Full Summary:

"What absolute rot"- that was what Dominic Spence had to say when his friend Phillip Ashe announced his decision to become a psychoanalyst. So, Ashe was understandably intrigued when Spence sent him a letter one day, begging for his professional services. It seems that his friend had stumbled upon a young woman in Calais- mute, frantic and unbelievably desperate to board the ferry to England. Something is terribly wrong with that young woman and Spence wants to know what it is. For Ashe, she is as much an opportunity as she is a professional challenge. However, it soon begins to seem that the horrors of the woman's past are not quite finished with her yet…

Prologue

23rd January 1901.

Dear Ashe,

I am rather in a beastly hole. I want to talk to you about it. Care to join me for lunch at the – at one 'o' clock today? I'm buying, of course.

Your friend,

Dominic Spence.

"I'm not to leave until I get a reply, sir" said the little street urchin of indeterminate age who had delivered the note.

Phillip Ashe grinned. The note was characteristic of Spence: abrupt, demanding, heedless of any inconvenience caused to his fellow-man but generous and disarmingly friendly at the same time. "Hold on a second" said Ashe. Quickly, he wrote:

Dear Spence,

I'll be there.

Ashe.

He handed the note (along with a substantial sum) to the little urchin and sent him on his way, confident that the urchin would conceal the fact and receive an equally princely sum from Spence. He was fond of little children, was Ashe. He glanced at his watch. It would be several hours before lunch. Stretching luxuriantly, he regarded his consulting rooms with the satisfaction of the proverbial cat that ate the canary. Not even thirty, he had already amassed a thriving practice in Harley Street. True, he hadn't had a real professional challenge worthy of his education and (he believed) skill. But, the Money was good. Who would have thought that attending the 'nervous complaints' of rich, idle women could be so profitable. Ah, he mustn't be judgmental. God knew they had their reasons for 'developing' these abnormal conditions. 'And,' he thought (with a mental grimace), 'in many cases, these reasons were no less painful than for the poor and the wretched'.

He wondered why Spence wanted to see him. The note managed to sound both serious and flippant at the same time. Ashe wasn't too worried: a real emergency would have seen Spence at his doorstep. Also, Spence was a rather soft-hearted (a trait many did not associate with him, owing to his wooden exterior). Chances were that Spence saying that he was 'in a beastly hole' meant that somebody else was the one in trouble and Spence simply could not let things be. Ashe sighed. Spence might be a damnably good sportsman but he was also an Infernal Nuisance.

Ashe hoped that he could help Spence. Spence was, for all his faults, a rather decent man and they were great pals. Winchester and Cambridge wouldn't have been half so fun if he (Ashe) didn't have Spence for company. Ashe couldn't repress a maniacal grin as he recalled some of the Things they had done – the beaks must have danced all night when they had left!

Abruptly, he stood. It was all very well to attribute his desire to help Spence to their friendship. But, Ashe would be lying to himself if he thought that that was his only motivation. Ruefully, he told himself that the real reason that he was delighted with his friend's request for his help because now was a chance to Prove Himself. He had chanced upon psychology by the purest accident when was studying Medicine. Eventually, as was bound to happen, he came upon the works of that Austrian Doctor- a genius among geniuses, a champion of champions- Dr Sigmund Freud. Even now, Ashe could feel his admiration rise and swell for this Jewish doctor who understood the human psyche as though he had created it himself.

He had been excited about work for the first time in his life. He had eagerly imparted his discovery of psychology to Spence, expecting an equally thrilled response. Here he had miscalculated: he should have realised that Spence was of a coarse-fibered mentality (actually, Spence was really just an individual filled to the brim with solid, unshakeable, British common sense) and did not value ground-breaking, revolutionary paths (really, Spence's imperfect knowledge about psychology had simply led him to believe that it was a form of 'mumbo jumbo'- a view shared by Ashe's acquaintances and a great percentage of the general British population). Spence's response to his decision to pursue his career in psychology was, quite simply to say, 'what absolute rot'. Ashe shuddered, despite the warmth of the room. The dismissal still rankled. But, Ashe reasoned philosophically (and also, quite smugly), Spence had eventually come round (or so it seemed). All should be forgiven if Spence admitted his error. O yes, Ashe was certainly looking forward to lunch.

One 'o' clock saw Ashe at the designated rendezvous. He basked in the admiration of passing women while pretending that he didn't notice them. Really, one never really got used to the attentions of pretty women! He was- to be fair to the women- a fine specimen of manhood; tall, dark and alive. His name and upbringing may be English but his appearance was unmistakably French. He lost count of the number of times people had mistaken him for a Frenchman, apparently right from the days of his infancy (or so his Mother informs him). He didn't quite realise it but it was his Anglo-French parentage that was partly responsible for his ability to attract and retain patients of a certain class. The aforementioned idle rich were fascinated by his attractive, vibrant looks and simultaneously reassured by his English manners and speech. He would have been ashamed to learn that many women preferred him to his superior colleagues simply because he was attractive.

Spence, as was his customary manner, walked in briskly and nearly upset a steward. Ashe was pleased to note that he didn't look plagued or harassed. He simply looked…a little uncomfortable. They shook hands. "You look fine, man" said Spence, smiling with honest approval. "How have you been, eh?"

"What was it you wanted to speak to me about?" asked Ashe. "What poor creature did you feel the need to save this time?"

"You needn't rot." Spence was uncomfortable again. Ashe was instantly contrite. "You said you were 'in a beastly hole' but you didn't come to see me directly, so, naturally I assumed that it was really someone else who was in trouble…"

The discomfort and annoyance disappeared. Spence smiled and looked sheepish. "I have rather a reputation for adopting strays, haven't I?"

Ashe grinned over his wine glass. "Well, what's the matter?"

Spence inhaled. "Well, it all started in Calais the previous month, just as I was about to board the ferry to England…"