The baroness sat patiently by the drawing room window for half an hour, chain-smoking while she waited for the baron. She had pinned the bluebird to the side of her hat; the bird's wings glittered as if about to take flight.
Both Hilda and Anne Marie saw the baron come in and take Vebekka's arm. They saw her withdraw from him. Eventually she gave way to his quiet persistence.
Before leaving the apartment, the baroness gave the sweetest of smiles to Hilda, then put on her dark glasses and bowed her head. But Hilda saw the fear in her eyes.
After they left, Hilda looked over the breakfast table.
"The baroness did not eat," she commented, pointing to the small balls of bread.
"She always does that, or hides food in her pocket," retorted Anne Marie.
"She seemed very frightened."
"She's always frightened, frightened of doctors, frightened of anyone in a white coat. They are going to hypnotize her, this time!" Anne Marie added.
Hilda placed the bloodstained towels into a laundry bag.
"Have you worked for them long?" she asked Anne Marie.
"Five years. I think I'm number thirteen... unlucky! Not many stay long: When she's nice, she's very very nice, but when she's bad... she can be very dangerous... I was told not to tell you, but you should know, especially since she has taken a liking to you. Don't trust her, these violent moods of hers come on without warning; she simply goes crazy, and she'll go for you like an animal. So be prepared."
Hilda pursed her lips and continued to tidy the room. Anne Marie drew the curtains. "I used to like her; she was the kindest, sweetest woman I had ever met. I also felt deeply sorry for her." She turned to Hilda. "She was exceptionally kind to me and my little daughter."
Anne Marie let the drapes fall back. "But she can be so hurtful, say such terrible things, things you cannot forget, or forgive. She can be evil, and she is very strong. So be warned, when she turns, get out — just run away from her. All the others did, but I need the money."
Anne Marie sipped the orange juice, looking at the small pellets of bread.
The Mercedes moved slowly through a group of cheering students. It was almost time for the celebrations to begin, marking the one-year anniversary since the wall had been torn down. Vebekka sat between Helen and the baron, clasping and unclasping her gloved hands. Her husband took her hand and held it tightly. "It'll be all right... no one is going to hurt you."
When she replied, her voice was almost inaudible. "It's close Louis, it feels so close, I can feel it. You should take me away from this place, please, I've never felt it so close to me before, I'm so scared."
Helen glanced at the baron, and then turned to look out of the window. Vebekka's small gloved hand reaching for hers took her by surprise. They each held one hand, as if she were a child, and they both felt her tremble.
Chapter 2
Dr. Franks' s waiting room was comfortable, with deep sofas and thick pile carpeting. The friendly receptionist offered coffee and tea, trying to put the visitors at ease.
Dr. Franks walked into the reception room in a sweater and shirt, his hands stuffed into a pair of corduroy trousers. He had been told that the baroness had a deep distrust of anyone wearing a white coat. He was sixty-nine years old. His craggy face and gnarled hands belied his sharpness; he had a warm smile and a penetrating gaze.
The baron shook Dr. Franks's hand, while Helen embraced her mentor. Dr. Franks sat beside Vebekka, and took her hand and kissed it.
"Your mustn't be afraid. Today I will spend most of my time with your husband. You will chat with my nurse and my assistant. Maybe tomorrow you and I will spend some time together. Would you like coffee? or tea?"
Vebekka kept her head down and withdrew her hand; she said nothing.
"Helen, do you want to join us?" asked Franks.
Helen bent her head to try to meet Vebekka's eyes. "Would you like me to stay with you? Vebekka?"
The baroness looked up, and her wide amber eyes met Doctor Franks's.
"I am quite capable of being left on my own, thank you."
Dr. Franks noticed the way she recoiled from Helen, as if she did not want her to touch her. He gestured to Maja, his assistant, to stay with the patient, but Vebekka did not notice. Nor did she see Maja switch on a tape machine; she was watching Dr. Franks, the baron, and Helen leave the room. Their conversation would be recorded, so that Dr. Franks could listen to it before he began his formal session with Vebekka.
There was a worn storybook on the table for the younger patients; Vebekka leaned over and slipped it under her coat. Maja pretended not to see. She sat opposite Vebekka, as the elegant woman slowly, surreptitiously began to inch the book into her purse.
"Will they be long?" the baroness asked.
Maja smiled. "Knowing Dr. franks, yes!"
The lovely throaty giggle took Maja by surprise.
"Oh, my husband won't like that, I'm supposed to be the crazy one."
Maja laughed, and Vebekka reached over and tapped her knee. "I've forgotten your name!"
"Everything you can tell me will be of importance."
The baron sat opposite Dr. Franks, asked if he could smoke and lit a cigar without waiting for a reply. Helen Masters had also drawn up a chair.
"Tell me everything you know of your wife's childhood, her relationship to her family, how many brothers and sisters, et cetera... I see from the files there is very little information."
The baron shrugged. "I know very little. I met Vebekka in Paris, in 1960, she was twenty years old. We married two years later. The year I met her, her mother died, and then a few years later her father also died. I never knew either of them. They were originally from Canada, then emigrated to Philadelphia when Vebekka was still young. She is an only child, and I have never met any relatives — she has said there is no one. All I know is that her parents were wealthy. On her father's death, Vebekka was left a considerable amount of money. When I have questioned her about her childhood she has always said it was unexceptional, but very happy... she speaks fondly of her parents."
Franks seemed to doodle on a notepad. "So your wife is not French by birth?"
"No, Canadian, but she has always spoken fluent French. Over the years I have questioned my wife to determine if any other member of her family suffered from a similar illness. We have four children..."
"Has she made any mention of mental illness in her family?"
The baron's lips tightened. "No... she is adamant about that. She cannot recall any of her immediate family ever being ill."
"Does she speak about her family?"
The baron hesitated, then shook his head. "No, she has never really discussed her family with me. In fact when I offered to accompany her to her father's funeral, she refused. Perhaps I should mention that my own family was very much against this marriage. I was the sole heir; my family felt Vebekka was not a suitable match. I was only twenty-three years old."
"Do you know if there is any way we can contact anyone who knew your wife in America?"
The baron flicked his cigar ash. "I know of no one, but if you think it is important, I can try and trace someone."
"It is of the utmost importance. I would appreciate your trying to find any medical or scholastic documents — schools, friends, anyone who knew your wife in her early childhood."
The doctor leaned back in his chair. "So you met your wife in Paris..."
"She was an in-house model for Dior. I was at a reception with my mother when we met. I asked her to dine with me, and she accepted. We were married two years later. My first son was born ten months later, in 1963. He is twenty-eight, my second son was born eighteen months after that, and my first daughter after another eighteen months. My fourth child, Sasha, is only twelve years old."