House of Cards (35 page)
There
were
several
cars
in
the
driveway
and
the
front door
was
open.
She
was
surprised
to
see
people
wandering around
with
apparent
freedom,
and
no
sign
of
the
formidable
white-coated
nurses
she
had
expected
to
find
patrolling
the
grounds
for
potential
escapees.
She
parked
her
car on
the
road
and
walked
cautiously
up
the
drive
towards
the door.
A
large,
tweed-suited
gentleman
with
a
white
military moustache
approached
and
her
heart
sank.
This
was
surely the
security
patrol,
and
she
had
clearly
been
spotted
as
an intruder.
'Excuse
me,
my
dear,'
he
said
in
a
clipped
accent
as
he intercepted
her
by
the
front
door.
'Have
you
seen
any member
of
staff
about?
They
like
to
keep
out
of
the
way
on family
visiting
days,
but
you
can
never
find
one
when
you want
them.'
Mattie
offered
her
apologies
and
smiled
warmly
in
relief. She
realised
that
by
good
fortune
she
had
struck
the
best possible
day
to
look
around,
and
could
lose
herself
amidst the
other
visitors.
She
picked
up
one
of
the
brochures
which
were
piled
on the
hall
table,
and
found
a
quiet
chair
on
which
to
sit
while she
inspected
it.
A
brief
glance
at
the
literature
told
her
that the
treatment
centre
was
run
on
very
different
lines
than she
had
imagined.
No
straitjackets,
no
locks
on
the
doors, just
twenty-three
well-trained
people
waiting
to
give guidance,
encouragement
and
their
medical
experience
to addicts
who
sought
help
in
an
atmosphere
resembling more
a
fashionable
country
retreat
than
an
institution. Even
more
encouragingly
for
Mattie,
the
brochure
had
a plan
of
the
thirty-two-bed
house,
which
Mattie
used
to guide
herself
around
the
premises
in
search
of
her
quarry.
She
found
him
outside
on
a
garden
bench,
enjoying
the view
across
the
valley
and
the
last
of
the
October
sun.
She wasn't
going
to
enjoy
the
deception,
but
that
is
what
she had
come
for.
'Why,
Charles!'
she
exclaimed.
'What
a
surprise
to
find you
here.'
He
looked
at
her
with
a
total
lack
of
comprehension.
‘I
...
I'm
sorry,'
he
ventured.
‘I
don't
recognise...'
'Mattie
Storin.
Don't
you
remember?
We
spent
a
most enjoyable
evening
together
in
Bournemouth
a
couple
of weeks
ago.'
'Oh,
I'm
sorry,
Miss
Storin.
I
don't
remember.
You
see, I'm
an
alcoholic,
that's
why
I'm
here,
and
I'm
afraid
I
was
in no
condition
a
few
weeks
ago
to
remember
very
much
at all.'
She
was
taken
aback
by
his
frankness,
and
he
smiled serenely.
‘P
lease
don't
be
embarrassed.
The
biggest
single
step
I've had
to
make
in
curing
myself
of
addiction
is
to
admit
that
I am
an
addict.
I
had
a
million
ways
of
hiding
it,
particularly from
myself,
and
it
was
only
when
I
was
able
to
face
myself that
I
began
being
able
to
face
the
outside
world
again. That's
what
this
treatment
centre
is
all
about.'
Mattie
suddenly
blushed
deeply.
She
realised
that
she had
intruded
into
the
private
world
of
a
sick
man,
and
she felt
ashamed.
'Charles,
if
you
don't
remember
who
I
am,
then
you
will not
remember
that
I
am
a
journalist.'
The
smile
disappeared,
to
be
replaced
by
a
look
of resignation.
‘I
suppose
it
had
to
happen
at
some
time,
although
Henry was
hoping
that
I
could
be
left
alone
here
quietly...'
'Charles,
please
let
me
explain.
I've
not
come
here
to make
life
difficult
for
you,
and
when
I
leave
here
your privacy
will
continue
to
be
respected
so
far
as
I
am concerned.
I
think
the
press
owe
you
that.'
‘I
think
they
probably
do...'
'But
I
would
like
your
help.
Don't
say
anything
for
the moment,
just
let
me
talk
a
little.' He
nodded
in
encouragement.
'Your
brother,
the
Prime
Minister,
has
been
forced to
resign
because
of
allegations
that
he
helped
you
to speculate
in
shares
and
make
a
quick
profit.'
He
started
to
wave
his
hand
to
bring
her
to
a
halt
but
she pressed
on.
'Charles,
none
of
those
allegations
make
any
sense
to me.
You
and
your
brother
risking
the
office
of
Prime Minister
for
a
measly
few
thousand
pounds
-
it
doesn't add
up.
What's
more,
I
also
know
that
someone
has
deliberately
been
trying
to
undermine
your
brother
for
some
time by
leaking
damaging
material
to
the
press.
But
I
only
have suspicions.
I
came
to
see
if
you
could
point
me
towards something
more
tangible.'
