refused. We had an argument, not a very pleasant one, and…"
The baron shrugged his shoulders, as if he suddenly felt the episode not worth pursuing. Franks pressed him. "Go on…she took the rest of the paper, and then what?"
"Well, as I recall, I went into my bathroom, showered, and was dressing when the maid said there seemed to be some fracas in the foyer. Next door to the building is a small newsstand. My wife, still in her dressing gown, was, so I was told, in the foyer, her arms full of newspapers. When I went down I found her sitting on the foyer floor, ripping the newspapers apart, throwing pages aside. She was on her hands and knees, scouring each page, but to this day, I have no idea what she was looking for. All I know is it was very embarrassing, and it took a great deal of cajoling to get her to return to the apartment."
Franks waited, expecting more, but the baron gestured with his hands. "That's it, really."
"Did you ever ask her why she wanted the papers?"
"Of course."
"Did she give you an explanation?"
"No, she actually didn't speak for over a week. She seemed very elated, slightly hysterical at that time, but I couldn't get a word out of her as to why she was behaving in such a way, or what on earth had sparked the breakdown."
"Breakdown?"
"Well, that is what the therapist called it. Vebekka calmed down eventually, and even seemed to forget the entire incident."
"Did you ever check through the papers, find anything that provided a reason for her behavior?"
The baron shook his head. "I took it to be just another of her—problems."
Franks remained silent for a moment before asking if the baron could get his contact in the United States to obtain copies of the newspapers from that day. The baron looked to Helen Masters with an exasperated shrug of his shoulders, but he agreed to try.
Franks fell silent, closing his eyes in concentration, and then asked, softly, when the baron said his wife behaved childishly, whether this meant she also spoke like a child.
"I meant it in a manner of speaking. Her act was childish. She didn't, as far as I recall, speak in a childlike voice."
Franks noted again a fleeting look of guilt, or recall, passing over the baron's face. "Yes?…You've remembered something else?"
The baron stared at the wall. "Last night I was wakened by her crying. I was confused because it sounded—dear God I've never thought of it before—like a child…so much so that for a moment, in my half-sleep, I thought it was one of the children, before I remembered they were in Paris."
Franks waited. After a long pause the baron continued.
"I went into her room and she was sitting up in bed. There was a shadow on the wall from the drapes. She was sobbing, pointing to the wall. She said, oh yes, she said the drapes were a…no, they were a 'Black Angel.' Then she said over and over, 'It wasn't true! It wasn't true.' I have no idea what she meant, but when I closed the drapes tightly and there was no more shadow she went back to sleep. But her voice…"
The baron looked to Helen, helpless.
"It was like a little girl, the way she shook her shoulders, and…that hiccup, you know, the way children do? It was as if she were a child having a nightmare."
Franks clapped his hands. "Now we are getting somewhere, and I think some tea would go down well. For you Baron? And you, Helen?"
Before either had time to reply Franks had scuttled out, but he did not close the door. He returned in a moment, after barking to some unseen assistant that he wanted tea, and produced a children's picture book. He held it like a piece of evidence, as if in a court of law.
"Your wife slipped into her handbag a similar book yesterday while she was waiting in reception. Interesting?"
"When did she do that?" asked Helen Masters.
"When she was here, sitting with Maja. Maja saw her. Odd, don't you think? Especially since it's in German. Do you know whether this book exists also in French, or in English?"
The baron
The baron shrugged his shoulders, as if he suddenly felt the episode not worth pursuing. Franks pressed him. "Go on…she took the rest of the paper, and then what?"
"Well, as I recall, I went into my bathroom, showered, and was dressing when the maid said there seemed to be some fracas in the foyer. Next door to the building is a small newsstand. My wife, still in her dressing gown, was, so I was told, in the foyer, her arms full of newspapers. When I went down I found her sitting on the foyer floor, ripping the newspapers apart, throwing pages aside. She was on her hands and knees, scouring each page, but to this day, I have no idea what she was looking for. All I know is it was very embarrassing, and it took a great deal of cajoling to get her to return to the apartment."
Franks waited, expecting more, but the baron gestured with his hands. "That's it, really."
"Did you ever ask her why she wanted the papers?"
"Of course."
"Did she give you an explanation?"
"No, she actually didn't speak for over a week. She seemed very elated, slightly hysterical at that time, but I couldn't get a word out of her as to why she was behaving in such a way, or what on earth had sparked the breakdown."
"Breakdown?"
"Well, that is what the therapist called it. Vebekka calmed down eventually, and even seemed to forget the entire incident."
"Did you ever check through the papers, find anything that provided a reason for her behavior?"
The baron shook his head. "I took it to be just another of her—problems."
Franks remained silent for a moment before asking if the baron could get his contact in the United States to obtain copies of the newspapers from that day. The baron looked to Helen Masters with an exasperated shrug of his shoulders, but he agreed to try.
Franks fell silent, closing his eyes in concentration, and then asked, softly, when the baron said his wife behaved childishly, whether this meant she also spoke like a child.
"I meant it in a manner of speaking. Her act was childish. She didn't, as far as I recall, speak in a childlike voice."
Franks noted again a fleeting look of guilt, or recall, passing over the baron's face. "Yes?…You've remembered something else?"
The baron stared at the wall. "Last night I was wakened by her crying. I was confused because it sounded—dear God I've never thought of it before—like a child…so much so that for a moment, in my half-sleep, I thought it was one of the children, before I remembered they were in Paris."
Franks waited. After a long pause the baron continued.
"I went into her room and she was sitting up in bed. There was a shadow on the wall from the drapes. She was sobbing, pointing to the wall. She said, oh yes, she said the drapes were a…no, they were a 'Black Angel.' Then she said over and over, 'It wasn't true! It wasn't true.' I have no idea what she meant, but when I closed the drapes tightly and there was no more shadow she went back to sleep. But her voice…"
The baron looked to Helen, helpless.
"It was like a little girl, the way she shook her shoulders, and…that hiccup, you know, the way children do? It was as if she were a child having a nightmare."
Franks clapped his hands. "Now we are getting somewhere, and I think some tea would go down well. For you Baron? And you, Helen?"
Before either had time to reply Franks had scuttled out, but he did not close the door. He returned in a moment, after barking to some unseen assistant that he wanted tea, and produced a children's picture book. He held it like a piece of evidence, as if in a court of law.
"Your wife slipped into her handbag a similar book yesterday while she was waiting in reception. Interesting?"
"When did she do that?" asked Helen Masters.
"When she was here, sitting with Maja. Maja saw her. Odd, don't you think? Especially since it's in German. Do you know whether this book exists also in French, or in English?"
The baron
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