Free Crying Child by Barbara Michaels Page B

relieved to hear you say that! Not that I agree with your appraisal of yourself…To tell the truth, I did something the other day and I’ve been feeling guilty about it ever since.”
    “What?”
    “We agreed that Mary should see a psychiatrist. She won’t go to one. So—I arranged to have the mountain come to Mohammed.”
    “That’s why you went to Boston,” Will said.
    “Right.”
    “You’ll never get away with it, Ran. What are you planning to do, introduce him as an old friend who just happened to be passing through this—this crossroads of the north? Mary will be suspicious of any strange man you bring here.”
    “Ah,” Ran said triumphantly. “That’s where the trick comes in. It isn’t a man. It’s a woman.”
    “Ingenious,” Will said, after a moment. “Also a little ingenuous, Ran. You don’t ask people—male or female—to drop in when your wife isn’t well. And not even Freud could make a snap diagnosis after an hour’s chat over cocktails.”
    “You haven’t heard the whole scheme.” Ran went back to the bar. My subconscious was counting; this was his fifth brandy. The only effect it had, however, was to make him look more relaxed and confident. He was smiling as he crossed the room to sit on the sofa beside me, and he leaned forward, arguing in his old persuasive way.
    “The doctor—her name is Anne Wood, incidentally—is going to be a house guest. Now, wait. Naturally I wouldn’t invite a stranger to stay when Mary was sick. But if your sister happened to want to visit you—your hard-working sister, who hasn’t taken a vacation in years—I’d have tooffer her a room, wouldn’t I? That shack of yours can’t accommodate visitors.”
    He leaned back, grinning triumphantly.
    My first reaction was one of admiration. Mary didn’t know Will that well; he might have a dozen relatives she hadn’t heard about. I looked anxiously at Will, wondering what objections he would raise next.
    “Anne Wood,” he said thoughtfully.
    “You know her?’
    “Read a couple of her articles.”
    “Is she that well known? What did you think of her work?”
    “She’s quite well known. I gather that her methods are regarded as somewhat—well—flamboyant by the conservatives in the profession; but that isn’t necessarily…” He hesitated; and I realized that Ran had put him into a position where he couldn’t say anything too critical without sounding jealous. He went on, “No, I’m sure she’s sound. Popular, too. May I ask how you persuaded a busy, successful doctor to take a weekend off?”
    “Doctors do take weekends off, I believe.”
    Ran’s voice was cold. He always resented any implication that it was money, rather than natural ability, that got him what he wanted. And in this case, obviously, it was the cash that had turnedthe trick. He had probably offered the woman a sum that she couldn’t refuse.
    “Most doctors do,” Will admitted. He grinned. “I’m just jealous because I can’t. Sorry, Ran. I think it was a brilliant idea and I hope to God it works. When is she coming?”
    “This weekend.”
    “Well, I guess we can muddle through till then.” Will stood up. “Excuse me, people, but I’m bushed. Maybe that’s why I haven’t made much sense this evening.”
    He was drooping visibly as he went out the door; his broad shoulders sagged. I told myself to forget the old maternal instinct; but when I turned to Ran my face wasn’t as friendly as usual.
    “Why the cold and fishy stare?” he asked. “You were the one who bawled me out for not making Mary see a headshrinker.”
    “Oh, I think Dr. Wood is a great idea. It might even help. Why didn’t you tell Will about the crying?”
    “What’s the point? Will’s right, and I’m glad he has the integrity and the sense to realize it. I didn’t want to be the one to tell him he can’t help us.”
    “You can’t judge his ability if you don’t give him the data to work with,” I said.
    Ran’s eyes narrowed.