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remark of yours, in fact.’ He leaned forward and read from the notepad on his desk. ‘“Every Tuesday, Dr Dudden invites the patients at this clinic to attend one of his lectures at the university. This week, it was so boring that even the narcoleptics stayed awake all the way through.”’ He looked up. ‘Do you deny making that remark?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘You probably think that I am personally offended by it. And indeed I am: but that is not my point.’
    ‘It was only a joke.’
    ‘Oh, I can see that. Believe me, Dr Madison, I can recognize a joke when I see one. Might I ask you, then, whether you regard narcolepsy itself as – to use your own word – a joke, or whether you regard it – as I confess I do – as a serious and debilitating psychophysiological condition which causes much trauma and distress to its sufferers?’
    ‘I specialize in narcolepsy, doctor, and have done for many years. You know that full well. So I don’t see how my commitment to treating it – the seriousness of my commitment – can be called into question.’ She sighed. ‘Besides which, I assume you’re aware that cataplexy brought on by laughter is one of the syndrome’s more disturbing and socially embarrassingsymptoms. These workshops are designed to help the patients deal with that: to try to make them comfortable with their laughter again. I would have thought it obvious that humour was an absolutely essential therapeutic tool in this process.’
    ‘An ingenious explanation,’ said Dr Dudden, after a pause. ‘But not a satisfying one.’ He folded his arms and swivelled his chair slightly, so that he was no longer addressing her directly. ‘This morning, you will recall that I led a discussion group with four chronic insomniacs. Do you know what you would have heard, if you’d stood outside my door, on this occasion?’
    ‘Snoring, probably,’ said Dr Madison, before she could stop herself.
    The corners of Dr Dudden’s mouth twitched for a moment; otherwise he betrayed no emotion.
    ‘I see that sleep apnoea is also on your list of suitable topics for levity. I must make a note of that.’ He even pretended to scribble something down on his notepad, while Dr Madison looked on with growing incredulity. Then he said: ‘In point of fact, what you would have heard, if you had strained hard enough, is the sound of pencils scraping upon paper, as four Sleep Awareness Questionnaires were properly completed, and then the sound of voices talking, one at a time, in reasoned and measured tones, as the results of these questionnaires were collated and analysed.’
    Dr Madison decided she couldn’t take any more of this, and rose to her feet, hoping to escape.
    ‘I take your point, doctor. And if that will be all…’
    ‘It won’t be all, I’m afraid. Please sit down.’ He waited, pointedly, for her to settle again. ‘I’d like to remind you that you’jre expected to assist Dr Goldsmith this afternoon, in conducting the preliminary interview with Mr Worth. Is that clear?’
    ‘It may be clear, but I’m afraid that it’s quite impossible. I have several appointments scheduled already, and a considerable backlog –’
    ‘I see.’ He picked up a pencil and began tapping it on his desk, as his cheeks pinkened with vexation. ‘So you persist in your objections, do you?’
    ‘Objections, doctor?’
    ‘You’ve already made your attitude towards this admission quite clear. Or have you forgotten the conversation we had just before you left?’
    Dr Madison had not forgotten it at all, even though it had merely been the latest in their long series of increasingly heated confrontations. Dr Dudden had shown her a column from a recent weekday edition of the Independent, written by a freelance journalist called Terry Worth who worked, apparently, for a number of national newspapers: usually writing about film but sometimes branching out into more general subjects. In this column he had announced his intention of entering a