So she told him about her session with Rosie and how she’d discovered that the reason she didn’t want to give up smoking was because she didn’t really want to get married. Of course, Ellen was careful not to reveal any names, or the fact that the cancellation of the wedding would probably make the social pages of the Sydney papers. She thought it was an interesting topic of conversation that showed her in a good light.

Patrick listened intently, and then he squinted at her, as if he were trying to see through sunlight. It made him look older. He had deep lines on either side of his eyes, she guessed from all that outdoors work as a surveyor.

He said, “She’s calling off the wedding? Because of you?”

“Well, I don’t know exactly what she’s going to do next. That’s up to her. I guess I just helped her see how she really felt.”

“But imagine how that poor bloke is going to feel. Are you sure it’s not just a case of cold feet? Or maybe she’s just looking for an excuse for why she can’t give up smoking?”

Ellen felt irritated. She had been expecting fascination and even awe over what hypnotherapy could achieve. She scratched at a spot on her wrist. (Irritability always manifested itself as an itchy feeling on her right wrist, in the exact spot where she had suffered dermatitis as a child.)

“I don’t make my clients do anything,” she said. “I help them to bypass the critical factor and directly access their unconscious minds. My client had what’s called a mini ‘satori.’ It’s the Zen word for enlightenment.”

Ellen thought back to the end of her appointment with Rosie. After she had come out with the revelation about her marriage, Ellen had given her a posthypnotic suggestion: “When you come out of this trance you will feel calm and in control as you make your decisions about what you want to do next.”

When Rosie had emerged from her trance, she had blinked and immediately held up her hand to look at her engagement ring. She’d slid the ring from her finger and held it up to the light with her fingertips, looking at it curiously like it was a strange and unpleasant scientific specimen. Then she smiled at Ellen and said, “You know what? I don’t even like the ring.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply any criticism,” said Patrick. “I guess I just identify too much with the man.”

“It’s OK,” said Ellen. This was the first time there had been the slightest hint of tetchiness between them. It had to happen, she told herself. There was no need for alarm.

“I saw one of those stage shows once,” he said. “You know, where they call people out of the audience to hypnotize them. I have to admit, and I hope this doesn’t offend you, but I’m assuming stage hypnotists are very different from, you know, proper hypnotherapists like you, but the thing is, I sort of hated it.”

Ellen smiled at his guilty expression.

“That’s fine,” she said. “It’s completely different from what I do.”

“I hated the stupid looks on their faces.” He demonstrated by slumping back in his chair and letting his chin drop to his chest. He straightened back up and took a sip of his wine. “They looked so pathetic. It was like he’d drugged them and he could make them do whatever he wanted.”

“He couldn’t really. They were still in control. He just helped them lose their inhibitions,” said Ellen.

“I like to be in control,” said Patrick. “That’s why I’ve never been a big drinker, and I’ve never taken drugs. I want to be in the driver’s seat all the time, so to speak.” He paused, took another olive and then delicately placed it back down on the plate in front of him. He kept his eyes fixed on the olive. “That’s what I hate most about this thing with my ex. She’s in control. She affects my life and I don’t get any say in it and there’s not a thing I can do about it. So I’m sorry if I sometimes seem a bit weird about her. It’s just that when we’re talking about her, it’s like she’s in the room with us.”

He looked up at her with the same pleading, desperate expression of the many clients who came to her seeking a solution they didn’t really believe she was capable of providing, and Ellen experienced a sudden tiny shock of sympathy. It had been all false bravado on that first night when he’d told her about his stalker. Of course he was damaged by it: He was a stalking victim! It had been incredibly insensitive of her not to even think about this before. She had been so interested in Saskia and trying to understand her motivations she hadn’t even properly considered the potential impact on Patrick. She was behaving as if only women felt real emotions, as if men were somehow a less complex life form.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “When I was asking all those questions about Saskia I hadn’t thought about how she’s the last person you want to talk about. I mean, the way this must affect you—it must be—well, obviously I’ve got no idea what it must be like.”

Patrick was still looking at her, straight in the eyes. There was some complicated feeling he was trying to convey to her. Perhaps he was having his own mini satori.

He leaned forward. She leaned forward too. Good. He was going to share. This was going to take their relationship to a new deeper, more spiritual, more profound level.

“Do you want to go upstairs for a few minutes?” he said.

“And I think he’s going to tell me something profound and meaningful, and it turns out he just wants a quickie! With his son right there. Sex was the furthest thing from my mind!”