Entwined Page 2

♦ ♦ ♦

  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.”

  The doctor swiveled in his chair. “Is your wife a good mother?”

  The baron nodded. “Excellent, very loving, but firm—they adored her. They are normal children…however of late, her behavior has greatly disturbed them.”

  The baron stared into space and then looked down at his hands. “My younger daughter has suffered the most. Perhaps it was unwise for us to have her. Vebekka’s breakdowns had begun before Sasha was born.”

  The baron paused.

  “After the birth of each of my sons she became depressed and unstable—twice spending some time in a clinic.”

  “So you think her illness is connected in some way to the children?” asked Dr. Franks.

  The baron twisted his signet ring around his finger. “She was always afraid that the babies would be born deformed; this became an obsession with her. She insisted on visiting doctors sometimes five times a week, demanding X rays, et cetera. She even considered abortions, although her doctors insisted her pregnancies were normal. After giving birth, she would sink into a depression. She did not want to hold the baby, or touch it. She seemed almost afraid of the child, but then the depression would lift, and she would be exhilarated.”

  “When did you first detect a breakdown, as you call it, not connected to her pregnancies?”

  “There have been so many, but the worst came after a lengthy period when I believed our problems were all in the past. Then she became as obsessive about having another child as she had been about the fear of them being born deformed. She wanted a daughter and, when she recovered, I gave way.”

  Dr. Franks frowned, and tapped his desk with his forefinger. “But you have two daughters, so the pattern continued when your second daughter, Sasha, was born?”

  The baron nodded. “Sasha was—how do you say?…not expected, and my wife’s gynecologist did suggest terminating the pregnancy.” He paused, crossing his legs, and shrugged. “This was unacceptable, on two counts. I am Catholic, and…”

  Franks waited, but the baron seemed disinclined to continue.

  “So, when did the problems not directly linked to the births o
f your children actually begin?”

  The baron sighed. “The birth of Sasha was not as traumatic, for in fact Vebekka recovered quite quickly. Sasha was doted upon, spoiled I suppose. She is the most delightful child, and the one most physically like her. I thought the problems were over, but they began again. This time my wife said she felt that someone was taking over her body.”

  “Did that culminate in another breakdown?”

  The baron stubbed out his cigar and clenched his hands.

  “Yes. We were in Monaco for the polo season. Vebekka took Sasha to a circus. During one of the acts, my wife began to behave strangely, she kept on getting out of her seat, she seemed to want to get into the circus ring. She became abusive when she was restrained by one of the ushers—she was screaming about the clown, it was a midget or a dwarf. She became totally hysterical. Somehow she got into the ring and attacked the clown. By the time I was called she had been taken, incoherent, to a hospital. To my knowledge that was the first time she had actually been violent. Since then, her violence and irrational behavior has spiraled. She has attacked every member of the family, including me. Sasha is very much afraid of her.”

  “Are you saying she has attacked her own daughter?”

  “No, no, but she has destroyed Sasha’s possessions.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The baron looked to Helen, and then back to Franks. “The child’s toys, her dolls. She breaks them, burns them.”

  “Has she ever been self-abusive?”

  “She has tried to kill herself countless times, in fact she attempted to do so in the hotel last night. But surely you have her medical history?”

  Dr. Franks raised his bushy eyebrows. “Of course, but I want to hear firsthand. Please continue.”

  Franks observed how the baron looked to Helen Masters, as if for approval or reassurance.

  “In my estimation, this present attack has been coming on for weeks. Helen suggested this would be the best time for you to see her. Vebekka agreed because of Sasha.”

  “If I can help your wife, would you agree to let her stay in my clinic for as long as is needed?”

  “If you can help her, I will agree to anything you suggest. I cannot subject my children and myself to any more torment. I have had enough.”

  The doctor could see a muscle twitching at the side of the baron’s mouth.

  “Do you regret marrying your wife?”

  “That is an impossible question. I have four beautiful children; of course I do not regret marrying her. But my sons, my daughters must know if this illness is hereditary. If my wife is to be institutionalized it will affect each and every one of us. You are my last hope.”

  “Would you please describe the very first time you noticed your wife behave in an irrational manner.”

  The baron remained silent for at least half a minute, then sighed. “She was four months pregnant with my first son, she was very beautiful, and being pregnant made her even more so. She took great care of herself, and seemed content. We both were. We were very much in love, exceptionally close, idyllically happy. One night I woke up, and she was not beside me. I went to look for her. I found her in the kitchen; there was food everywhere, she was stuffing her mouth. She must have been doing it for quite some time because there was vomit on the floor. Her face was rigid, she was like a stranger. It was awful.”

  Franks held up his hand. They could hear laughter from the next room. Helen stood up, as if to go into the reception area, but Franks waved her back to her seat.

  “Maja is with her. She is very adept at relaxing patients. It seems she has succeeded!”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Vebekka was telling Maja about her days as a model: the gossip and backbiting. She was very entertaining, and the more she relaxed the more animated she became. She stood up to demonstrate how she had first been taught to cat-walk. She arched her back, pushed her hips forward, and paraded up and down.

  “You know how many models have back trouble? I mean can you imagine any sane person walking in this way?”

  She swiveled on her heels, then glided to the sofa and sat down.

  “The gowns were spectacular, and it was amusing to see which celebrity bought which design. Can you imagine the fun, seeing those superb creations on frumpy, rotund women!”

  Maja was entertained, it was difficult not to be, but she also detected a strange wariness in Vebekka. Her eyes frequently strayed to the closed door, then she would fall silent, sometimes in mid-sentence, before quickly recovering and launching into a different story. Maja did not attempt to steer Vebekka into discussing how she felt, knowing it would either happen naturally or not at all. But as experienced as she was, she was still taken by surprise when Vebekka suddenly gripped her wrist.

  “What are they doing in there? Why are they taking so long?”

  Maja made no move to withdraw her hand.

  “He’s talking about me, isn’t he? Of course, stupid question, stupid question…”

  She released her hold.

  “Dr. Franks needs to know so much about you,” Maja said kindly.

  “Why doesn’t he ask me?”

  “He will, but your husband will probably speak more freely without you there.”

  Vebekka nodded. “Yes, yes, that’s true, poor Louis. I am all right now. This is a waste of time, you know…”

  Maja looked at her watch. She got up and went toward a glass panel between the rooms. She was going to pull the blind up to see if one of the kitchen helpers was there to make some coffee, but, as her hand reached for the string, she froze.

  “Don’t…please don’t. I don’t want to see through the glass.”

  Maja turned to Vebekka. The baroness was hunched in her seat, staring straight ahead. Before Maja could say anything, the baron came in alone, gray with fatigue.

  “I’m to take you home, darling.”

  Maja watched Vebekka closely, and saw the relief when she learned she would not have to see the doctor. She kissed Maja warmly as she left.

  Dr. Franks walked into the reception area.

  “Well, Maja, what do you think?”

  “I think she is a very disturbed woman. She is very entertaining, very sharp and witty, but I think she is also…”

  “Dangerous?” he inquired. Maja touched her wrist, remembering Vebekka’s strong grip. She nodded. “Yes…very!”

  Dr. Franks returned to his study, where Helen was still waiting. He shut the door, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Maja agrees with you.”

  He poured Helen a glass of sherry.

  “Tell me about the violence, have you witnessed it?”

  “Yes, she becomes very disoriented, very angry, verbally and physically. She is quite frightening. Although she loses control, and claims to have no recall, I believe she has. She knows what she did to Sasha, but denies it.”

  Franks asked Helen to elaborate on the destruction of the dolls, and listened intently as she described what the baron had told her.

  “He said he had run in response to Sasha’s screams. To his horror he had found that his wife had taken every doll belonging to the child, smashed their faces, and torn off their arms. Then she had stacked them, and set fire to them. The house could have caught fire, but she just stood, watching the toys burning, forcing her daughter to watch with her. Sasha was terrified; Vebekka held her by her hair, forcing her to watch the dolls melt. The baron heard her saying ‘Watch the babies, Sasha, watch the baby dolls!’ He had to release his daughter from Vebekka’s grip.”

  Franks interrupted. “Did she give a reason for her actions?” Helen shook her head. “I spoke with Sasha, and asked her to tell me about the incident. She kept repeating that her mama looked strange. Oh, yes, I remember something else. Sasha said Vebekka screamed for her father, said she called out, ‘Papa.’ While holding Sasha by the hair, she repeated: ‘He is my papa, not yours, my papa. Papa loves me.’ I asked the baron about this, and he sa
id that the baroness did not allow any of the children to call him Papa. When I asked her about it, she said only that she didn’t like them using ‘Papa,’ and when I pressed her, she had no answer.”

  ‘‘The baron said she attempted to take her own life last night, is this true?”

  Helen shrugged. “She cut herself. I don’t think she would have killed herself. She wants attention, screams for attention all the time…she is a great attention seeker.”

  “What about the violence to her husband? I noticed he had a nasty bite mark on his right hand.”

  Helen drained her sherry glass.

  “When she is irrational, she will attack anyone who is close to her. He happened to be there. I guess she mistrusts everyone during these episodes, including her children. But I find it interesting that she did not attack her daughter, just her toys. Yet her daughter was close by…”

  “What about the other children?”

  Helen referred to her notes. “Some of these attacks have occurred in their presence. When she is in her so-called irrational state, she bites, kicks, punches…but she has not to my knowledge taken a weapon, a knife, or anything like that!”

  “What does she say when she is in this condition?”

  Helen flicked through her notes. “Back in 1982 she was to be given sodium pentothal, the truth drug, but she refused it. I sent you the transcript.”

  Franks opened his file and leafed through.

  Helen continued. “She believes someone is taking over her mind, just as she believes that anyone in a white coat, doctor or nurse, is going to hurt her. She has a terror of injections. She has refused shock treatment and, until now, objected to any form of hypnotherapy.”

  “What do you think has made her change her mind?”

  “She knows she is becoming more dangerous, has even told me she fears she will kill someone…I have gone as far as I can. I hope you can help her.”

  “I never give up hope. But first things first, my dear Helen, we must eat. I am starving and there’s a nice little restaurant close by. We can continue our discussion over lunch.”

  Hilda had helped Vebekka dress for dinner, and was delighted by her exuberance. Louis, however, was tired and not in good spirits. He could hear his wife on the telephone to Sasha; Vebekka’s resilience was astonishing, unnerving. She was telling Sasha about their plane journey, about Berlin, as if they were on a vacation. The call completed, she danced over to the dinner table and began lifting with relish the silver lids from the tureens. She ate little, just sat with her chin cupped in her hands, watching his every mouthful. She reached over and stroked his hand gently.