Bourne shook his head. ‘Not at all. Ann, how about you?’

‘I don’t mind.’ She smiled good-naturedly. ‘Someday I may even be allowed to watch it.’

It was agreed that Paul and Carol and the two army men would clear away the dinner dishes, wash them, rebuild the fires and check the paraffin levels in the oil-lamps. By nine-thirty they had all assembled in the lounge. From where he sat Paul could see the unpainted battens of wood nailed across the two varnished doors into the billiards-room, the small, scarlet blobs of wax resembling drops of blood. It occurred to him that if the doors now prevented anyone getting in, they also effectively prevented anyone from this side knowing what was happening in the darkness beyond them. Impatient with himself at what he considered to be craven imaginings he steered his attention to the couch opposite where Bourne was inducing Ann into the hypnotic state.

‘. . . . seven, two, six, one. Sleep!’

As before, her head dipped, her body relaxed, her eyes closed. She lay back against the corner of the couch, as if in a normal sleep. As on the previous occasion her hands were clasped loosely in her lap.

‘Ann, you can still hear me even although you are going deeper and deeper. Can you hear me, Ann?’

‘Yes.’

‘You can hear me but no one else.’

He looked at the silent semicircle of watchers.

‘She’s over. You can talk freely now.’ He turned to the hypnotized woman. ‘I want you to go back in time, Ann, back before nineteen-sixty, back before you were born as the human being who is now Ann Margaret Parish’ – Paul saw the woman’s head rise and fall as she took in a deep breath – ‘back to the year eighteen-­eighty-eight to the day of your birthday in that year. It is your birthday in the year eighteen-eighty-eight.’ Bourne paused.

‘What is your name?’

And again the pert, slightly alien voice they had heard before spoke from Ann Parish’s lips.

‘Mary Elizabeth Rolfe.’

Something like a collective sigh came from the listeners. Carol’s hands gripped her husband’s arm and she looked at him, wonder and inquiry apparent on her face.

‘What day is it, Mary?’

‘Wednesday. I’ve told you that before.’

Shock on his face, Bourne looked at Meredith. The other man’s fleshy features also registered surprise.

‘She remembered you! Now listen, Bourne, I have wondered about this in our past sessions. Who does this personality think you are? You enter into conversation with her, ask questions. Who does she think you are? How does she fit you in to her world?’

Bourne nodded. He turned back to Ann.

‘Do you recall our past conversation, Mary?’

‘ ’Course I do.’

‘On your birthday?’

‘Yes, silly. I’ve got a good memory.’

‘Who do you think I am, Mary?’

A frown, then a bright calmness.

‘Why, you’re one of my dream people.’

‘Dream people? What do you mean?’