was safe. He thought all clandestine services were slightly mad, but since the British had paid for his last two years in medical school, he accepted his part of the bargain. He was simply on-call to treat unbalanced people in a very foolish business. Bray liked him.
"She's sedated and my wife is with her. She'll come out of it in a few minutes and you can go." "How is she?" "In pain, but it won't last. I've treated the burns witb an ointment that acts as a local anesthetic. I've given her a jar." The doctor lit a cigarette; he had not finished. "An ice pack or two should be applied to the facial contusions; the swellings will go down overnight. The cuts are minor, no stitches required." "Then she's all right," said Scofield, relieved.
"No, she's not, Bray." The doctor exhaled smoke. "Oh, medically she's sound and with a little makeup and dark glasses she'll no doubt be up and about by noon tomorrow. But she is not all right." "What do you mean?" "How well do you know her?" "Barely. I found her several days ago, it doesn't matter where-" "I'm not interested," interrupted the doctor. "I never am. I just want you to know that tonight was not the first time this has happened to her.
There is evidence of previous beatings, some quite severe." "Good Lord...." Scofield thought immediately of the cries of anguish he had heard less than an hour ago. "What kind of evidence?" "Scars from multiple lacerations and bums. All small and precisely placed to cause maximum pain." "Recent?" "Within the last year or so, I'd say. Some of the tissue is still soft, relatively new." "Any ideas?" "Yes. During severe trauma, people speak of things." The doctor stopped, inhaling on his cigarette. "I don't have to tell you that; you count on it." "Go on," said Bray.
"I think she was systematically, psychologically broken. She kept repeating catchwords. Allegiances to this and that; loyalty beyond death and torture of self and comrades. That sort of garbage." "The Brigatisti were busy little pricks," Bray said.
'V~Fhaff' "Forget it." "Forgotten. She has a mass of confusion in that lovely head of hers." "Not as much as you think. She got away." "Intact and functioning?" asked the doctor.
"Mostly." "Then she's remarkable." "More to the point, she's exactly what I need," said Scofield.
"Is that, too, a required response?" The medical man's ire was apparent.
"You people never cease to disappoint me. That woman's scars aren't only on her skin, Bray. She's been brutalized." "She's alive. I'd like to be there when she comes out of sedation. May IT' "So you can catch her while her mind is only hall alive, extract your own responses?" The doctor paused again. "I'm sorry, it's not my business." "I'd like her to be your business if she needs help. If you don't mind." The doctor studied him. "My services are limited to medicine, you know that." "I understand. She has no one else, she's not from Rome. Can she come to you... if any of those scars get tom away?" The Italian nodded. "Tell her to come and see me if she needs medical attention. Or a friend." "Thank you very much. And thanks for something else. You've fit several pieces into a puzzle I couldn1 figure out. I'll go in now, if it's all right." "Go ahead. Send my wife out here."
Scofield touched Antonia's cheek. She lay still on the bed, but at the touch rolled her head to the side, her lips parted, a moan of protest escaping her throat. Things were clearer now, the puzzle that was Antonia Gravet coming more into focus. For it was the focus that had been lack- ing; he had not been able to see through the opaque glass wall she had erected between herself and the outside world. The commanding woman in the hills who displayed courage without essential strength; yet who could face a man she believed wanted her dead and tell. him to fire away. And the childlike woman on the trawler drenched by the sea, given to sudden moments of infectious laughter. The laughter had confused him; it did not confuse him now. It was her way of grasping for small periods of relief and normality. The boat was her temporary sanctuary; she would not be hurt while at sea, and so she had made the most of it. An abused child-or a prisoner-allowed an hour of fresh air and sunshine. Take the