had heard it and hurried through into the living room shouting to her husband that she would get it. She picked up the receiver.

  Klindz punched a burton on the control panel and immediately heard the caller. He knew this voice: Susan/spoke to this man regularly - she was editing his new book.

  "Susan?" The writer sounded anxious, Klindz thought. "I'm sorry to bother you, I need to see you urgently. Are you free tomorrow, for lunch or a drink?"

  Susan sounded friendly, she liked the man, but she was evasive. "Oh, Fergus, I'm sorry, it's not possible. I'm out of town for a couple of days."

  "How about breakfast before you go?"

  She laughed. "No way] I'm leaving at the crack of dawn."

  And Klindz was impressed. She sounded so natural - she was a great liar, this lady was terrific.

  "Susan, it's important, I really do need to see you."

  She promised to call him over the weekend, when she was back. The writer again tried to persuade her to meet before she went, but without luck. He also tried to get a phone number out of her, but she didn't have one to give him. She'd call him, she promised, the moment she was back. Good girl.

  Klindz's adrenaline was racing. He needed to speak to someone, to share his excitement. Even if he was not allowed to say anything about Susan Carter, he could still share his sense of excitement.

  He picked up the phone and dialled Claudie at his apartment in Geneva. But there was no answer. He telephoned her own apartment, got the answering machine and hung up. She was out and he didn't like that. He had not spoken to her for ten days, but he did not like the fact that she was out. Claudie was his woman, Mr. Sarotzini had given her to him. Susan Carter was going to become his woman, but until then Claudie was his woman, and his woman was out.

  He replaced the receiver and began to read Nietzsche again. Mr. Sarotzini's words came back once more. "I hear and I forget, I see and I remember, I do and I understand."

  He looked up from the book and watched Susan turning over the lamb chops, all the time thinking to himself, Tomorrow.

  Tomorrow I will understand.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The Westwood Clinic was a modern, four-storey building that blended reasonably unobtrusively with the Victorian red-brick facades of Wimpole Street. Inside, it did its best not to look or feel like a hospital. The entrance was plushly carpeted, there were tapestries on the walls, vases bursting with fresh flowers, bowls of pot-pourti, and huge sofas. It could have been the foyer of a small, immensely luxurious hotel, except for the smell.

  The cocktail of disinfectant, fresh laundry and institutional food was ever present. Not even the huge bunch of flowers from John, and the even bigger bouquet from Mr. Sarotzini, could mask it in Susan's room, which was as plush and spacious as a hotel suite, and had a fine view of the street as well as a glimpse of Regent's Park. Dusk was falling, and in a few minutes they were going to take her into the theatre. She was feeling nervous, and very alone.

  John had phoned a couple of hours ago to wish her luck, and again offered to come over. But she couldn't have him here. She did not want him around while she was having this - this thing - done to her. She felt as though she was being unfaithful to him, and it was easier to be alone, not to have to see his face.

  The door opened and a nurse came in, followed by a doctor; neither wore a badge. She had been introduced to them already but she couldn't remember their names - maybe, she thought, because she didn't want to. There was something unreal about being here, and that was how she wanted it to stay. It was just a bad dream. In nine months" time she would wake up from it. In the meantime no one, other than herself, John and Mr. Sarotzini, would know the truth. Her friends and colleagues would see her pregnant, sure, but they wouldn't know the truth. And in nine months" time they would be telling her how sorry they were, that it was awful for her and John to have had a stillborn child. And she'd act out the charade, and John would too, and then it would be over.

  The nurse had a hypodermic in her hand. Susan hated injections, and it normally took all her courage to have one in the doctor's surgery. She'd lost count of the number she'd had today and over the past few weeks. "Premed the nurse said.

  "Premed Susan echoed. "Right." It didn't matter, they could do what they wanted. Her body didn't belong to her for the next nine months.

  She felt the prick, and a lot of fluid went in. A build-up of pressure began to hurt her arm as the nurse kept pressing the plunger. There was a numb sensation in Susan's hand, as if someone had whacked the nerve in her funny bone.

  The nurse jigged out of Susan's line of vision and she saw the doctor's face clearly now. He was good-looking, in a movie-actor-playing-an-American-senator way, with a Mediterranean tan, dark hair with jet black streaks, like highlights in reverse, and a perfect smile. So perfect. Maybe he was an actor? She thought he looked familiar. Had she seen him in ER? Was he that doctor - what was his name? - Dr. Doug Ross?

  She wasn't sure if the nurse had finished or not. Dr. Ross from ER kept looking at her with that perfect smile. There were several questions she wanted to ask him about the show.

  She wondered whether she had her arm back yet. Not that it mattered, she was feeling nicely floaty. Like a boat, or maybe a lilo. And it was good that Dr. Ross from ER was here. Could she bring Casey over and have Dr. Ross from ER look after her?

  She was about to ask him this, but he had gone. The nurse had gone, too, and now the room didn't look familiar any more. The walls were moving, they were changing colour as they slid past her and now she was fifteen years back, at Epcot, Disney World, in Florida, on a ride, travelling though a cave and they were going to stop at an exhibit in a moment.

  She tried to turn her head, but it didn't move, and she was aware, although it didn't bother her, that she couldn't move it. Someone would be along in a minute to fix it, probably nice Dr. Ross from ER.

  The motion of the ride changed, making her feel giddy. They were going up, or maybe they were going down. Her mind was rising up and her body was sinking downwards, and then the motion reversed and it was her mind that was sinking down while her body rose.

  Her eyes closed against the giddiness. They shut out one world but opened another inside her head. There were people all around her, gathered inside her head.

  She could see her mother and father, and Casey now, coming into focus. Casey was standing up, she was fine, they had fixed her. John was standing in here too but there was no light on his face and she was having difficulty identifying which one out of all these people he was. And Mr. Sarotzini was here too - she could see him clearly and he was smiling at her, a great warm smile that told her she was doing just great and everything was going to be fine.

  And there was another man she had seen before, but she couldn't put a name to him and she couldn't place where it was she had seen him. It was recently, she knew that much. She had definitely seen this man recently. He was a big man, built like a quarterback.

  And then her brain connected. Yes, it was him, the man from British Telecom who had come to fix the ring tones in the phones.

  And this was a strange part of her head she was in, lights crisscrossing, sharp long slivers of cold white light, like knife blades. Lasers. Hundreds of lasers, their beams making strange patterns on the inside walls of her skull. And figures were moving in and out of the darkness between the beams. Her parents had gone now, Cas4/ too - and where was Dr. Ross? Mr. Sarotzini was still here and the man from Telecom, and there were others in here now, strangers inside her head, they were all looking down at her, but with the lasers behind them, it was impossible to see their faces. All she could see were the silhouettes of their bodies.

  Now the lasers were burning away the walls of her skull and she could see the room beyond them. She could smell burning, a pungent, aromatic smell that was both sweet and bitter. The room was large and packed with people, all back-lit by the lasers. She could see glints of shiny metal. The people all seemed to be wearing dark polo-necks, but she still couldn't see their faces, just blackness on blackness.

  She could recognise Mr. Sarotzini - even though she couldn't see his face she could sense his presence. And in front of him this man from Telecom, a faceless silhouette carrying the strength of all these people behind him.

  Where was Dr. Ross from ER? Well, if he didn't want to be here, that was his loss. Suddenly she felt very important. All these people had come inside her head to see her. And the man from Telecom was standing in front of them, laser beams playing on his body now. He was huge, far bigger than she remembered, and he had this tremendous physique. But he wasn't wearing his uniform and, unlike everyone else here, he was naked, and he was holding this serpent, and it was uncoiling outwards, reaching towards her, rising like a striking cobra towards her from this dark bush of hair that covered his groin.

  The serpent shone, it gleamed, and this man from Telecom, with his face in darkness, didn't need to move towards her. The serpent was doing that, it was still growing, and he was standing between her legs now, and this serpent was reaching out with a hunger, and she wanted it. She wanted it desperately.

  She cried out for it.

  She prayed for it to come closer to her.

  And it did come closer. It was so close that now she couldn't see its head, but she was starting to feel it, and it felt, oh, it felt quite incredible, probing around, so geere all looking down at her, but with the lasers behind them, it was impossible to see their faces. All she could see were the silhouettes of their bodies.

  see the room beyond them. She could smell burning, a pungent, aromatic smell that was both sweet and bitter. The room was large and packed with people, all back-lit by the lasers. She could see glints of shiny metal. The people all seemed to be wearing dark polo-necks, but she still couldn't see their faces, just blackness on blackness.

  She could recognise Mr. Sarotzini - even though she couldn't see his face she could sense his presence. And in front of him this man from Telecom, a faceless silhouette carrying the strength of all these people behind him.

  Where was Dr. Ross from ER? Well, if he didn't want to be here, that was his loss. Suddenly she felt very important. All these people had come inside her head to see her. And the man from Telecom was standing in front of them, laser beams playing on his body now. He was huge, far bigger than she remembered, and he had this tremendous physique. But he wasn't wearing his uniform and, unlike everyone else here, he was naked, and he was holding this serpent, and it was uncoiling outwards, reaching towards her, rising like a striking cobra towards her from this dark bush of hair that covered his groin.

  The serpent shone, it gleamed, and this man from Telecom, with his face in darkness, didn't need to move towards her. The serpent was doing that, it was still growing, and he was standing between her legs now, and this serpent was reaching out with a hunger, and she wanted it. She wanted it desperately.

  She cried out for it.

  She prayed for it to come closer to her.

  And it did come closer. It was so close that now she couldn't see its head, but she was starting to feel it, and it felt, oh, it felt quite incredible, probing around, so gentle, softly nosing its way, finding an entrance into her.

  She guided it with her hands, helped it, but it was OK, it was fine on its own. It nuzzled so gently, just for a moment it tickled, but it was too big, there was no way, it was not going to be able to enter.

  She cried out in fear.

  Then a laser lit the man's face a ghostly white. But his eyes were full of comfort. He held her with his dark brown eyes. And she felt the serpent starting to work its way in, burrowing, and this now, this was a great sensation, it was like it was opening her up, pushing, it was so big it was impossible, but still it kept on, levering its way in, further, further, inch by inch it was coming inside her, filling her entire body, and one moment it hurt like hell and she heard herself emptying her lungs with pain. Then the pain turned to pleasure. This serpent was gliding, surfing its way up inside her, it was pushing these huge great waves out in front of it, they were swimming up through her, one following another... She was shimmering now, she was like heat waves rising from rippling desert dunes. She was air, her body had dissolved into gaseous vapour, she was just particles of energy, she was waves and beams. And now she felt her body again, she wanted to keep feeling it, this thing inside her, to keep feeling it for ever, never to let it go, never, ever, ever, ever.

  Oh, please.

  And it was still pushing up, filling her more and more. She had no idea where the head was now, it was somewhere up around her stomach and these waves, she wanted to cry out, wanted to let him know it could come further, there was room, it might not feel like there was room but there was, oh, yes, there was room, and she could make more room, and she was swimming, her whole body was liquid, it was dissolving, and then it was rippling, her body had become the ocean, there was a swell running through her and that swell was increasing, and she saw this ghostly white face, this man from Telecom, his face was right up close now, she couldn't see anything but his face and she couldn't feel anything else in the world, just this serpent, just the swell of the ocean, she was just exploding, she was on fire but this fire was good, she felt this electricity, it was shooting down her legs, up through her arms, great spikes of electricity were shooting up into her brain, deep down into her stomach.

  And now she was still, and there was a fuse that was lit, this deep warm glow burning inside her, and she felt so safe, so wanted, and this feeling, this depth inside her, she wanted to hold it, wanted to curl up in a corner with it and live it and never let it go, but she couldn't hold it, she could not hold the ocean together any more, it was disintegrating apart inside her, it was erupting and she was surfing, out in bright sunlight, she was surfing, the waves were inside her, beneath her, and she was screaming, her whole body was exploding joy, the ocean was erupting through every cell in her body, blowing her apart as she screamed, "Please, yes, oh, yes, oh, yes, oh, yes, oh, yes."

  There was a long silence.

  Motion, it felt like sleeping in a train. Then Susan realised her bed was moving, it was being dragged along, she was travelling down a corridor. She heard a harsh, intrusive sound. Metal shutters? A clatter. Then darkness.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Something was bothering Klindz. It had been on his mind since Tuesday night, but now it was coming at him with an urgency that was clouding all his other thoughts.

  Mr. Sarotzini had taught him to open himself up to his intuition, to free it from its shackles, to nurture it, to learn to trust it. So he opened himself up to it now, and Tuesday night returned to him in precise detail. The phone was ringing in the Carters" house and Susan had answered it. Klindz knew it was this conversation she had had that was bothering him. He keyed a search command. The tape wound back, stopped. He played the section of the tape over, listening carefully.

  "Susan?" The writer sounded anxious, Klindz thought. "I'm sorry to bother you, I need to see you urgently. Are you free tomorrow, for lunch or a drink?"

  It was the tone of this man's voice that was bothering him. And what was this urgency? Although Susan was making him rewrite huge chunks of his book, the deadline was movable - what mattered was getting the book right.

  Klindz's intuition, fuelled by the tone of this man's voice, was screaming at him.

  He played the tape again. Then again. Urgently. This word. It had got him by the balls.

  For the second night running Fergus Donleavy had woken from the same nightmare.

  It was a simple dream and he could recall it with clarity. He saw a baby, a tiny new-born infant, alone in a terrible darkness. It was crying, and it was this cry that was the real nightmare: there was such utter terror in it. Then in the dream he saw Susan Carter: she was fumbling around in the pitch blackness with a torch, and she was crying, she couldn't find the baby, and she was begging Fergus to help.

  And. he told her, no, leave the baby, don't try to find it, let it die. For God's sake, let it die.

  Then he woke.

  He looked at his wristwatch beside the bed. There was a dull ache midway between his eyes. Jesus, what the hell had he drank last night? He chucked his feet out of the bed and his body followed, wobbled a little but stayed upright, one benefit of four hundred thousand years of evolution as a biped, he thought, but not very clearly, then opened the curtains.

  The Thames was outside, which still surprised him every morning, although it had always been outside, all the ten years he'd lived in this docklands flat.

  A rusty lighter slid past, heavily laden and low in the water. The barge towing it could have been on rails fixed to the river bed, it was so unshaken by the spring ebb chop.:He watched the froth, the spume, the shit-brown water then, craning his neck to the. right, could just see Tower Bridge. Grey against a grey sky. It might be drizzling: it wasn't much of a day.

  He hauled on his dressing gown, found his slippers, padded through to his den, which, like the living room and dining room and everywhere else in this flat, apart from the lavatory seat, was covered with pages of the damned manuscript that this bloody woman was making him rewrite. Oh, Christ, he was bored with this book, wished he'd never started it, but he needed the money for the mortgage on this flat, which was not worth even half the fortune he'd paid, and which his university salary didn't cover. There was no way he could afford to dump it and repay Magellan Lowry their advance.

  And, don't forget this, Fergus, this book is important, it's needed: this book really could change people's thinking.

  Bollocks. It was just a good sales pitch, Fergus, that was all, and you know that.

  And he did know that, but only the modest part of him was buying that right now. There was an immodest part, a massive, mountain-sized ego part of him that didn't buy that at all. This part was thinking Dr. Steven W. Hawking has not got it right, and the only truly great scientific mind in the world holds tenure inside the cranium of Dr. J. Fergus Donleavy.