Free The Bachelors by Muriel Spark

occasion he was even more
severe, for she was so very full of tears and doubts.
     
    Patrick spoke to the
receptionist from the telephone kiosk with a courteous smile, as if she could
see him.
    ‘If at
all possible,’ Patrick said.
    ‘His
appointment book is very full all day,’ the receptionist said.
    ‘Perhaps,’
said Patrick, ‘you could have a word with him and he’ll slip me in. You
remember me, don’t you? A private patient — Mr. Seton.’
    ‘Oh,
Mr. Seton.’ She went away and returned.
    ‘Half-past
twelve, Mr. Seton. He can give you some time.’
    ‘Thank
you,’ Patrick said. ‘I am so much obliged.’ Patrick was unaware what precisely
was the deep secret in Dr. Lyte’s career, to which he had given unconscious
utterance one night in the séance room, the only occasion on which Dr. Lyte had
attended a spiritualist meeting. Patrick, on coming round from his trance, had
perceived the shaken stranger and had moved with fluttering obliquity towards
him as a moth to the lamp.
    The
stranger was Dr. Lyte. Patrick rapidly appreciated that he had said something
in his trance which had truly got its mark. ‘How exactly did you know?’ Dr. Lyte
said in a way which was very different from his nice clothes.
    Patrick
bashfully screwed his head to the side and smiled.
    When
Patrick called on him the next day, Dr. Lyte had pulled himself together.
    ‘I only
went there as an experiment,’ he explained.
    ‘By
whom recommended?’ Patrick said quietly.
    ‘Chap
called Ewart Thornton. A friend of—’
    ‘That
is correct,’ Patrick said. ‘Mr. Thornton recommended you. You are speaking the
truth.’
    ‘I have
no faith in spiritualism,’ Dr. Lyte said.
    Patrick
nodded like a man of the world.
    ‘And
what you described,’ Dr. Lyte said, ‘in your so-called trance, was inaccurate.’
    ‘No,’
Patrick said, ‘Dr. Lyte, it was not inaccurate.’
    ‘Where
did you get this information?’
    ‘I don’t
know what you’re talking about,’ Patrick said with mendacious truth. ‘I’d
rather not discuss the details.’
    ‘What
do you want with me?’
    Patrick
closed his eyes reprovingly.
    ‘What
can I do for you?’ said Dr. Lyte.
    And so
he never refused Patrick an appointment, or a piece of advice, or a drug to
alleviate the effects of a trance. Patrick was not unduly troublesome. Dr. Lyte
even went so far as voluntarily to obtain the new drug which had been employed,
for experimental purposes, to induce epileptic convulsions in rats, and which,
taken in certain minor quantities, greatly improved both the spectacular
quality of Patrick’s trances and his actual psychic powers.
    ‘What
can I do for you, Patrick?’ said Dr. Lyte when Patrick was shown in at
half-past twelve sharp. Dr. Lyte was untroubled: he had got used to Patrick, as
one does get used to things.
    ‘It’s
about Alice. She won’t think of doing away with it. Not by an operation. I
mentioned the address—’
    ‘Well,
she can get it adopted. Much easier if you don’t marry her till afterwards. The
State has arrangements for these girls.’
    ‘Yes’
Patrick said. ‘Alice,’ he said, ‘isn’t too well.’
    ‘Send
her along.’
    ‘I
think perhaps she isn’t taking her injections properly,’ Patrick said.
    ‘Oh,
she’s got to take her two injections every morning before breakfast. They need
the regular insulin. Tell her she’ll die if she doesn’t take it.’
    ‘How
long does it take,’ Patrick said, ‘for a diabetic person to die if they deprive
themselves of insulin?’
    ‘She’s
not trying to take her life, is she?’
    ‘I’m
not sure,’ Patrick said, his fingers interlacing each other in agitated jerks. ‘But
don’t you think she might try to get rid of the baby by reducing the insulin
and making herself really ill?’
    ‘That
would be foolish,’ said Dr. Lyte. ‘Surely she knows — but why don’t you see to
the injections yourself until this trouble’s over?’
    ‘Oh,
she won’t let me touch them. She