The pinched look on his face cleared, and the tension of his mouth eased into a wry smile. “You wouldn’t. But you nearly have me fleeing in terror, Dr. Johanna. I wonder if I’d rather face a herd of charging elephants.”
She found herself relaxing as well. “Have you ever faced a herd of elephants, Mr. Forster?”
“Quentin,” he corrected. “I’ve seen my share of elephants. Some were even real.” He stood up straight. “Are you afraid of me, Johanna?”
The question was startlingly direct and perfectly sober. He’d sensed her unease. Or perhaps it was another warning…
“Aside from the fact that you are a stranger, which in itself calls for caution, I’ve seen nothing to fear in you.”
She didn’t think she’d ever seen eyes so compelling. Beneath their veneer of laughter was layer upon layer of ambiguity, a guardedness that might conceal any number of darker emotions, just as he hid his fear.
Finding and healing the source of that fear would be further proof of the Schell technique’s validity—possibly even substantiation of her own theory, if the opportunity to test it presented itself in the course of his treatment. She could finally complete the paper she and Papa had begun… and the payment she received from Quentin would keep the Haven going for another few months, at least.
“Well?” he asked. “Will you take on my case, Johanna?”
She folded her hands at the level of her waist and nodded briskly, as much to convince herself as to answer him. “We shall begin work as soon as you’ve been introduced to the others and it’s been established that you will—”
“Fit in?” He grinned. “You’d be surprised just how adaptable I am.”
Somehow she wasn’t in the least surprised. He seemed so at ease, in spite of his obvious problems and the way he’d raved in the throes of his delirium tremens. It was sometimes difficult to remember how very ill he’d been.
He was a mystery, and like all scientists she could not resist such a paradox.
“I would introduce you to my father, but as you see he is sleeping. He will not be very communicative; it is a result of his attack.”
“I understand.” Quentin came to the side of the bed and looked down at her father. His mobile expression changed again—to one of real compassion. Of knowing.
“I lost my own parents when I was fairly young,” he said. “My grandfather raised me, my twin sister, and my elder brother.” His mouth twitched. “He was something of a tyrant. Very strict.”
Johanna hadn’t grown up under such conditions, but she’d seen the damage that could be done to children in such households. “I’m sorry,” she said.
He shrugged. “Long ago. And I gave Grandfather as good as I got.”
“Were you often in trouble?”
“I’m that transparent, am I?” He chuckled. “Frequently. I was incorrigible, in fact. I doubt that any figure in authority would be tempted to spare the rod in my case.”
Had he been beaten, then? “You were not… unloved.”
“I had my brother and my sister. They could be jolly good companions—but they were a little more conventional. Braden often lectured me to be more upright and dependable.” He pulled a face. “Elder brothers, you know.”
She didn’t; she’d been an only child, and often wondered what it would be like to have siblings. But Quentin didn’t speak as though his childhood experiences had contributed to his drinking. That was something she wouldn’t be able to determine until she put him under hypnosis.
Yes. She wanted quite urgently to know more about Quentin Forster, childhood and all.
“Well,” she said, “the others should be coming in from the garden and vineyard in an hour or so. We generally do outside work in the mornings and early evenings.” She examined him critically. “Since you seem steady enough, I’ll give you a brief tour of the house, and then introduce you all around.”
“I look forward to it,” he said. But the twinkle in his cinnamon eyes suggested that he was much less interested in the other patients than he was in her.
That was very likely to change soon enough.