Dr. Harley said reassuringly, “There’s nothing physically wrong with you. I’ll stake my reputation on that. It’s all emotional. I’m going to switch you to another drug, Nomifensine. It’s very effective. You should notice a change within a few days.” He wrote out a prescription and handed it to her. “If you don’t feel better by Friday, I want you to call me. I may want to send you to a psychiatrist.”
Thirty minutes later, back in her apartment, Eve removed the pale foundation cream from her face and wiped away the smudges under her eyes.
The pace was quickening.
George Mellis sat opposite Peter Templeton, smiling and confident.
“How are you feeling today?”
“Much better, Doctor. These few sessions we’ve had have helped more than you know.”
“Have they? In what way?”
“Oh, just having someone to talk to. That’s the principle the Catholic Church is built on, isn’t it? Confession?”
“I’m glad you feel the sessions have been helpful. Is your wife feeling better?”
George frowned. “I’m afraid not. She saw Dr. Harley again, but she’s talking about suicide more and more. I may take her away somewhere. I think she needs a change.”
It seemed to Peter that there was an ominous foreboding in those words. Could it be his imagination?
“Greece is a very relaxing place,” Peter said casually. “Have you taken her there to meet your family?”
“Not yet. They’re dying to meet Alex.” He grinned. “The only problem is that every time Pop and I get together, he keeps trying to talk me into coming back and taking over the family business.”
And at that moment, Peter knew that Alexandra Mellis was in real danger.
Long after George Mellis had left, Peter Templeton sat in his office going over his notes. Finally, he reached for the telephone and dialed a number.
“I want you to do me a favor, John. Can you find out where George Mellis took his wife on their honeymoon?”
“I can tell you right now. I gave them some shots before they left. They went to Jamaica.”
I have a friend who beats up whores… I remember once we were in Jamaica together. This little black whore took him up to a hotel room, and after she got his pants off, she told him she wanted more money… He beat the shit out of her. I’ll bet she won’t try that on anyone again.
Still, there was no proof that George Mellis was planning to kill his wife. John Harley had verified that Alexandra Mellis was suicidal. It’s not my problem, Peter tried to tell himself. But he knew it was his problem.
Peter Templeton had had to work his way through school. His father had been the caretaker of a college in a small town in Nebraska, and even with a scholarship, Peter had not been able to afford to go to one of the Ivy League medical schools. He had been graduated from the University of Nebraska with honors and had gone on to study psychiatry. He had been successful from the start. His secret was that he genuinely liked people; he cared what happened to them. Alexandra Mellis was not a patient, yet he was involved with her. She was a missing part of the puzzle, and meeting her face-to-face might help him solve it. He took out George Mellis’s file, found his home number and telephoned Alexandra Mellis. A maid summoned her to the phone.
“Mrs. Mellis, my name is Peter Templeton. I’m—”
“Oh, I know who you are, Doctor. George has told me about you.”
Peter was surprised. He would have bet that George Mellis would not have mentioned him to his wife. “I wondered if we could meet. Perhaps lunch?”
“Is it about George? Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing. I just thought we might have a talk.”
“Yes, certainly, Dr. Templeton.”
They made an appointment for the following day.
They were seated at a corner table at La Grenouille. From the moment Alexandra had walked into the restaurant, Peter had been unable to take his eyes off her. She was dressed simply in a white skirt and blouse that showed off her figure, and she wore a single strand of pearls around her neck. Peter looked for signs of the tiredness and depression Dr. Harley had mentioned. There were none. If Alexandra was aware of Peter’s stare, she gave no sign of it.