Page 59 of The Silent Patient

“Yes. I cleared out her studio after the trial—and got hold of everything worth keeping—all her preliminary sketches, notebooks, her easel, her oils. I’m storing it all for her.”

“How nice of you.”

“So you’re following my advice? Letting Alicia paint?”

“Yes. Whether anything will come of it remains to be seen.”

“Oh, something will come of it. You’ll see. All I ask is you let me have a look at the finished paintings.”

A strange note of hunger was in his voice. I had a sudden image of Alicia’s pictures swaddled like babies in blankets in that storage room. Was he really keeping them safe for her? Or because he couldn’t bear to let go of them?

“Would you mind dropping off the materials to the Grove?” I said. “Would that be convenient?”

“Oh, I—” There was a moment’s hesitation. I felt his anxiety.

I found myself coming to his rescue. “Or I can pick them up from you if that’s easier?”

“Yes, yes, perhaps that would be better.”

Jean-Felix was scared of coming here, scared of seeing Alicia. Why? What was there between them?

What was it that he didn’t want to face?

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“WHAT TIME ARE YOU MEETING YOUR FRIEND?”I asked.

“Seven o’clock. After rehearsal.” Kathy handed me her coffee cup. “If you can’t remember her name, Theo, it’s Nicole.”

“Right.” I yawned.

Kathy gave me a stern look. “You know, it’s a little insulting that you don’t remember—she’s one of my best friends. You went to her going-away party for fuck’s sake.”

“Of course I remember Nicole. I just forgot her name, that’s all.”

Kathy rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Pothead. I’m having a shower.” She walked out of the kitchen.

I smiled to myself.

Seven o’clock.

***

At a quarter to seven I walked along the river toward Kathy’s rehearsal space on the South Bank.

I sat on a bench across the way from the rehearsal room, facing away from the entrance so Kathy wouldn’t immediately see me if she left early. Every so often I turned my head and glanced over my shoulder. But the door remained obstinately shut.

Then, at five minutes past seven, it opened. There was the sound of animated conversation and laughter as the actors left the building. They wandered out in groups of two or three. No sign of Kathy.

I waited five minutes. Ten minutes. The trickle of people stopped, and no one else came out. I must have missed her. She must have left before I arrived. Unless she hadn’t been here at all?

Had she been lying about the rehearsal?

I got up and made my way toward the entrance. I needed to be sure. If she was still inside and she saw me, what then? What excuse could I have for being here? I’d come to surprise her? Yes—I’d say I was here to take her and “Nicole” out for dinner. Kathy would squirm and lie her way out of it with some bullshit excuse—“Nicole is sick, Nicole has canceled”—so Kathy and I would end up spending an uncomfortable evening alone together. Another evening of long silences.

I reached the entrance. I hesitated, grabbed the rusted green handle, and pushed open the door. I went inside.

The bare concrete interior smelled damp. Kathy’s rehearsal space was on the fourth floor—she had moaned about having to climb the stairs every day—so I went up the main central staircase. I reached the first floor and was starting for the second when I heard a voice on the stairs, coming from the floor above. It was Kathy. She was on the phone:

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