Resting her head in her hands, she tried to think, but all she could concentrate on were her problems with Thomas. She was almost relieved when there was a sharp knock on the door. Before she could answer it, William Bentworth stepped inside.
“Mind if I sit down, Dr. Cassidy?” asked Bentworth with uncharacteristic politeness.
“No,” said Cassi, surprised to see the colonel entering her office on his own accord. He was carefully dressed in tan slacks and a freshly pressed plaid shirt. His shoes evidenced a spit-and-polish shine.
He smiled. “Mind if I smoke?”
“No,” said Cassi. She did mind, but it was one of those sacrifices she felt she had to make. Some people needed all the help they could get in order to open up and talk. On occasion the process of lighting a cigarette was an important crutch. Bentworth leaned back and smiled. For the first time his brilliant blue eyes seemed cordial and warm. He was a handsome man, with broad shoulders, thick dark hair, and angular, aristocratic features.
“Are you all right, Doctor?” asked Bentworth, leaning forward again to examine Cassi’s face.
“I’m perfectly fine. Why do you ask?”
“You look a bit distraught.”
Cassi looked up at the Monet print of the little girl and her mother in the poppy field. She tried to collect her thoughts. It frightened her a little to realize that a patient could be so perceptive.
“Perhaps you feel guilty,” offered Bentworth, considerately blowing smoke away from Cassi.
“And why should I feel guilty?”
“Because I think you have been deliberately avoiding me.”
Cassi remembered Jacob’s comment about borderline personalities being inconsistent, and she contrasted Bentworth’s current behavior with his previous refusal to talk to her.
“And I know why you’ve been avoiding me,” continued Bentworth. “I think I scare you. I’m sorry if that’s the case. Having been in the army so long and being accustomed to giving orders, I suppose I can be overbearing at times.”
For the first time in Cassi’s short psychiatric career, something that she’d read in the literature was occurring spontaneously between herself and one of her patients. She knew, without any doubt, that Bentworth was trying to manipulate her.
“Mr. Bentworth …” began Cassi.
“Colonel Bentworth,” corrected William with a smile. “If I call you Doctor, it’s only reasonable you call me Colonel. It’s a sign of mutual respect.”
“Fair enough,” said Cassi. “The fact of the matter is that you have been the one who has made it impossible for us to have a session together. I’ve tried, if you can remember, on numerous occasions to schedule a meeting, but you have always professed to have a prior commitment. Now I understand that you get more out of the group milieu than private conversation, so I haven’t pushed the situation. If you’d like to meet, let’s schedule it.”
“I would love to talk with you,” said Bentworth. “How about right now? I have the time. Do you?”
Cassi was not willing to fall prey to Bentworth’s manipulation, thinking that it would ultimately have a negative effect on their relationship. She wasn’t prepared now and Bentworth did frighten her despite his newly found charm.
“How about tomorrow morning?” said Cassi. “Right after team meeting.”
Colonel Bentworth stood up and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on Cassi’s desk. “All right. I’ll look forward to it. And I hope whatever is troubling you works out for the best.”
After he was gone, Cassi breathed the smoky air while her mind envisioned Colonel Bentworth in a dress uniform. She could imagine he would be gallant and dashing, and his mental problems would seem fictitious. Knowing the depth of his disorder, she found the fact that it could be so easily camouflaged disturbing.
Before she could even dictate her notes, her door opened again, and Maureen Kavenaugh came in and sat down. Maureen had been admitted a month previously for recurrent major depression. She’d had a serious setback when her husband had come in and slapped her around. Seeing her out of her room was as much a surprise as having William Bentworth voluntarily pay a visit. Cassi wondered if some miracle drug were being secretly added to the patients’ food.