Entwined by Lynda La Plante Page A

listened to the caller. He then covered the mouthpiece. "It's all right, it's Franchise, my secretary, from Paris."
    The call went on for some time, the baron saying little but making notes. Helen whispered to Franks. "She is very particular about her clothes, but I have never noticed a marked difference in styles—say, little girl to tart. I would simply say that the baroness has a wardrobe any woman would be envious of. However, she does seem to be very obsessive about the vanity cases."
    Helen was interrupted as the baron dropped the phone back on the hook and sighed. "Gerard, my man in New York, has been having great difficulty tracing my wife's family. He started at her old modeling agency. They had no record of Vebekka ever having signed with them. They then passed him on to someone who had run the agency before them. He said that he never had anyone by the name of Vebekka, but later that evening he called back to say he had made a mistake, that in fact he had represented a girl called Rebecca Lynsey; he recalled she later changed her name to Vebekka, using just her Christian name for work. He had no records on hand but would see if he could find his ex-wife, who ran the business with him. But one thing he was sure about, or as sure as he could be."
    The baron seemed very disturbed as he continued: "He said that my wife's maiden name, Lynsey, was not her real name, but one used for modeling. He could not recall ever having heard her real last name. Why would she have lied to me? I don't understand it!"
    Franks rubbed his head. "But when her father died, didn't you see a name, something to indicate Lynsey wasn't her family name?"
    The baron shook his head. "Gerard'll call again as soon as he has anything else. He's going to Philadelphia tonight. I don't understand. Lynsey was the name on her passport, I'm sure of it. I've asked him to fax any new information to the hotel."
    Franks raised an eyebrow to Helen. "She has never referred to herself as Rebecca?"
    The baron shook his head. "No, never. I have always known her as Vebekka Lynsey."
    "When she was in New York, did she meet anyone there, have friends there?"
    "No, we have mutual friends, or family friends, but I have never seen anyone walk up to her and call her Rebecca, if that is what you mean. I have never seen her birth certificate. There never seemed to be a reason before now, that is, if there is a valid reason now!"
    Franks's eyes turned flinty as he said, "I am simply trying to find clues to your wife's mental problems because I want to begin my treatment as soon as she is physically capable of walking into this place unaided."
    The baron's antagonism irritated Franks, but he didn't show it. Pleasantly he asked:
    "Yesterday—Baron? are you listening to me?—you recalled the first time you witnessed your wife's mental instability, yes?"
    The baron nodded. Franks asked if he could recall any other instances. The baron sighed, crossing his legs, staring at his highly polished shoes.
    "I mentioned the circus. To be quite honest there have been so many, over so many years and…"
    He paused, and Franks knew the baron had just remembered something; he could see it in the way the baron frowned, then hesitated, as if recalling the moment and then dismissing it. Franks leaned forward. "Yes? What is it?"
    The baron shrugged. "It was in the late seventies; this episode had no connection to any of the children. We were in New York. We were at my apartment, reading The New York Times . She was reading the real estate section, while I had the rest of it. Suddenly she snatched the paper from my hands; as she did, it fell onto the table and the coffee pot tipped over me. I don't think she intended to spill the coffee, though I believed she had taken my paper for some perverse reason—perhaps because I wasn't paying enough attention to her. I don't know. Sometimes she is incredibly childish. I suppose I was silly too, because I insisted she give me back the paper. She