‘They are being supervised, you know,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘The children. They’re being supervised. There’s always at least two teachers in attendance during playtime.’
‘No, I wasn’t …’ he began, but shook his head, not bothering to continue the sentence.
‘Anyway,’ she said, her voice loud, sharp and hectoring now. ‘This morning, between classes, Jupiter went over to Daniel while he was talking with some of the other boys, threw her arms around him and kissed him. On the lips. I suppose she’d seen someone do that on television or in a movie and—’
‘She kissed him?’
‘Yes. Only for a moment. The poor boy was mortified, particularly as the other boys immediately started to laugh at him, and that’s when he did it. When he slapped her, I mean.’
‘Jesus.’
‘Indeed.’
‘And was she badly hurt?’
‘Well, no. I don’t think the attack was particularly brutal. There was a red mark on her cheek afterwards, of course, but I think she was more shocked than anything else. Not to mention humiliated.’
‘I suppose you’re going to tell me now that her parents are planning on suing me. Or you. Or the school.’
‘Oh no,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Quite the opposite, in fact. They made a point of saying that they believe America has become far too litigious a society and that they have no intention of going down that road.’
‘Thank God for that.’
‘Yes, I echo your sentiments there. The last thing St Joseph’s needs is a costly lawsuit. The attendant publicity alone could be ruinous. No, what they want is for Daniel and Jupiter to attend a couple’s counselling session together.’
‘You’re kidding me, right?’
‘No, not at all.’
‘They’re seven. And they’re not a couple.’
‘It’s a figure of speech, Mr Swift. A forum where they can air their grievances aloud. Jupiter’s parents like to talk, you see. They talk a lot. They never stop talking, if you follow my meaning.’
‘And what if I say no?’ asked Maurice. ‘What if I say that I don’t like the idea of my son seeing a shrink at such a young age?’
‘Well, that would be entirely up to you, of course,’ said Mrs Lane, picking up a fountain pen from her desk and removing the cap before tapping the nib against a piece of blotting paper in what Maurice took to be a nervous gesture. ‘But my advice would be to go ahead with the session, if only to appease them. I can’t imagine it would do any harm and it might do a lot of good. After that, I expect the entire matter will be put to bed.’
‘Fine,’ said Maurice, who had no particular opinion on psychotherapy one way or the other but was happy to do what was necessary if it meant that he could leave her office soon. ‘One session?’
‘One session, yes. It might be useful for Daniel, anyway,’ she added, and Maurice could tell that she was choosing her words carefully now because her speech pattern had slowed down and she wasn’t looking him in the eye. ‘One wonders, after all, where he picked up such behaviour.’
‘Like you said,’ said Maurice. ‘From TV. Or a movie. Although I don’t allow him a lot of screen time and he never really wants any. We’re readers in our family.’
‘That’s good. Yes, Miss Willow says that Daniel loves books. And that he’s a very good writer too.’
‘He has a terrific imagination,’ said Maurice. ‘I don’t know where he gets it from.’
‘Well, you, most likely,’ she replied. ‘You’re a writer, aren’t you?’
He didn’t reply.
Discomfited, she hesitated, replacing the cap on her fountain pen and returning it to a stand with holes for a dozen more, almost all of which were empty. ‘There’s nothing going on at home that you’d like to discuss with me?’
Maurice smiled. It was obvious what she was getting at. ‘I don’t hit him, if that’s what you’re getting at,’ he said. ‘I’ve never laid a finger on the boy.’
‘I wasn’t suggesting that you had. And Daniel hasn’t witnessed any violence against women, I suppose?’
‘I’m a widower, Mrs Lane,’ said Maurice. ‘I thought you knew that.’
‘I do. But am I correct in thinking that Daniel’s mother died many years ago?’
‘No, that’s not correct.’
‘It’s not?’ she said, frowning. ‘But in your file, it says that—’
‘My late wife wasn’t Daniel’s mother,’ he explained. ‘Daniel was conceived through a surrogate after Edith died. I wanted a child but didn’t want to share my life with a woman and, as my career began to take off around the same time, I did what I had to do in order to become a father.’
‘I see,’ said Mrs Lane, looking as if she wanted to extract every juicy detail that could be offered but was uncertain whether she could ask or not. ‘That was very selfless of you, Mr Swift.’
‘No it wasn’t,’ he replied, shaking his head. ‘Had I gone to an orphanage in China or India and rescued a baby from a life of poverty, then that would have been selfless. But I didn’t do that. I paid a woman a lot of money to carry a baby for me and hand him over the moment he was born, then disappear from our lives. It was an entirely selfish act in some ways but one that I was happy to commit.’
Mrs Lane’s mouth opened and closed like a fish’s.
‘So, going back to your original question, I presume you were asking whether I have girlfriends over to stay and, if I do, whether I smack them around. Perhaps you’re wondering whether it’s a sexual fetish on my part and Daniel has had the misfortune of walking into my bedroom in the middle of the night to find some woman naked on my bed and me fucking her from behind while she’s tied up? No, would be the answer to all such queries. I don’t have girlfriends and I don’t expose my son to anything like that. That part of my life has been over since before we came to New York. My writing and my son are all that I need.’
‘That must be …’ Mrs Lane searched for the right word. ‘You must have loved your wife very much,’ she said. ‘To swear off all other women after her death. Particularly when you’re so … so …’
‘So what?’ he asked, smiling a little.
‘Well you’re a … you’re not an unattractive man, Mr Swift. Obviously, I don’t mean anything by that. I’m a happily married woman.’
‘You’ve gone quite red,’ he said.
‘It’s the heat.’
Maurice smiled again.
‘But don’t you get lonely?’ she asked, leaning forward.
‘No. Why, do you?’
Mrs Lane’s expression changed suddenly and her cheeks flushed even more. ‘I mean … no,’ she said. ‘I have … there’s so much to keep me occupied, what with … And Mr Lane has his business and—’
‘People seem to think that a life is worthless unless it’s shared with someone,’ said Maurice with a sigh. ‘But why must that be the case? I’ve been married, I know what the experience is like, and while there were certainly times when it was pleasurable there were just as many times when I wished that I was alone, not answerable to anyone, not needing to account for my every movement throughout the day. When Edith died, I promised myself that I would never get involved with anyone again. I don’t much like women, if I’m honest. But don’t get me wrong, I’m not some tragic misogynist. I don’t much like men either. I’m an equal-opportunities hater, so to speak. And as for sex, well, it never really interested me, not even when I was young. I could never quite see the point of it, if I’m honest. And, you’ll forgive me for sounding immodest, but I know that I’m good-looking. Throughout my life, both men and women have made their interest in me obvious. But I can’t control any of that. It was simply the way I was born. Ultimately, it means nothing. I could have a heart of stone for all they know. I could be a psychopath or a sociopath. Not all monsters look like the Elephant Man, and not everyone who looks like the Elephant Man is a monster. So I don’t really think about sex that often, although, strangely enough, it’s very present in my work. Have you read any of my novels, Mrs Lane?’