Page 93

Anne seemed to rally and tightened her hold on Francesca’s elbow, urging her to walk alongside her. “I can see that you’re shocked by this news. I think it’d be best if Ian was the one to talk with you further about the matter, given the . . . unusual circumstances.”

“Ian and Helen will arrive at the morning room following their walk,” Dr. Epstein mentioned to Anne.

“We’ll go there, then,” Anne told Francesca, suddenly brisk and purposeful, as they walked to a bank of elevators. “James is already there. I’ll be able to introduce you to Ian’s grandfather.”

Too stunned to argue, Francesca followed along, her brain seemingly vibrating with the news that Helen Noble was still alive and apparently being treated at this facility, her heart squeezing in anguish for Ian.

They took the elevator to a lower level. When the door opened, Dr. Epstein bid them good-bye, saying she must return to her lab.

“She’s a brilliant scientist,” Anne told Francesca confidentially as they made their way down a hallway that ended in a light-filled, many-windowed room. A few patients shuffled past them, casting curious glances at Francesca. “Now that the human genome has been decoded, Dr. Epstein and her colleagues have been using the information to come up with better medications for schizophrenia. Ian funds all of her work. It’s truly been groundbreaking. A medication that Dr. Epstein developed has been recently approved by the European Medicines Agency, and she recommended Helen be put on it. There have been some ups and downs with the treatment so far, but just this week, there have been some dramatic improvements. Ian is so happy. Helen often didn’t recognize Ian, her father, and me, her psychosis was so severe, but now . . . what a difference. She’s even been allowed a pass to go out onto the grounds, something that hasn’t been possible ever since she first arrived here six years ago.”

“That’s wonderful,” Francesca said, glancing around as they entered what Dr. Epstein had called the morning room. Many large windows overlooked a lovely wooded area and meadow. Patients, attendants, and perhaps family members were scattered across the comfortable room, some playing board games, others talking and enjoying the view. Francesca supposed the patients here were some of the luckier ones whose symptoms were more controlled. They appeared to be very high functioning and moved in and out of the room of their own volition, without attendants escorting them.

A robust-looking older man stood when they approached him. His tall, fit form reminded her of Ian.

“Francesca Arno, I’d like you to meet my husband, James,” Anne said.

“A pleasure to meet you,” James said, taking her hand. “Ian mentioned your name to us yesterday—something we took note of, as it’s a rarity for him to mention a woman, much to Anne’s and my disappointment,” James said, a twinkle in his brown eyes. “We were with Dr. Epstein when she got the call that you were here. We didn’t realize you would be coming to England.”

“That’s because I came on the spur of the moment.”

“Ian doesn’t know you’re here?” James asked, looking politely confused.

“No,” Francesca said. Perhaps James noticed her anxiety over that fact, because he patted her shoulder kindly, his gaze transferring to the windows overlooking the meadow. “Well, he’ll know soon enough. I see Helen and him approaching. Dear God—”

James’s fingers tightened momentarily on her shoulder. Francesca had glanced out the window when he’d spoken, following James’s gaze. She started as well at what she saw. Ian was walking next to a fragile-looking woman wearing a blue dress that hung loosely on her painfully thin figure. As James had been speaking, the woman had abruptly swung around, her fist striking Ian in the abdomen. She’d stumbled and started to fall, but Ian had caught her against him. His attempts to stabilize his mother were interrupted, however, by Helen’s struggling as if she suddenly feared for her own life at Ian’s hands.

“Call Dr. Epstein,” James said sharply to one of the attendants who had also noticed what was happening out the window. James and three other attendants started for the door that led to the meadow in order to assist Ian.

“Oh, no. Not again,” Anne said in a strangled voice as she and Francesca watched, horrified. Helen flailed wildly as Ian tried to subdue her. Her open hand struck him on the jaw. Francesca’s heart seemed to spasm in her chest when she saw the stark, distilled anguish on his handsome face as he received the blow. How many times had Ian seen his mother behave in this way? How many times had this loving, kind woman disappeared only to be replaced by this violent, frightening stranger? A piercing wail could now be heard in the morning room—the sound of Helen Noble’s fear and her returned madness.

“Wait,” Anne said in a thick voice, grabbing Francesca’s elbow, halting her when she started toward Ian, unable to stand still while he was at his most vulnerable. “They have her now.”

She and Anne stood side by side, watching miserably as the three attendants expertly lifted and restrained the struggling psychotic woman and began to carry her writhing form toward the facility. When they passed Francesca and Anne in the morning room, moving rapidly toward the hallway, she caught her first glimpse of Helen’s face—her teeth bared in a grimace, spittle running down her chin, her blue eyes huge and glazed, seeming to focus on some terrifying nightmare that only she could see.

No, Francesca thought. That wasn’t Helen Noble. Not really.

A nurse ran down the hallway toward the attendants, Dr. Epstein trailing behind her at a rapid pace. The attendants carefully laid the shrieking woman on the floor, and the nurse gave her an injection.