up at the ceiling. “I had a gap year. Sixteen months in fact.”
“Where?”
“South America, for the most part.”
“Whereabouts in South America?”
It was not, she thought, an intrusive question and she was quite unprepared for his reaction—which was to start to weep.
75. Terence Moongrove Confesses
OVER IN CHELTENHAM, that particular day had proved an eventful one for Terence Moongrove and his sister, Berthea Snark. Berthea had decided to extend her stay in Cheltenham by a few weeks, and had spent several hours on the telephone cancelling and rearranging her patients. (She refused to call them clients. “They are under my care,” she explained. “If somebody is under your care, then they are the patient, in the old-fashioned sense of being one to whom something is done. A client is not under your care. That is a totally different transaction. You do not care for clients in the same way that you care for patients.”)
It happened that her diary over the following month was not particularly full, so it was not too difficult to find alternative appointments for everybody. Had her patients not been loquacious, the task of arranging these appointments would have been the work of half an hour at the most. But many of her patients were given to long-windedness and took the opportunity of the telephone call to unburden themselves of doubts and anxieties that they had felt since they last saw Berthea. They knew, too, that telephone time was free—at least to them—and anything they said to her on the telephone was therefore very much cheaper than what they said to her in their hour-long sessions in her consulting room.
“Phew!” Berthea exclaimed, as she replaced the telephone receiver in its cradle. “You wouldn’t imagine that it would take quite so long to arrange something so insignificant as a change of appointment.”
“Poor dears,” said Terence. “They do so need to talk. All those horrid worries and doubts bottled up inside! They must be bursting to tell you all about it.”
“There’s a time and place for that,” said Berthea briskly.
“Mind you, Berthy,” Terence went on, “I can understand why the poor souls want to talk to you. You’re such a good listener, you really are. And you aren’t bossy at all. Not really.”
Berthea looked at him with surprise. “Who said I was bossy?”
Terence spoke sheepishly. “Well, I’m afraid I have a teeny confession to make,” he said. “I called you bossy when I was talking to Mr. Marchbanks. I said that you were bossy and you stuck your long nose into my business. And I’m terribly sorry that I said it. It was the electricity, I think. I really don’t think that way.”
Berthea looked at him reproachfully. She had saved his life by her prompt action and in return he had called her bossy. Well, if she had not stuck her long nose into his business—and her nose was not long at all, she told herself—then Terence would be no more. He should remember that, perhaps.
“I know,” said Terence, holding up a hand, “you must think me utterly beastly for saying something like that. I really am sorry, Berthy. But at least I’ve got it off my chest now and I can see the forgiveness in your eyes. It’s like a great light, you know, from where I’m sitting. It’s like the Great Lighthouse of Alexandria—a beam of forgiveness piercing the encircling gloom.”
Berthea looked at her brother. If anybody’s nose was long, she thought, it’s his. But there was no point in saying it; one of the things she knew, both as an analyst and as a person, was that remarks about the nose of another would never be anything but the cause of misunderstanding or annoyance. The only thing anybody ever wanted to hear about their nose was that it was a very fine and attractive one; that was the only acceptable thing to say. You could not say to somebody, “Your nose is average,” or “Nobody will notice your nose.” You had to be positive.
“Well, at least you’ve told me,” she said. “And you’re right, I don’t think you were yourself for a little while after the accident.” She paused. “But how are you feeling now?”
“I feel extremely well,” said Terence. “Quite optimistic, in fact, especially since I made my decision to replace the Morris.”
“Good,” said Berthea. “Well, I shall stay, if I may, for another couple of weeks, just to make sure everything’s settled. Sometimes accidents like that can leave one feeling a bit vulnerable for a while.