Free The Relic by Evelyn Anthony

disembodied mentor. She could see his reflection in a cleverly placed mirror in the wall.
    He tensed. His jaw clenched. He shifted in the chair. He didn’t want to talk about the army.
    â€˜There’s nothing to tell,’ he snapped back. ‘War is filthy. I survived with a bullet in my leg and that got me out of it and home.’
    â€˜You were lucky,’ she remarked. ‘Millions of Germans never got back at all.’
    â€˜Ten million,’ Brückner said. ‘Ten million dead. Don’t talk to me about war.’
    She had lit another cigarette. Her eyes narrowed against the smoke. ‘Twenty million Russians,’ she amended. ‘If you went through that campaign, no wonder you get headaches.’
    â€˜It’s got nothing to do with that! I was invalided out by the end of forty-two.’ He was visibly disturbed; sweat was trickling down his face in the air-conditioned room.
    Irina stood up. ‘I think that’s enough for today, Monsieur Brückner. You’ve made a good start.’
    He was up, pulling on his jacket, running his tie in to place under his collar. He was anxious to get away.
    â€˜I don’t see there’s any point in going on with this. All I’ve done is waste time talking about myself.’
    She said quietly, ‘Do you have a headache?’
    He paused. ‘No.’
    â€˜One was beginning when you came here, wasn’t it?’
    â€˜Perhaps; yes, it was throbbing slightly.’ The fear came back, swamping him.
    â€˜Well, it’s not hurting now, is it?’ she said firmly.
    â€˜No. No, it isn’t.’ He was buttoning his jacket. He wiped his damp face with a handkerchief. ‘I may not have another attack for weeks.’
    â€˜I wouldn’t like to bet on that.’ Her voice was very cool. ‘I’d like you to come back tomorrow. Unless you want to wait till you get another headache.’
    He raised his voice. He was used to shouting at employees and servants when they frustrated him in any way.
    â€˜What good can all this talking do me? I’m busy. I’ve a business to run, I haven’t time to waste on a lot of clap-trap.’
    She was quite unmoved. She shrugged slightly. ‘It’s up to you. I can’t do anything for you except help you to help yourself. If you want to come back, there’s a ten o’clock appointment reserved for you. Believe me, M’sieur, I have a waiting list of patients. I’m only seeing you because I know it’s urgent.’
    He went to the door. He turned the handle. Irinia Volkov didn’t move. He opened the door; then he turned back and said, ‘All right. Ten o’clock tomorrow then.’
    She left her desk and came to him. She smiled and nodded in a friendly way. ‘I’m glad,’ she said. ‘You’ve made the right decision.’ She gave him her hand to shake and gently closed the door on him.
    Then, she bent down to the recorder hidden under his chair and pressed the button to rewind the tape.
    There were four more appointments that afternoon. It was already dusk when she closed up her office. Just before she left she checked with her secretary. Yes, Monsieur Brückner had confirmed the ten o’clock session.
    Irina drove home, taking her time. She wasn’t in a hurry to get to the apartment. She knew what she would find there. It was a lovely evening; Geneva was beautiful in the springtime. On impulse, she stopped outside the Hôtel Beau Rivage. She felt like relaxing with a drink before going home. And it was a good place to make her telephone call.
    She knew she was attractive. Men glanced at her appreciatively. She gave no encouragement. She ordered a glass of Moselle, smoked a cigarette and watched people come and go without much interest. She was thinking about her patient, Adolph Brückner. She knew the type, A number had come to the clinic over the years. Arrogant, greedy products of the