The Hypnotist's Love Story

If you ever wanted proof that hypnosis worked …

“Sorry about that,” said Ellen. “My, ah, fiancé is having a clean-out.”

“Oh, yes, I heard that you were getting married.” Luisa dabbed at her nose with a soggy-looking tissue. She was the very essence of a woman with a cold, as if she’d been cast for the role in a TV commercial for cold and flu tablets. Her nose was red and her eyes were bloodshot and puffy. Ellen felt her own sinuses block up in sympathy.

“You heard I was getting married?” said Ellen, as she led Luisa up the stairs. For some reason she thought of Saskia. Was she passing on the news to all of her clients?

“Patricia Bradbury,” said Luisa shortly.

Julia’s mother. Ellen had forgotten that Luisa was the daughter of one of Julia’s mother’s friends.

If Luisa knew about the engagement, did she know about the pregnancy too? Surely people knew better than to pass on random pregnancy news to a woman who was desperately trying to have a baby.

“Would you like me to make you a cup of herbal tea?” she asked Luisa, as she gestured toward the client chair. “I could make you one with lemon and honey for your cold?”

“So I’m not pregnant,” said Luisa. “But apparently you are.”

It appeared people did not know better.

“Well, yes, actually. It’s only early days—” began Ellen.

“I heard it was an accident,” said Luisa. She sniffed and grabbed a handful of Ellen’s tissues. She wiped her nose aggressively.

“It’s true that it wasn’t planned,” said Ellen carefully. She sat down and picked up Luisa’s file, which she had taken out beforehand and placed on the coffee table ready for her session.

“Maybe you accidentally hypnotized yourself when you were meant to be hypnotizing me.” Luisa gave a bitter little laugh that turned into a spluttering cough.

“This must seem very unfair to you,” said Ellen.

“You said you could get me pregnant,” said Luisa.

“I did not!” said Ellen. She would never have said that. Although it was true that she did have high hopes for her success with Luisa. Over the years she had helped a number of women with similar case histories. They had sent her effusive letters and photos of their babies; one had even named her baby Ellen in her honor.

“I want my money back,” said Luisa. “That’s the only reason I came today. You’re a fraud. You take advantage of people when they’re suffering, when they’re at their most vulnerable. I can’t believe you were recommended to me.”

Ellen felt a rush of prickly heat flood her whole body like an instant allergic reaction. “Luisa,” she said. “I’m so sorry—”

“Just give me my money back.”

Never ever give a client a refund. Flynn had drummed that into her. This is a professional service you’re offering. Professionals do not give a refund for no reason. Respect yourself. Respect what you do.

“You’re a quack,” said Luisa. Her voice quivered on the edge of tears. “Why should I help fund stuff for your baby? Your baby’s clothes, your baby’s nappies. Do you think with all the money we’re spending on IVF that we need this extra expense? My husband told me, he said all this alternative stuff is a load of crap, and he was right.”

She was sobbing now, rocking back and forth as though she was wracked with pain. Ellen’s eyes filled with sympathetic tears. What to say, what to say?

“Luisa, I really believe that we could still—”

“Just give me my money back.”

“All right,” said Ellen. “I will. Just give me a minute. I’ll write you a check.”

This was a first. Nobody had ever asked for a refund before. She’d always known that if they did, she would ignore Flynn’s instructions.

She took her checkbook from the drawer of her desk and watched her hand shake slightly as she wrote Luisa’s name. All her pregnancy symptoms suddenly intensified: Her br**sts hardened and burned and her mouth filled with metal; her body obviously wanted to make her feel even guiltier for being pregnant when Luisa wasn’t.

“It better not bounce.” Luisa stuffed the check into her handbag.

“It won’t,” said Ellen. One part of her wanted to slap the woman and the other part wanted to hug her.

“Right, well, I’ll be…” Luisa sneezed three times in a row. She pressed her sodden tissue to her nose and looked at Ellen with streaming eyes.

“Bless you,” said Ellen. Her hand went out involuntarily to touch Luisa’s arm in a gesture of sympathy. The poor woman looked so pitiful.

“Don’t touch me,” said Luisa. She turned and walked down the stairs, blowing her nose the whole way. Patrick looked up from the hallway, where he was in the process of straightening up while he hefted two giant garbage bags over his shoulders like a weight lifter. He smiled politely at Luisa, and then his smile vanished as he saw her clearly unhappy demeanor. His eyes moved questioningly to Ellen’s and she silently shrugged.

Ellen opened the door for Luisa and she left without saying a word, walking briskly down the path, her chin jutting forward, arms swinging, as if she was on her way to put a stop to something.

“What’s her problem?” asked Patrick, coming to stand beside her at the door.

“She’s mad at me for being pregnant when she’s not,” said Ellen. “She— Who’s that?”

Luisa had stopped near the top of the path to talk to a tall man in dark sunglasses and a stylish suit.

“Do you know him?” asked Patrick.

“I don’t think so,” said Ellen.

She had a strong sense of foreboding as she watched Luisa fling back her arm toward the house while the man bent toward her, listening with his whole body. He was far too interested in what Luisa was saying; whoever he was, Ellen didn’t want him talking to Luisa right now.

“It’s not a new client, is it?” said Patrick. “Because it looks like she’s giving him an earful.”

“I’m not expecting anyone,” said Ellen. She squinted. The man turned so she could see his face in profile. He had a big, beaky nose. There was something familiar about him.

“I feel like I know him from somewhere.” Patrick shifted the garbage bags more comfortably on his shoulders.