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CHAPTER THIRTY
BARBIE’S HOUSE WAS ONE OF SEVERAL ACROSS the road from Hampstead Heath, overlooking one of the ponds. It was large and, given its location, probably fantastically overpriced.
Barbie had lived in Hampstead for several years before Gabriel and Alicia moved in next door. Her ex-husband was an investment banker and had commuted between London and New York until they divorced. He found himself a younger, blonder version of his wife—and Barbie got the house. “So everyone was happy,” she said with a laugh. “Particularly me.”
Barbie’s house was painted pale blue, in contrast to the other houses on the street, which were white. Her front garden was decorated with little trees and potted plants.
Barbie greeted me at the door. “Hi, honey. I’m glad you’re on time. That’s a good sign. This way.”
She led me through the hallway to the living room, talking the entire time. I only partially listened and took in my surroundings. The house smelled like a greenhouse; it was full of plants and flowers— roses, lilies, orchids, everywhere you looked. Paintings, mirrors, and framed photographs were crammed together on the walls; little statues, vases, and other objets d’art competed for space on tables and dressers. All expensive items, but crammed together like this, they looked like junk. Taken as a representation of Barbie’s mind, it suggested a disordered inner world, to say the least. It made me think of chaos, clutter, greed—insatiable hunger. I wondered what her childhood had been like.
I shifted a couple of tasseled cushions to make room and sat on the uncomfortable large sofa. Barbie opened a drinks cabinet and pulled out a couple of glasses.
“Now, what do you want to drink? You look like a whiskey drinker to me. My ex-husband drank a gallon of whiskey a day. He said he needed it to put up with me.” She laughed. “I’m a wine connoisseur, actually. I went on a course in the Bordeaux region in France. I have an excellent nose.”
She paused for breath and I took the opportunity to speak while I had the chance. “I don’t like whiskey. I’m not much of a drinker ... just the odd beer, really.”
“Oh.” Barbie looked rather annoyed. “I don’t have any beer.”
“Well, that’s fine, I don’t need a drink—”
“Well, I do, honey. It’s been one of those days.”
Barbie poured herself a large glass of red wine and curled up in the armchair as if she were
settling in for a good chat. “I’m all yours.” She smiled flirtatiously. “What do you want to know?” “I have couple of questions, if that’s all right.”
“Well, fire away.”
“Did Alicia ever mention seeing a doctor?”
“A doctor?” Barbie seemed surprised by the question. “You mean a shrink?”
“No, I mean a medical doctor.”
“Oh, well, I don’t...” Barbie hesitated. “Actually, now that you mention it, yes, there was
someone she was seeing....”
“Do you know the name?”
“No, I don’t—but I remember I told her about my doctor, Dr. Monks, who’s just incredible. He