She slapped her hands together as if wiping off dust. ‘Why don’t you have a seat, Vidor. You’ll feel much better after a cup of tea. I’ve brewed a pot of the lemon verbena. It’s very soothing, and perfect for a wintry day.’ She poured out the tea and settled in the corner of the sofa. ‘Come join me. I won’t bite.’ Her eyes shone with mischief.

As he sat beside her, it was easy to picture the excited young girl she once was, with her whole life before her. It occurred to him he didn’t know a thing about this woman. Nothing but rumours and wild speculation. He looked around for the quilted Chanel bag with its supposedly gruesome contents, but there was no sign of it.

‘What is this place?’

Hélène cradled the teacup in her hand. Her slim fingers looked naked without her rings. ‘This is my home.’

‘Your home? I don’t…’ It made no sense, unless she was eligible, as a long-term patient, for special privileges. Even if that were true, he couldn’t believe any patient ill enough to be a resident here would be trusted with kitchen knives. Especially since the house was tucked away in the trees and out of sight of the clinic. ‘You live here?’

‘Yes. I live here.’ Her eyes gleamed like a child with a long-held secret. With the sleeves of her sweater pushed up, her wrists were exposed. No monitor. He squeezed his eyes shut. Had she managed to cut it off?

‘Vidor? Still with us?’ She fluttered her fingers before his eyes. ‘I thought you might have guessed long ago. Though given what the others say about me, it would be easy to think otherwise.’ She sucked in her breath and let it out slowly. ‘I’m not one of Dr Gessen’s patients. I’m a private individual, and this…’ she waved her arm to take in the room, ‘is my home. It has been for many years, long before Dr Gessen came on the scene.’

His mouth dropped open. ‘I don’t understand. What about the baby who died, and the doll you carry around in that bag of yours?’