Your Perfect Year(110)

Jonathan read the entry over and over again. And once more. But however often he read it, the entry remained as clear and unequivocal as ever. However much he turned it around, it was there in black and white: a clear instruction to act.

Ever since his conversation with Leo by the Isebek Canal, Jonathan had feared that there might be a tiny little part of his life that he ought to put right or clarify, when the time was right. It was just that his inner stubbornness had prevented him from coming out of his sulk. Even though he knew that he was a little wide of the mark when it came to his personal sense of justice, to admit it—really admit it, to himself and to another person—was . . . was . . . necessary. The right thing to do.

He shoved his chair back, stood, and marched upstairs to his study to make a phone call. He picked up the receiver. Only then did he realize that he didn’t know the number for the call in question, so he grabbed his cell phone, searched his address book for the contact, and dialed.

“Jonathan?” The woman’s voice that answered sounded surprised.

He cleared his throat. “Yes. Hello, Tina!”

“Well, this is a surprise!”

“Yes, um, I know.”

“Why are you calling me?”

“I wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize?” She sounded a touch more surprised. “What for?”

“That I did wrong by you.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t notice. Has something happened?”

“Yes,” he said. Then corrected himself: “I mean, no. Nothing’s happened.”

“So what is it?” She laughed.

“I’ve realized something, is all.”

“Sounds interesting!”

“I’ve realized,” he began again, “that all the anger I felt against you and Thomas for years has been complete nonsense.”

Silence. Then, even more surprised: “Really?”

“Yes. You didn’t leave me for my best friend. You left because I never really loved you.”

Another silence. Tina finally corrected him. “I left because we never really loved each other.”

“‘We’? ‘Each other’?” Jonathan repeated in amazement.

“Yes, Jonathan. We were fooling ourselves and each other for a long time. We kept trying to play the perfect couple because it seemed good from the outside. And it was, but we weren’t really in love. That was what I’d been looking for all that time—and when I realized it, I had to leave.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“I tried, but I just couldn’t get through to you.”

“No?”

“No, Jonathan.” She laughed again—this time with a hint of sadness. “But I’m very, very glad you’ve told me about your realization.” She sighed. “Because you’re still a long way from being a lost cause.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean it in the nicest possible way, Jonathan.”

“I get it,” he said, though he didn’t get a word.

“How are things with you, anyway?”

“Everything’s fine,” he said. “Okay, Papa’s dementia is getting worse by the day, but that’s more a blessing than a curse. Everything in the publishing world continues as ever, and besides . . .” He hesitated. No, he wasn’t going to say it.

“And besides?” his ex insisted.

“And besides, I’ve met a lovely woman.” Well, it wasn’t a complete lie. He had met her. The redhead. In a way. Yes, he had. And if he was lucky, he’d be meeting her again soon.

“How nice!” Tina exclaimed. “I hope she’s the right one for you this time.”

“Yes. So do I.”

“Listen, I’ve got to go. Tabea’s whining. It’s been great speaking to you. All the best!”

“To you too,” he replied, adding, “And I’m sorry I never thanked you for your New Year’s card.” But she had already hung up.

Jonathan felt good nevertheless. He examined his innermost feelings. Yes, he felt very good. You could even call it a kind of “inner peace.” It hadn’t been so difficult after all, and certainly hadn’t hurt. Crazy. He really was crazy!

On a roll, Jonathan reached for the telephone again, this time to call Renate Krug to ask her to make him an appointment with Markus Bode. The time had come for him to sit down with his CEO and exchange a few honest words. If it was half as easy as the conversation with Tina had been, what could go wrong?

“I’m glad to hear from you,” Renate said as soon as she answered. “I was about to phone you. Markus Bode was here two minutes ago and—”

“What a coincidence,” Jonathan said with a smile. Yes, it must be fate! “I was about to ask you to arrange an appointment with him.”

“. . . and he handed in his notice,” his assistant said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“He’s given his notice, Herr Grief. Markus Bode has just been to see me and handed me a letter of resignation.”





60

Hannah