Masquerade Read Online Free Page B

anything about treatment." And that omission bothered her. "What about drugs or hypnosis?"
    "Hypnosis is frequently helpful in cases of hysterical amnesia—where there is no physical cause, no damage to the brain."
    She stared at him. "Are you saying that all I can do is sit and wait for my memory to come back—if it does?"
    "Essentially, yes."
    "I don't accept that. There has to be something I can do." She rose to her feet and crossed stiffly to the window. "There has to be."
    "You cannot force your memory to return, mademoiselle. The more you grasp for it, the more elusive it becomes. It is better to relax your mind and allow your memory to return naturally."
    "It's bitter prescription you offer me, Doctor," she murmured, unable to keep the note of frustration out of her voice.
    "But it is the best one." He spent another few minutes briefly lecturing her about time and healing, then left.
    She stood at the window, fighting tears and railing at her helplessness. Then a faint stir of movement intruded to forcibly remind her of the inspector's presence in the room. She threw him a quick glance then tilted her head a little higher, fixing her gaze on the colorful sails of the pleasure craft in the bay.
    "The good doctor wasn't very helpful, was he?" she said.
    "No, although it was apparent from your conversation with him that your knowledge of medicine and anatomy is limited. I think it would be safe to assume that you are not associated with the medical profession."
    "But I must do something—have some interest." Made restless again by this blankness, she turned from the window.
    "The dress you were wearing is an expensive one. Perhaps you are wealthy and do not have to work at anything."
    "Maybe. But I can't imagine myself being idle—or flitting from one fashionable resort to another, occupying my time solely with parties and charity events. A life like that would be too aimless."
    "What do you think you might do, then?"
    She searched her mind for an answer, then sighed. "I . . . don't . . . know."
    "Tell me what you know about the law—the first things that come to your mind."
    "Free association, you mean?" She looked over at him, her curiosity piqued by the thought.
    "Something like that, yes."
    "The law." She closed her eyes and tried to relax, letting her thoughts flow spontaneously. "Corporations, felony, fraud, writs, subpoenas, habeas corpus. . . ." She felt herself trying to grope for words, and shook her head. "That's the extent of it. Let's try something else."  
    "Banking."
    "Numbered Swiss accounts, deposits, rates of exchange, interest, loans, mortgages, checking accounts, savings."
    Again the well of terms quickly dried up. It was the same with advertising, petroleum, interior design, motion pictures, computers, and the travel industry.
    Refusing to give up, she insisted, "Let's try another."
    The inspector hesitated, then said, "You are fluent in both French and English. Perhaps you are an interpreter. When I begin to speak again, simultaneously translate what I say into English."
    "All right." She focused her gaze on his mouth and waited, a tension heightening all her senses despite her attempts to relax.
    He began talking at a rate that was neither fast nor slow. "I was born in the Maritime Alps and grew up in Levens, a peaceful village at the entrance to the Vésubie Valley. ..."
    She was able to follow along for the first half dozen or so words, then she began to stumble, the words tangling as she struggled to listen to what he was saying while translating what he'd already said. The harder she tried, the more jumbled everything became.
    "Stop—please." Laughing at her mangled translation of his words, she lifted her hands in mock surrender. "I can't do it. I can't split my concentration that way."  
    "It is difficult, non? "
    "Yes," she replied emphatically, then her amusement at the abortive attempt faded as discouragement set in. "What else is there, Inspector?"
    "It is