Edge Read Free Page B

out and push the image off into the distance–"
        Recoding the recent memory to remove trauma, then using the shoulder pressure to trigger confidence and calm, she left an instruction for ongoing improvement in the woman's life – "Just fixing the problem isn't good enough," her teachers used to say, "so leave them better than before, better than they thought possible" – before leading her back to normal consciousness.
        "And you can come awake as I count backwards. Ten, nine…"
        Finally she snapped her fingers, and the woman's eyes snapped open.
        "My God."
        "Bloody hell," said Adam.
        "I…" The woman stopped, then: "I remember that poor man, but I'm not terrified by it. How can I–? That was amazing, thank you."
        Blinking, she pulled out her phone and checked the time.
        "You have to go," said Suzanne. "You've a life to lead, after all."
        "Yes." The woman stood up. "I don't–"
        "You're welcome."
        "Oh. Thank you. Just… thank you."
        Suzanne hugged her. Then the woman turned and walked out, her posture straight.
        "Did she just grow six inches taller?" asked Adam. "Or is that an illusion?"
        "Illusion," said Suzanne. "A natural one."
        "So can I get you a cappuccino or something?"
        "Perhaps I should check whether–"
        She was intending to say, whether anyone else needed help, for she had already checked his hand and seen that he was married. The ring was white gold.
        "I know someone who should see you," said Adam. "You're a professional therapist, I take it?"
        "Yes, but my client list is…"
        "My friend is very rich." Adam grinned. "If that helps."
        A vision of her bank balance swam before Suzanne.
        "I'd love a cappuccino."

    Seven hours later she was back in the same Seattle's Finest, having passed through a cleaned-up piazza – the sculpture bare of colourful plastic, but still standing – to find the same seat as this morning. Her last session had finished at four, and this was a good time to wind down and review the day. Over the counter, a thin monitor displayed a weather map, with today's statistics scrolling down one side. Nine flash whirlwinds around the country, four fatalities in all. British summer at its finest.
     
        "Suzanne."
        "Hi, Adam."
        "And this is Philip Broomhall."
        Obviously Broomhall liked gold, from the four rings on each hand to the glimpsed knife hilt as he unbuttoned his jacket. When he shook hands, she noted the way he turned his hand palm-down, seeking to dominate. Alpha male, primate behaviour. No challenge at all for someone with a brain who kept calm.
         He's a potential client, that's all.
        Adam fetched drinks while Broomhall sat down and told Suzanne that she had a good reputation, with several respected clients recommending her. He'd obviously trawled the Web to check her out. In contrast to Broomhall, Suzanne noticed the lack of a bulge at Adam's hip as he rejoined them. Weaponless but confident.
        "It's my son Richard," said Broomhall. "He's scared of everything."
        "How old is Richard?"
        "Fourteen. And a damned sight softer than I was at that age."
        Adam's mouth made a stretched sideways S. "That's what all the old guys say."
        "Well, in this case it's true. Anyhow, your clients, Dr Duchesne, say you make phobias disappear like that. A few minutes, and bang, it's gone."
        "That's right," said Suzanne. "I maintain total confidentiality. Some clients post open reviews regardless, which is very kind of them."
        She had her own downloadable statistics, digitally verified, identifying no one by name, to show the effectiveness of her work. For phobic behaviours, it was ninety-seven percent success in one short session. Broomhall had either read the results, she guessed, or employed someone to do it.
        "My son needs