‘Now, Ann, as at Bristol you are going to go into a deep hypnotic state on receipt of the usual cue. Are you ready?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Ten, five, nine, four, eight, three, seven, two, six, one. Sleep!’

The young woman’s head dipped forward, her body relaxed against the junction of arm and couch back. Her eyes were now closed, her breathing calm and regular, her hands clasped in her lap.

‘Ann, you can still hear me, can’t you, even although you are going even more deeply into the state?’

‘Yes.’ Her voice was calm.

‘But you can hear no one’s voice but mine.’ Bourne turned to Meredith.

‘She’s over.’

Paul thought: surely it’s not as simple as that? Where is the flashing light or swinging pendulum of fiction? She can’t be hypnotized. It must be a fake. He caught Bourne’s eye, began to speak then hesitated. Bourne smiled.

‘It’s all right, she can’t hear you. Ask her something.’

‘Miss Parish. Thank you for lunch. Will you let Carol and me wash up.’

The figure on the couch did not stir or reply. Meredith rubbed his chin.

‘She will only respond to Dr Bourne. Unless, of course, he were to transfer control to someone else. I do assure you, Mr Wilson, she is fully in the hypnotic state at this moment. Now, Dr Bourne, what do you have in mind?’

‘I think at this stage a straightforward regression to establish that we can operate under these new surroundings. Agreed?’

Meredith nodded. Bourne turned his attention to Ann Parish.

‘Can you hear me, Ann?’

‘Yes.’

‘Now I want you to go back to the day of your tenth birthday. It is the morning of your tenth birthday. How old are you?’

‘I’m ten.’

The Wilsons looked at each other: the voice was lighter, younger.

‘Where are you living?’

‘Twelve Chester Road, Ipswich.’

‘Who lives with you?’

‘My mummy, my daddy, my brother Gordon. Oh – ’ with pleased excitement ‘ – and baby!’

‘What is baby’s name?’

‘Sheila.’

‘Is anything specially nice going to happen today?’

‘Oh yes. I’m going to have a birthday party. Oh, and Mummy and Daddy have given me a beautiful new dress – a blue one.’ Confidentially: ‘I’m going to wear it to my party.’

‘Good. Now I want you to go back to the day of your fourth birthday. It is the morning of your fourth birthday. How old are you?’

‘I am four.’

The voice was now solemnly childlike, with the trace of a lisp.

‘What is your name?’

‘Ann . . . Margaret . . . Parish.’

‘Where do you live?’

‘Twelve Chester Road . . . Ipswich!’ The last word was spoken in triumph.

‘Who lives with you?’

‘Mummy . . . Daddy . . . and Go’don.’

‘Who is Gordon?’

‘He’s my big brother!’ Proudly.