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in Abnormal Psychology and my Doctorate is in The Psychology of Dreams.  I have written articles for journals like The New England Journal of Medicine and The Harvard Journal of Medicine , to name a few.  I have been published in several trade magazines and beside my classes here I teach workshops in stress reduction.  There now. Tell me a little about yourself.  Do you mind if I turn the tape recorder on?”
                  Lydia nodded her assent and asked, “What do you want to know?”
                  “Where you went to school? What your interests and hobbies are?  I am sure that Dan told me that you grew up in Halifax.  Were you born in Nova Scotia?”
                  “Actually, no, I was born in Totnes, in Devon, in England, but my father and I moved to Nova Scotia when I was very young.” Lydia paused.
                  Seeing her hesitation Stokes spoke. “I want you to know that anything you say here is in confidence. You can rest assured that your privacy will be protected.”
                  Lydia heaved a sigh of relief and nodding her head urged him to continue.
                  “Tell me about your parents.”
                  “My parents were estranged.  I grew up believing my mother had died when I was five or six.  My father would not speak of her and I learned not to ask questions.” It felt good to be able to talk to someone. She felt she could trust him; tell him all the things she couldn’t tell Dan.
                  “Is your father still living?”  Stokes asked, as he scribbled on a pad of paper before him.
                  Lydia hesitated. “No, he died in a car accident in October of last year.” 
                  “I am sorry,” Stokes said.  In the momentary silence that followed, Stokes appraised the woman seated opposite; her lovely face and straight blonde hair.  ‘Maybe 5’3,”’ he estimated.  His gaze was drawn to her eyes, held fast by the incredible sadness in her china blue eyes.  He cleared his throat and said, “Please go on.”
                  The color drained from Lydia’s face; her voice became somber as she said “So many lies. He told me so many lies.”
                  “What do you mean when you say, ‘so many lies’?”
                  “My father had always told me that he had rescued me from an abusive mother. He never gave details and, I guess, I never asked for them.  When I went through his papers after his death, I found numerous letters from my mother begging him to bring me home to England, letters that were written long after she was supposed to have died.  The letters were addressed to someplace in England and forwarded on to Halifax. There were other letters, as well as Court papers.  It seems that after we came to Canada my father had our names changed.”
    Stokes picked up a pencil; then laid it down again.  His notes could wait.  “Why do you suppose he did that?”
                  “I don’t know. He never mentioned it.  I had assumed Hamilton was the family name.  I had no reason to question it, but the reason became obvious when I read the letters from Devon.  He was trying to hide me from my mother.” Exasperated, Lydia cried, “My name is not even Lydia, it is Olivia, Olivia Hays-Morely!”
                  “When did you find that out?”
                  “When I read the Court papers, he changed our names less than a year after we arrived in Nova Scotia.  He kept his own first name, Charles, but changed his last name from Hammond to Hamilton. And my name was changed completely.  My birth name was Olivia Hays-Morely.  My legal name now is Lydia Hamilton.  I am so confused and angry, so very angry that he would lie to me this way.”
                  “You mention letters from Devon. Were there others as