Entwined

Chapter 6

Grimaldi left the Grand Hotel, unable to find Ruda. He walked awhile, then caught a bus back to the circus.

Baron Marechal and Helen remained in the hotel bar. The baron apologized for having left Helen to wait for so long. She said no apology was necessary, because if he needed to speak with Dr. Franks alone, he should be able to do so. He kissed her hand, saying that her understanding never ceased to amaze him.

"She is so much better, Louis, did you notice? Perhaps tomorrow she will be able to see Dr. Franks; sooner than we hoped."

The baron sipped his drink, placing it carefully on the paper napkin. "He knows that the present situation cannot continue."

The manager approached their table, and excused the intrusion. The baron half rose from his seat, his face drained of color. "Is it my wife?"

The manager handed the baron an envelope containing a number of faxes. Helen saw the relief on Louis's face as he tipped the manager lavishly, opening the envelope. He read through the five sheets, passing them on to Helen.

There was no record of a Vebekka Lynsey in Philadelphia. The woman who had once run the modeling agency that had employed Vebekka confirmed that her name was Rebecca. Checks on Rebecca Lynsey in Philadelphia produced no results. Two women who had once modeled for the same agency had been tracked down. They did recall Rebecca, and one thought her last name was Goldberg, but could not be absolutely sure. She had shared a room with Rebecca, and remembered her receiving letters addressed in that name.

A Mr. and Mrs. Ulrich Goldberg had subsequently been traced in Philadelphia, and although they had no direct connection to the baroness, they were able to give further details. Ulrich Goldberg's cousin, Dieter (David) Goldberg, had run a successful fur business until 1967. David and his wife, Rosa, had arrived in Philadelphia from Canada in the late fifties. They had one daughter, Rebecca. Was Rebecca Goldberg Vebekka Lynsey? Ulrich Goldberg, when shown recent photographs of Vebekka, was unable to state that they were definitely of her, but admitted there was a great similarity.

According to Ulrich Goldberg, Rebecca was last seen in January 1972 at her father's funeral. She had been distant and evasive, speaking briefly to only a handful of mourners, and had departed very quickly. No one had heard from her since. A number of photographs taken when she was about ten or twelve years old were being forwarded by Federal Express.

Mr. and Mrs. Goldberg had arrived in the United States from Germany in the late 1930s. They knew that David Goldberg's wife was born in Berlin, and that she was or had been a doctor. When she had married and emigrated to Canada was something of a mystery. Although the two Goldberg families were related, Ulrich admitted that he and his wife had not been on close terms with David Goldberg — and found his wife a very cold, distant woman.

The baron finished reading the last page and handed it to Helen. She read it in silence, then folded the fax sheets and replaced them in their envelope. The baron lit a cigar, and turned to her.

"This could all be inaccurate. These are not from a detective, he's my chauffeur!"

Helen paused, and then chose her words carefully. "The date of the funeral, is that when Vebekka left Paris?"

The baron frowned, but after a moment nodded.

Helen spoke quietly. "First you have to deal with the cover-up or lies. For reasons we don't know, she simply didn't want you to know anything about her family, but if she is Rebecca Goldberg, and her mother was born in Berlin, we can do some detective work of our own. Maybe there are relatives still living here, or someone who knew them. We could try to trace them."

The baron pinched the bridge of his nose; all this was too much for him to take in.

"Perhaps the reason, or a possible reason, was that your family were against your marrying Vebekka," Helen suggested. Would Vebekka's Jewishness have been one of the reasons why the baron's family disapproved of the marriage? She decided not to broach the subject. She sipped her drink. Perhaps, as Louis had said, this was all a misunderstanding. But if Louis was hesitant to check out this Goldberg connection, there was no reason why she shouldn't.

Hilda had almost finished a sleeve and was beginning to check the measurements when Vebekka opened her eyes. Slowly she turned to face Hilda and smiled.

"Have I been sleeping long?"

Hilda nodded, said it was after two, but that she needed sleep. Hilda helped her from bed, and wrapped a robe around her thin shoulders. She walked her to the bathroom, where big towels were warming on the rails. She had to help her into the bath, but Vebekka slid into the soap- and perfume-filled water with a sigh of pleasure.

Hilda gently toweled Vebekka dry when she was done, feeling protective and motherly as the thin frame rested against her. Vebekka seemed loath to let her go, clinging to her as they returned to the bedroom. Then the baroness sat in front of her mirror and opened one of her vanity cases.

"I need my hair done, Hilda."

Hilda said that she would try, but was not sure how to go about it. Vebekka giggled while taking out small pots and brushes.

"No no — my roots, I need my roots done. See, the gray hair is showing!"

Hilda watched as Vebekka mixed her color. "It's called Raven. It looks purple, but it comes out black."

While Vebekka parted her hair and clipped sections, Hilda brushed the thick purplish liquid into the hairline. Then Hilda sat and waited: the tint had to be left on for twenty minutes. Meanwhile, Vebekka manicured her hands, put cream on her elbows and neck, then on her legs and on her arms.

Together they returned to the bathroom and Hilda shampooed and washed out the tint. Then she wrapped a towel around the clean, tinted head and they returned to the bedroom. Next Vebekka directed Hilda to hold the dryer while she used the brush.

"I'm young again, Hilda, see? You were very good... now I want to look beautiful, a little makeup, rouge..."

Hilda was fascinated at the transformation; then she helped the baroness into a silk and lace robe, so delicate it floated when Vebekka moved, the lace on the sleeves trailing as in medieval costumes.

Hilda ordered a light luncheon, boiled fish, some milk and vegetables, and she was pleased to see that Vebekka ate every morsel. Just as she was ringing for room service to take the table away, the baron entered to find his wife sitting like a princess at the window. His face broke into a smile of delight. "You look wonderful! And you have eaten? Good, good... do you feel better?"

Hilda left them alone and went into the main bedroom to tidy the room and make the bed. Louis bent to kiss Vebekka's cheek; she smelled sweet and fresh, her hair gleamed like silk. She smiled, and looked up into his concerned face. "Did you come in to see me earlier?"

"No, I had a drink with Helen. If you need her she is in her room."

Vebekka cocked her head."Well, don't you two get too cozy!"

He turned away, irritated.

"I was just teasing you, Louis. It was just — well, strange. I was sure someone came in... maybe I was dreaming."

With her husband's help she stood up, clinging to his hand. "I think I will rest for a while now. You don't have to stay, I have Hilda. Maybe Helen would like to go sightseeing, she must be very bored."

They walked slowly to the bedroom, and suddenly she leaned against him. "Remember in that old movie with Merle Oberon, when she said: 'Take me... take me to the window, I want to see the moors one last time!' "

Vebekka did such a good impersonation of the dying heroine from Wuthering Heights that she made Louis laugh; he swept her into his arms and gently carried her to the bed.

The baron stood by watching as Hilda fluffed up her pillows, remained watching as Hilda gently drew the sheet around her, and then let the drapes close, leaving the room in semidarkness.

Hilda asked if she might take a break for an hour. He nodded, dismissing her with an incline of his head, and sat in the chair she had vacated.

Vebekka lay with her eyes closed, as though unaware of his presence. She was so still she could have been laid out at a funeral home, the perfect makeup, the long dark lashes, her hair framing her beautiful face. He took out his gold cigarette case, patted his pockets for his lighter, and kept his eyes on her as he clicked it open. She didn't stir. He inhaled deeply and let the smoke drift from his mouth to form a perfect circle above his head. Had she woven all these lies about herself? Why? He couldn't think of a reason for not telling him — unless she was ashamed, but ashamed of what?

The more he stared at her, the more unanswered questions crossed his mind. Was it his fault? He could hear her now, as if she were saying it to him now.

"My father's dead. I have to go to America to see to the funeral."

She had said it so matter-of-factly, as if suggesting she fly to New York for a fitting. He had asked if she wished him to accompany her and she had smiled, shaking her head, reminding him that he was flying to Brazil for a polo game. He could remember his relief at not having to alter his plans. He was not in Paris when she returned, and so the funeral was not really discussed. She had bought many gifts for the children and for him, and had laughed at her extravagance, saying she was surprised at how much her father had left her. Louis knew it was a considerable amount, because his own lawyers had called to discuss the matter, but she had been disinterested in the money, as he was. She had been happy, she had been well — above all, happy.

These episodes always remained vivid to him, because when Vebekka was happy, the whole family's spirits lifted. When she was energized, she would arrange surprise outings and parties, like a child. Her good spirits would extend beyond the family circle. She would organize dinner parties, get dressed for masked balls...

As a hostess she was a delight, she would make everyone feel immediately at ease.

He leaned forward, noting in the semidarkness the contours of her face. The way her long exquisite fingers rested like an angel's, one hand on top of the other — the perfect nails, her tiny wrists. It was hard to believe that those long tapering delicate hands could become vicious claws.

Louis mulled over his conversations with Dr. Franks. Was he in some way to blame? In the stillness of the room he could honestly ask himself if he was guilty. Louis asked himself why the glimpses of sun in her life were so short-lived now, so rare, and why when she changed, there was such anguish.

He got up to stub out his cigarette. From the dressing table he looked at the still sleeping woman; she had not moved. He had to think not just of himself, but of Sasha, and the boys; they too had suffered, they had been forced to care for her, watch out for the signs. His eldest daughter had retreated into a busy social life that left little time for home. The boys had drawn very close to each other. The real hurt was to his younger daughter; she was so much younger than the others that she had seen fewer good periods.

Louis would perhaps never know the true extent of the damage to his children. He sighed. It would be easy, slip the pillow from the side of the bed, press it to her face, and it would be over. No one could say he had not been driven to it, that she did not deserve it.

She stirred, her hands fluttered, lifted a moment, and then rested again. She turned her head toward Louis, and slowly opened her eyes. He wondered if she knew he was there, wondered if anyone could understand what it was like to turn to someone you loved and face a stranger — and worse, be afraid. That awful moment of awareness when he knew it was happening. When the face he loved became distorted — the mouth he kissed pulled back like an animal — the voice he loved, snarled — and the gentle arms lashed out like steel traps.

Louis pressed his back against the dressing table and watched. Was he about to see the transformation now? The slender arms stretched, and she moaned softly, then smiled, with such sweetness.

"How long have you been there?"

"Not long," he lied, and sat on the edge of her bed.

"Where's Hilda?"

"She's having a break."

"She's so sweet."

"How do you feel?"

"Good, refreshed. Where's Helen?"

"I don't know, maybe shopping."

She sat up and shook her head. "We did my hair, Hilda and I. What time is it?"

She looked at her bedside clock, then threw back the sheet. "We can call Sasha and the boys."

He watched her slip her feet into slippers, and then yawn, lifting her arms above her head. "I feel hungry, I am ravenous!"

Louis hesitated, then told himself not to draw back now, to go through with it. "I'm glad you feel better, and hungry. Dr. Franks will be pleased, too."

He saw the catlike reaction as her eyes narrowed. He continued: "Franks is waiting for me to call him, he said that I should contact him as soon as you recovered."

"Really?" she said flatly.

"Yes. So, my dear, shall I call him?"

She pursed her lips. "Oh, I can't see him yet. I'm still too weak. Can you get Hilda for me?"

Louis opened the drapes, forced himself not to back off, not this time. "Shall I tell Dr. Franks perhaps tomorrow?"

"Oh, I don't know. Is Anne Marie in?"

Louis crossed over to her and took her hand. "Come and sit down. I'll get Hilda and Anne Marie, but first we need to talk."

She sat on the dressing table stool, looking up at him.

"I'm going to call Dr. Franks, right now. What shall I tell him?"

She hunched her shoulders. "I can't see him for a while."

He sighed and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "What does that mean? A day? two days? a week? How long do you expect us all to wait around here? This is the reason..."

She retorted angrily, interrupting him: "I know why we came, and I have agreed to see him, but not just yet!"

When Louis suggested they ask Franks to come and see her later in the afternoon, she snapped: "I have to rest."

Louis walked to the door, saying he would call him anyway.

"I don't want to see him, I've changed my mind. Besides I feel as if I am getting stronger. Without all those pills that wretched woman makes me take, my system is getting cleansed. I am detoxifying; it's a slow process, I am bound to have some withdrawal symptoms and..."

"That's right, keep on with the excuses, but this time I am not taking no for an answer. If you want to stay here a month I'll arrange it, but you are going to Dr. Franks."

"Don't be so nasty with me, why are you being so nasty?"

"For God's sake, I am not being nasty, you are being childish. I'll call him now."

"No."

He looked at her, opening the door.

"I said no."

He slammed the door shut — hard. "Vow have no say in the matter, do you understand?"

"I won't see him."

Louis crossed the room and gripped her arm. "You will see him, do you hear me? You will see him, we agreed, you agreed and you cannot change your mind now."

"Why not? It's my mind."

He released her arm. "Right now it is! But for how long? I've told you, this is the last time, it's your last chance."

"Don't you mean yours?"

He had to control his temper. "We have nothing left, Bekki, you and I both know it. I am doing this for you — not for me, for you."

"Liar! You want me certified and dumped."

"I don't want to fight with you, Bekki, I want to help you. Can't you understand? That is all I have ever wanted to do — help you."

She stared at him, angrily. He kept his voice low, trying to be controlled. "You need help, you know it. If not for me..."

"Oh shut up! I've heard that one too many times." She mimicked him: "If not for me, do it for yourself."

She turned on him. "This is for you, Louis, I am here is this bloody awful country for you, you want to get rid of me, don't you think I know it? Well, one, I will not give you a divorce; two, I will go to see Dr. Franks when I feel up to going to see him, in my own time when I feel fit and well enough, and I will not be pressured by you, or by that whore Helen, I will not be forced into seeing this crank because you want to get rid of me and run off with that tart."

"You mean Helen? For God's sake, she is your friend, your doctor — and, Bekki, I am not running anywhere, I never have before, and I don't intend to now."

"But you are leaving me?... Aren't you? You've decided, haven't you?"

She plucked a tissue from its container and wiped her face, slowly removing her makeup. She had only dressed and made herself look pretty for him. She murmured under her breath about Helen again.

"Helen has nothing to do with any decision I make!"

She smiled. "Ah, you are making a decision all by yourself, are you? Well, that is a change."

He refused to be drawn into an argument, and their eyes met in the mirror.

"No, Bekki, you make the decision this time, it is up to you. If you refuse to see Dr. Franks, then..."

She held his gaze with a defiant stare. "Then what?"

"You cannot return to the children."

"They are old enough to make their own decision." She said it with defiance, but he could see her eyes were beginning to flick, to blink rapidly.

"Sasha is not!"

Her hands trembled and she began to twist the tissue, but she didn't look away from him.

"You can't do that to me! I love Sasha, she needs me."

"You give me no alternative. I've told you, this is your last chance."

He walked out. Even after he had closed the door, he felt as if her eyes were on him. He poured a brandy, his hands shaking as he lifted the glass. Would she begin throwing things, screaming, was she going to come hurtling out of the bedroom? The brandy hit the back of his throat, warming him. He poured himself some more, and then froze. The telephone extension rang once, he knew she was making a call, and he banged the glass down — breaking the stem. Was she calling Sasha? He hurried to the bedroom, about to fling open the door. He could hear her talking; he pressed his head to the door to listen.

Vebekka's palms were sweating, small beads of perspiration glistened on her brow. She gripped the telephone tighter, afraid she would unconsciously put it down.

"Dr. Franks? This is Baroness Marechal, I..."

She could hear him breathing, then ask how she was, and she had to swallow once, twice before she could reply. "I am very much better..."

"Good, I am glad to hear it."

The sweating made her feel weak, her whole body shook. Her hair was wringing wet.

"Hello? Baroness?... Hello?"

Dr. Franks could hardly hear her, but he knew she was still on the line. "Are you experiencing any adverse effects? Any withdrawal symptoms? Baroness?"

"Sweating, I am sweating."

She gasped, and had to reach for the dressing table top to steady herself; she felt as if she were going to faint.

"That is only to be expected. You must drink, can you hear me? You must drink as much water as possible, keep drinking. Would you like me to come and see you?"

"No!"

Franks couldn't hear her. He asked again. "I can be with you in half an hour. Would you like me to come to see you?"

There was a long pause. He could not tell if she was still on the line or not.

She whispered. "I would like to come and see you."

"Pardon? I can't hear you?"

"I want you to help me, I want to come to you."

"That is good, I can arrange for you to have the entire morning. Shall we say nine in the morning?"

"Thank you." She replaced the phone carefully; it felt heavy. Her hands clasped tightly together, Vebekka felt nothing but fear.

Louis was elated that Vebekka had called Franks herself. He had not expected her to have the strength. He called down to the desk to ask for Hilda to come to their suite immediately. He then called Anne Marie to check on his wife.

The baron was banking on Dr. Franks, as if on a miracle cure; it was naive of him, and he knew it. But even if Franks could not help Vebekka, at least the baron could honestly tell himself that he had tried. And then he could, without guilt, have her placed in an institution. He no longer had regrets, it was the only choice he had.

From the open door to her bedroom, he watched for a brief moment as Anne Marie tended to Vebekka. He could see that her nightgown was sodden, her face dripping with sweat, and she was mumbling incoherently. The baron saw Anne Marie check his wife's pulse, then take her temperature. He continued to watch as Vebekka struggled a moment, her arms thrashing at her sides, and then she grew listless, still sweating profusely. He turned away as Anne Marie began to remove his wife's nightgown. Vebekka seemed unaware of the nurse, and when Anne Marie realized the baron was watching she hesitated, the gown half removed.

Louis bowed his head. "I'll be in the foyer if you need me."

He didn't go to the foyer, but to the small bar at the rear of the hotel's reception. There was no mistress for him to run to; instead, he sat hunched in the corner of the bar with a cognac.

Vebekka seemed grateful when Hilda bustled in and quickly began to help Anne Marie change the bed linen. They placed cold compresses on her brow. Bottles of mineral water were brought up. Hilda encouraged her to drink as much as possible. Vebekka began to shiver, and more blankets were piled on top of the comforter.

Hilda sat close by the bed, wringing out the cold compress. Vebekka had gone from shivering with cold to sweating with fever. At least she was sleeping deeply now, but Hilda grew more and more concerned. She gestured for Anne Marie to take Vebekka's pulse. It was rapid, but nothing to be too concerned about. Anne Marie felt the skin on the underside of Vebekka's wrist. There was a shiny area of skin, whiter than the rest of her skin, and she pointed it out to Hilda.

"What is that mark on her wrist from?" Hilda asked.

Anne Marie whispered: "She told me it was a burn, but it looks more like a skin graft." She continued whispering as she pointed out that it was the same wrist Vebekka had cut the night they had arrived. She smirked, suggesting that perhaps Vebekka had attempted it before. Hilda said nothing, she could see that the fresh wound was already healing, but the white, neat scar tissue was higher up, about four inches from the base of the baroness's palm.

It was just after four when Vebekka woke, and she reached out for Hilda's hand, struggled to sit up, drank thirstily from a glass Hilda held, then rested back on the pillows. She looked to the window, asked for it to be opened, she wanted some fresh air. Hilda obliged. "Is this too much?"

"No, it feels good, has it stopped raining?"

"Yes, just! But there are dark clouds, I think there could be a storm."

Suddenly Vebekka's body went rigid and blinding colors flashed across her brain. Hilda rushed to her side. "What is it? What is it?"

The thin hands clenched the sheets, her body seemed caught in a spasm, and Hilda ran out to call for Anne Marie.

The colors screamed in her head, red... blood red... green... they were coming fast, flashes of brilliant reds, greens, and blues. When Hilda and Anne Marie returned, they saw Vebekka struggling to stand up, she kept repeating "Up!.. Up!"

They could not restrain her; she kept pushing them away. Then, as quickly as the spasm had begun, it stopped. She flopped back onto the pillows, clutching her head as if in agony. Hilda tried to put an ice-cold cloth on her brow but she swiped at her, screamed for her to get away, to stay away from her.

Hilda stepped back, frightened by the force of that skinny arm. Shocked, she looked to Anne Marie, who was standing back, nowhere near the thrashing figure.

"Should we call someone?" Hilda asked.

Anne Marie walked out of the room, warning over her shoulder for Hilda to stay away from the bed. Vebekka was rubbing at her hair, banging her head with her fists.

"Stop it. Stop it. Make it stop, please God make it stop!"

The colors hammered, flashed, and she couldn't get her breath. Panting and gasping, she reached out to Hilda, trying to get hold of her. Anne Marie came back with the straitjacket, unwrapping it from its plastic case. "The doctor should be here now, never mind her husband!"

Hilda stood by the bed, her arms open wide, protecting Vebekka. "No... no... don't put that on her, I won't let you!"

Anne Marie looked at the bed, and tossed the jacket aside.

"They shouldn't have taken her off the sedatives, this has happened before! Well, I am not taking any responsibility, she'll attack you."

Vebekka begged Hilda to get rid of Anne Marie, to make her get out of the room. Anne Marie looked to Hilda, as if to say It is up to you!

Vebekka wouldn't let Hilda go. "I'm here, dear, it's all right. Hilda's right here with you."

Anne Marie stormed out while Hilda stayed with Vebekka, calming her, stroking her hair, saying over and over that she was there, that she wasn't going to leave her. The thin arms relaxed and Vebekka rested her head against Hilda's shoulder.

"Oh God help me, what is it? What happens to me? Hilda, Hilda!"

Hilda coaxed her to lie back on the pillows, and Vebekka didn't struggle, she was too exhausted. She whispered, like a frightened child. "It is closer... it is so close, I can't make it go away."

Hilda made soft shushing sounds, as if to a little girl. "What is it? What are you frightened of? Is it something in the room?"

"I don't know. Something possesses me, controls me, and I can't fight it anymore, I'm so tired... so tired."

Hilda continued stroking Vebekka's hair. "What do you think it is? If you tell me, then maybe it won't be so frightening."

Vebekka turned away, curling her knees up, her arms wrapped around herself. How could she answer when she didn't know? All she knew was that it was closer than it had ever been before.

Hilda shut the window, drew the drapes, and in the semidarkness returned to the bedside, bending down to try to see Vebekka's face. She talked softly the whole time, saying she was there, nothing could come into the room, nothing in the room could frighten her. She stood by the bed, waiting, but Vebekka didn't move. Eventually, Hilda crept out, pulling the door behind her silently.

Hilda stood in the empty lounge, not knowing what she should do — stay or try to find the baron or Helen Masters. She looked at her watch — it was almost five — she looked to Anne Marie's closed door, back to the bedroom. The suite was silent, she could hear the clock ticking on the marble mantel, but outside the passing cars tooted, the noise of traffic drawing up outside the hotel was loud and intrusive, and she was afraid the sounds would wake Vebekka.

Hilda crossed to draw the wooden shutters closed. They were heavy and she moved from one window to the next before she lifted the fine white drapes to look into the street below. Hilda's hand was on the shutter when she saw a solitary figure. She could not see whether it was a man or woman, because a car drew up and obscured her view. The driver appeared to say something to the dark figure, who bent down, then straightened up, gesturing for the car to drive on. Hilda could tell now that it was a woman, but her hair was drawn back tightly from her face. The collar of her thick overcoat was turned up... but what caught Hilda's attention was the way the figure seemed to be staring toward the hotel, her head moving very slightly from side to side, as if looking from window to window, floor to floor. At any moment now she would face Hilda, and Hilda could catch a better view of her — but just then the doors to the suite were thrown open.

Helen Masters strode in, and asked brusquely if the baron was with his wife.

As Hilda turned back to close the shutters, the woman on the pavement below had vanished. "No, Dr. Masters, he is not."

At that precise moment the baron walked in. Helen smiled a greeting; the baron seemed a little unsteady on his feet.

"I called your room, have you been shopping?"

"No, Louis, you must come with me. I've traced a woman, a relative of David Goldberg's wife. She said she would see us."

"Excuse me, Baron..."

They both turned to Hilda, as if only then realizing she was in the room. When Hilda nervously related the earlier events, the baron slumped into a chair, then turned to Helen.

"She called Franks herself, this afternoon, said she would see him tomorrow!" Louis opened the bedroom door, went into the darkened room.

Helen asked if Anne Marie was with Vebekka, but Hilda shook her head. She was twisting her hands anxiously. Helen went to her side.

"Are you all right, did she frighten you?"

Hilda whispered to Helen that she would like to speak with her, that she did not mean to say more than she should, but felt Helen should know what Anne Marie's intentions had been.

Helen moved her further away from the bedroom, patting Hilda's shoulder. "It's all right, you can tell me... I want to know what happened, it's very important."

Briefly, and in a hushed voice, Hilda related to Helen the story of the straitjacket.

Louis bent down to try to see Vebekka's face; she appeared to be sleeping. He gave a featherlike touch to her head and then joined Helen. "She's sleeping."

Helen gestured for him to come close, repeated everything Hilda had told her. Louis strode to Anne Marie's room, knocked and without waiting for an answer, entered and closed the door behind him.

Anne Marie looked up from her book, flustered, trying to straighten her blouse.

"I would like you to leave, you can arrange a flight at the reception desk."

He opened his wallet, and before Anne Marie had time to reply, he left a thick wad of folded bills on her bed. She snapped her book closed, wanting obviously to discuss the matter, but he walked out. She stared at the money, her lips pursed, then counted it, looked at the closed door and swore under her breath.

They were both sitting in the lounge when Anne Marie came out of her room, with case packed and coat over her arm. Her face was tight with anger. "Thank you for your generosity, Baron. Perhaps when you return to Paris, you would be kind enough to give me a letter of recommendation."

The baron threw the straitjacket at her feet.

"There will be no letter of recommendation."

Anne Marie stepped over the straitjacket, and crossed to the suite's double doors. She opened the righthand side, about to walk out without a word, but then she turned back.

"I would be most grateful for a letter, I will require one for future employment!"

Helen put her hand out to restrain Louis. Anne Marie looked at them both with disdain.

"I would be only too pleased to give you a letter of recommendation to have the baroness certified! She should have been, years ago! Dr. Franks is just another quack, another fool who'll take your money like the rest of them. There is no cure, it is a fantasy... your wife, Baron, is insane! She has been since I have been in your employment. She will kill someone, and that will be entirely your fault!"

Helen's restraining hand was pushed aside as the baron strode across the room. "You had better leave before I throw you out. Get out!"

"As you wish, Baron! I will collect my personal belongings from the villa."

He pushed her out and slammed the door shut. "I should have done this months ago."

At his feet was the straitjacket. He picked it up and stared at it. He seemed totally defeated.

"Don't give up, Louis, it isn't true. I believe in Franks."

He sighed, placing the jacket down on a chair. He kept his back to Helen. "Maybe she is right, maybe this is all a waste of time. I am so tired of it all, Helen."

His whole body tensed, his hands were clenched to his side. "I wish to God she were dead."

"That's not true!"

He turned to face her. "Isn't it? I was sitting by her bedside, earlier today, thinking if I had the guts I would put a pillow over her face and end it, for her, for me, then..."

"Then?"

He sighed, slumping into a chair. "She was lucid, understood that I cannot allow her to be with Sasha, and she called Franks, it was her decision."

Helen picked up her purse and took out her notebook. "I am sure he will help her, but I think we should at least talk to this woman. The more we know of Vebekka's background the better! Franks will need as much information as possible... Louis?"

He cocked his head and gave a rueful smile.

"Fine, whatever you say."

Helen picked up her coat, heading for her suite. "I'll have a bath and change. We can leave when Hilda returns to the hotel. I'll order some coffee."

Louis nodded, and then smiled. "Yes, I think some coffee would be an excellent idea."

The coffee arrived moments later, and Louis downed two cups before he felt sober. He carefully checked the time, first on his wristwatch, and then looked at the clock on the mantel. It was five-thirty.

He put in a call to this sons, and then spoke to Sasha for a while.

He said they missed her, and that he would tell her mama that she was being a good girl. The high-pitched voice hesitated before asking if her mama was being a good girl. He told her that everything was fine, and her mama would talk to her very soon. He managed to keep his voice calm and relaxed, but he was crying.

"Will she be coming home better, Papa?"

Louis pinched his nose between thumb and forefinger. "I hope so. She hasn't been very well for a day or so, which means we may be here longer than we anticipated." Sasha sighed with disappointment, but then changed the subject, talking about school and her new pony and telling him that she was practicing dressage, and entering a gymkhana — she was sure she would win a rosette this time. Angel — her pony — was living up to his name.

"Papa, we jumped a two-foot fence! He is wonderful!"

Louis congratulated his daughter, and then said he had to go, there was another call on the line. Sasha made kissing sounds, and he waited for her to replace the receiver before he put his down. He heard the click, then another click. He frowned; then replaced the receiver and walked into Vebekka's bedroom. She was propped up on her pillows, very pale, deep circles beneath her eyes.

"I will go to see the doctor tomorrow, Louis, even if you have to carry me there!" She sipped a glass of water, then replaced the glass on her bedside table. It took all her willpower to be calm, she needed something to help her, something to make her sleep, but she asked for nothing. She wasn't going to drug herself, not this time; she was determined she would see it through.

"I've dismissed Anne Marie. Hilda will be here shortly."

She leaned back, closing her eyes. "I never liked Anne Marie. Will you hold my hand?"

He sat on the edge of the bed, lifted her hand to his lips, and kissed her fingers; they were so thin, so weak.

"Will you promise me something, Louis?"

"Depends on what it is!"

She didn't open her eyes. "I understand what trouble I cause, and I know I am always asking you to forgive me, but I always mean it. If this doctor thinks I will get worse, that these good moments will get fewer, and you are right, that I shouldn't be with Sasha, I understand that, but you must understand, I never... I never intend to hurt anyone, I don't know what takes me over, but it unleashes such terrible..."

"I know... I know, but you must rest now, regain your strength."

She withdrew her hand, turning away from him. "Louis, if nothing can be done, you know, if after the hypnosis you find out things, I want no lies, no cover-ups, no new tests, because I don't think I can stand it anymore. I'm getting worse, I know that, hours go by and I don't know what I have done, who I've hurt, so promise me."

He knew what she was going to ask of him and he leaned over the bed to kiss her cheek.

"Sleep now."

She opened her eyes, they pleaded, they begged him. "Don't put me away, Louis, help me to end it — promise me?"

He kissed her again, tilted her chin in his hands, looked deep into her eyes. He didn't answer, and her eyelids drooped as she fell asleep, her chin still cupped in his hands.

They were still together like a loving couple when Hilda slipped quietly into the bedroom. Gently the baron drew the covers to Vebekka's chin, and Hilda saw the way he brushed her cheek with the edge of his index finger.

"She was so frightened, sir, of the dark. Frightened someone was out there."

The baron patted Hilda's shoulder. "Hilda, my poor darling is frightened of her own shadow. Thank you for your care and attention, good evening."

Hilda whispered "Good evening" as he quietly closed the door. She began to knit, then looked to the closed shutter and remembered the woman, the one she had seen outside that afternoon; she had been like a shadow, waiting, watching. The click click of her own knitting needles soothed and calmed Hilda.

Vebekka did not seem even to be awake, but her hand moved closer to Hilda, and she said very softly: "Ma... angel."

While Helen was getting ready, the baron lit a cigarette, pacing the room, tormented by his wife's request. He picked up the late afternoon paper in the room, and a front-page article caught his attention: murdered man identified. He started to read the column. The man was called Tommy Kellerman, a dwarf, a circus performer, who had recently arrived in East Berlin from Paris. The Polizei requested anyone seeing Kellerman on or during the night of his murder to come forward.

Helen walked in refreshed and changed. Louis lowered the paper and smiled. "You look lovely!" He was about to toss the paper aside when he passed it to Helen. "Did you read this? A circus performer was murdered."

Helen glanced at the article.

"Yes, I was talking to one of the doormen, the hotel is only a few streets away from here. Apparently they have no clues, it happened late the same night we arrived. He was horribly beaten — the doorman was very keen to pass on all the gory details."

The baron put on his coat and said he would call down for a taxi. Helen opened the shutters to look at the weather, then felt a sense of déjà vu so strong she had to step back from the window... Helen saw Vebekka curled by the window. Helen recalled her exact words: "We have done something terrible"... and Helen remembered thinking she was referring to Louis. But now she recalled something else; she had seen a man, a tall man, passing in the street below. She was sure of it. "Good heavens, Louis, is there a description of the man they are looking for?"

Helen picked up the newspaper again, rereading the article. Something else jarred her memory, the word Paris leaped at her, and she turned to Louis.

"When we were at Dr. Franks's you said you remembered an incident with Vebekka and Sasha... something about a circus."

But Louis did not hear her, he was on the telephone. "There's a taxi waiting for us, I must tell Hilda we are leaving."

Hilda was told that should Vebekka awaken and need anything, she should call Dr. Franks. The baron thanked her profusely for being such a caring companion, and slipped some folded bills into her hand. She blushed, and replied that she was happy to look after the baroness. She added hesitantly: "I hope she will be helped by this Dr. Franks, that whatever demons torture and frighten her will be driven away."

The doorman ushered the baron and Helen into one of the regular hotel taxis: the same one that had just returned from the circus, having driven Ruda Kellerman back to her trailer. The driver kept up a steady flow of conversation about the price of the circus tickets, and said there were already lines of people waiting for them.

He was about to launch into telling them that an earlier occupant of his taxi was one of the star performers, but Helen and the baron began to speak to each other in French, ignoring him, and as he couldn't understand a word they said, he concentrated on driving to the address in Charlottenburg. It was a long drive, and he hoped the rain would hold off as they were about to get into the rush hour traffic. Suddenly, remembering that Ruda Kellerman had asked him to drive her the following day, he jotted down her name on his call sheet as he drove. The car swerved, but his passengers paid no attention. It was curious, he thought to himself, Ruda Kellerman had seemed just to want to stand outside the hotel. He'd watched her for a long time, standing almost as if she were listening to be called, a strange fixed expression on her face. She must have been waiting for someone, he thought.