CHAPTER ELEVEN

Constance became a firm friend, not just to Athos but also to Aramis and Porthos as well. She was very fond of Athos and she knew a sad heart when she saw one. Once, after they both had escaped lectures, on a particularly drunken night in the East End, they sat at the back of a dimly lit bar. He had been very quiet, more so than usual, something sparked by a training technique that afternoon, which required them to work on a past memory that was still affecting them; part of the practical training that required them to hypnotise their fellow students and deal with their own issues.

Constance's memory involved a particularly embarrassing moment when she was caught in flagrante delicto, the thought of it making her squirm to this day. She had jumped at the chance of neutralised that particular memory! He though, had struggled finding his own memory to work on, some memories just too strong and painful, that he wanted to keep a lid on for now. He ended up giving up and quietly leaving the room for some fresh air. Hence her suggestion they go for some food, but it had inevitably involved wine. In the quiet of the bar, and with the lull of the wine, he told her about Thomas, but not about himself.

He did not know why it hurt so much that Thomas had been killed by a woman. It was irrational of him. It did not really matter, especially in war, but for some reason it continued to cause him pain. Perhaps it was the manner of his death, that he had been trying to help and she had used that against him in the most brutal, callous way. The fact that Thomas had followed him into the Army, and they had not had the chance to reconnect and speak before he had died also added to his burden.

Constance had listened quietly to him, before she leant forward and put her hand over his.

"There is more room in a broken heart, Athos," she said, before refilling their glasses.

He was extremely grateful for that comment. It was one he filed away to bring out at a time in the future when he may need some reassurance.

oOo

It was through Constance that Athos met Ninon de Larroque, her lifelong friend.

Ninon was a beautiful woman; a former model, once married to a famous F1 driver. She had an IQ of 120 and did not suffer fools gladly. She could be very intimidating, and she knew it.

She was also a very wealthy author who wrote under a pseudonym, but only Constance knew that. Ninon was used to being judged by her looks, and in this particular venture, she was adamant that she would remain anonymous.

Ninon was very attracted to Athos but she now kept her cards very close to her chest. He had been somewhat embarrassed by her initial bold approach when they were first introduced, and she had backed off, believing Athos had his own reasons for not picking up her cues. It only served to make her more intrigued by him, however.

Constance was slightly amused by them both.

Ninon had sighed one evening in particular when she and Constance were discussing men.

"He does have beautiful features."

"Ninon de Larroque," Constance had cried, "Leave my Athos alone!" she added, laughing, knowing exactly who Ninon was talking about.

"It's alright," Ninon had smiled back at her, "I'm not looking for love, and I am certainly not the marrying kind. Tried it, got the t-shirt."

"I just don't want to see him hurt." Constance said quietly.

"He could break hearts with the sound of his voice alone," Ninon sighed again.

Both Athos and Ninon were an enigma, but neither seemed able to take that step into a relationship. Constance was very protective of them both but if she was to encourage their friendship, she would have to do so slowly.

Before Athos and Constance knew it, they were qualified and sadly, their days of study were over. He already had his degree and doctorate, and now he was a master clinical hypnotherapist. It seemed he was a natural, with his melodious voice, enigmatic presence, and his OCD approach to learning.

Constance had plans to move to Geneva to open a practise; she had worked as a nurse there and had fallen in love with the people and beautiful scenery. Ninon had a holiday home there, so it fitted perfectly with her plans. Treville, meanwhile, asked Athos to work with him out of his practise in Harley Street. He had his reasons. If he was to retire at some future date, he needed someone to take over when the time came, and he recognised something special in Athos. He was also intrigued by him.

Now, though Athos needed experience and the relationship suited them both. Treville needed a second in command and he was lining Athos up for that role.

The commute from his apartment in Chelsea to the practice in Westminster was only three miles, and he was now well able to comfortably walk that distance, or take a cab ride if necessary.

With John Treville as a mentor and Harley Street as a base, and because he was an excellent all round therapist, Athos had a swift rise to recognition, and was soon in demand. This was somewhat due to one of his clients being a minor member of the Royal Family. She was seen leaving the practice by the tabloid press who put two and two together and thereafter, he seemed to be in demand.

Most of Athos's clients quietly adored him. Some were somewhat intimidated by him. He was the consummate professional however, and had never formed any relationships with his students, or clients; if anything, remaining aloof. Not all their husbands or partners believed that however, and he had been stalked on occasions, much to his quiet amusement.

Psychotherapy and hypnotherapy suited him well, as he was not a tactile man. He could therefore sit across the room from his client and just use his voice and when they surfaced, the first thing they saw was his beautiful green eyes, studying them. So yes, he was adored by many, both female and occasionally male, although they soon found out he was both straight and professional in his conduct. So they adored him from afar, he was untouchable, and he was content.

Athos never lingered over goodbyes to his clients, or acknowledged them in the street, in case their families and friends did not know they were having hypnotherapy treatment.

This suited Athos.

He was an island.

Perhaps that was why he was so interesting to many people.

oOo

2009

Those early days were interesting, to say the least. One day Athos had queried why they never did home visits.

Treville promptly booked one in with a particular client, smiling to himself.

And so, Athos found himself a few days later sitting on his very rich client's sofa, there to deal with a dental phobia prior to the insertion of very expensive veneers. He was halfway through the hypnotic induction, talking his client down. He noted a deep trance, judging by her slow breathing and relaxed facial expression, when he heard a noise in the kitchen. Rather than leave his client sitting in the chair and stepping softly out to investigate, he kept going. Suddenly, a Persian cat jumped on the sofa and sat looking at him.

Great, he thought, but the cat was better on the sofa with him than suddenly jumping on the client and sending them barrelling up into the ceiling in shock. Fine, until he heard the same noise in the kitchen, and another cat, this time a black and white one, slunk into the room, looking at him with distain. The look was reciprocated. It stalked over toward his client, so Athos stretched out his leg and gently pushed it away. It simply glared at him and started to wash its paws.

Now he had one arm held against the one on the sofa, and his leg outstretched to fend off the other one. And that was when the kitchen cat flap opened again, for that was obviously the noise he had heard in the kitchen. And yes, here came a ginger tabby. That's when he used his clients file to waft away the latest visitor.

Needless to say, the session was shorter than normal, but he did give the suggestion that it would appear to be much longer than usual, so the client would not feel short-changed. The cats also appeared to have enjoyed it, as they were all fast asleep by the time he woke the client and she had no recollection of what had happened nor seen her therapist running out of limbs trying to herd her cats, so Athos's dignity was saved. As he was taking his leave, the client's chinchilla decided to go for a spin on its very noisy wheel. He was grateful it had the consideration to wait until he had finished.

When he heard the office door slam two hours later, Treville called out,

"What have you learned?"

"That I am allergic to cats, and that we don't do home visits because we cannot control the environment!" came the angry reply.

That was a sobering lesson. Fortunately, the client was happy and the treatment was successful, judging by the latest photo in the tabloid press of her flashing her new very expensive veneers.

One day, he may write a book.

oOo

2012

Introducing d'Artagnan

It was Constance who had introduced d'Artagnan into their group, after meeting him herself at an Army reunion dinner she had attended with Porthos. There had been an instant attraction between the young couple, just as Porthos had hoped when he invited her.

D'Artagnan's introduction to the Afghan war was in 2010. He was 23 years old; part of a seventy strong French task force in coalition with the USA, UK, Estonia, Denmark and Canada, participating in the NATO led Operation Mashtrak in Helmand Province.

By that time, Athos had been home five years, healing and forging his new career with Treville. Porthos had left the Army and was setting up youth schemes in his old neighbourhoods. Aramis was doing sporadic trauma work for NATO wherever he was needed, lecturing medical students, and otherwise enjoying his downtime; he made frequent visits to Chelsea to spend time with his brothers.

d'Artagnan had a French father, and an Italian mother. His first memory was sitting beneath a tree in an almond grove in Sicily with his maternal grandmother ; his beloved Nonnina. Nonna made the best amaretto biscuits and the smell and taste of almonds were now a part of him.

He was now in a UK Government MoD Special Task Force, mopping up some of the consequences of the Afghan war, but it had not been easy for him. His father had died just after his first mission, and by the time he had returned, his jaw had been broken in two places, the result of a road side bomb that had overturned the vehicle he was in. He was taking more codeine than was advisable, or needed; he had found it difficult to stop. He was also smoking 100 cigarettes a day. Gauloises, no less. And that was how Athos had met him, after Constance had bullied him into making an appointment to address his various issues.

As the unspoken rule was usually no hypnosis on friends or family, this was acceptable as Athos was still a stranger at that point.

D'Artagnans's First Appointment

Athos was taking a history of d'Artagnan's addictions:

"Smoking?" asked Athos.

"Just a habit, I think," d'Artagnan answered thoughtfully. "I don't really like it."

"Pain killers?"

"Too many - broken jaw, last year"

"Anything else?"

"Marzipan?" d'Artagnan said, squinting at him.

To his credit, Athos did not react.

"Can you help?" d'Artagnan ventured.

Athos finished typing and closed his laptop.

"One addiction at a time," he said, smoothly;

"Smoking first, as that is the one that will kill you eventually, either through lung disease, or coughing at an inappropriate moment," he added, with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, that has happened," d'Artagnan muttered, thinking of a particularly tense moment in a cellar in Instanbul, when he had to stuff his glove in his mouth to avoid giving his position away.

"Monday, nine pm. Don't be late." Athos said, thinking the boy was a liability, so there was no time to waste. Marzipan indeed.

D'Artagnan was dismissed.

oOo

To be continued ...