Your Perfect Year(27)

Jonathan cleared his throat as he approached and reached out to shake her hand. “Hello, Frau Schulz. My name is—”

“Shhh!” The woman cut him off with an index finger over her lips. She was still smiling, but somehow it now looked conspiratorial. “No names!” she purred in a dark, smoky voice. If Jonathan had needed to find someone to overdub the character of Frau Schulz, he would have chosen that very voice. Though maybe he would change the name Schulz; he wasn’t too fond of that. “Come in.” She swung the door open and stepped aside to let him past.

“Um, yes,” Jonathan stammered as he removed his shoes, left them on the mat, and obeyed her invitation. “So, Frau Schulz—”

“Sarasvati,” she interrupted again.

“Saras-what?”

“My name is Sarasvati.”

“Really? Sarasvati Schulz?”

She laughed out loud, bright and bubbly. “You could say that. Sarasvati is my spiritual name. My soul name.”

“Spiritual. I see.” Jonathan fought an impulse to take his leave and vanish there and then. This lovely woman was seeming weirder by the minute.

He was reminded of Harry Potter by the Alster babbling about his “spiritual” swans. Was there something in Hamburg’s water? What was going on? Of course, Jonathan didn’t leave; his curiosity had already gotten the better of him. That and the feeling that he was embarking on an adventure.

“Sarasvati is the Indian goddess of wisdom and learning,” Frau Schulz explained as she led Jonathan into the living room. The interior was stylish, with a blend of light, modern furniture and selected dark wood antique pieces, the most striking of which was a grandfather clock with filigree carving. The white woolen drapes hanging at the three large windows, the thick African patterned carpet, and the Moroccan ceiling light combined to give the room an exotic warmth and coziness.

Frau Schulz, a.k.a. Sarasvati, gestured for him to sit in one of the chairs around the teak dining table, which was dominated by a six-branched candelabra. Next to that was a crystal carafe of water with two glasses, and a pack of playing cards. “Do sit down, please.”

“I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding,” Jonathan said without taking the offered seat. “I hadn’t intended to come to you.”

“Really?” Sarasvati raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

“Well, not exactly. But I’ve got something to hand over.”

“You do?” She reached out a hand. “So give it to me.”

Jonathan involuntarily grasped the bag harder with both hands and pressed it against his upper body. “No, I can’t. It’s not for you!”

“Not for me?” The second eyebrow followed the first. “In that case, I don’t understand why you’re here. You seem to be in a bit of a muddle, young man.”

“Let me explain.” He was quietly irritated by that “young man”—it was so patronizing. But he swallowed his scruples and told Sarasvati about his morning run by the Alster and the find that had brought him to her now.

“I see,” she said, regarding him with amusement as his tale came to an end. “But you can leave the diary here with a clear conscience. I’ll give it to my client as soon as he arrives.”

“Your client?” Jonathan N. Grief looked once again around the room, trying not to reveal the thoughts that sprang into his mind.

In vain. Sarasvati laughed again. “It’s not what you think!” She pointed to the table. “I read the cards.”

“Cards?”

She nodded.

“So you’re a fortune teller?”

“I prefer to call myself a ‘life adviser.’”

“Ah.” The thoughts now in Jonathan’s head were more complimentary than the previous ones, but they did contain words such as charlatan and hocus-pocus.

“You don’t think much of it, do you?” It seemed the lady was clairvoyant after all.

“Well,” Jonathan said evasively, “I’ve never really tried it.”

“You should. It’s fascinating!”

“Yes, well . . .” He decided to ignore her proposal. “I just want to be sure the Filofax finds its way into the right hands.”

“And you don’t think my hands are the right ones?”

“What makes you say that?”

The fortune teller shrugged. “You don’t want to leave the diary with me, even though I’ve assured you that I’ll pass it on.”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” Jonathan replied, “but I don’t know you at all.” He thought of the five hundred euros in the back pocket of the book and couldn’t help thinking that a fortune teller hardly had the best credentials for such a duty of care. Call it prejudice.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way yourself, but I don’t know you either,” Sarasvati replied. “Yet you’re sitting here in my living room.”

“You asked me in!”

“Because I thought you were a client.”

“There you are,” he said triumphantly, unable to suppress a smile. “That’s exactly why you should always be cautious!”

She shook her head. “I hope you’re not going to cause me trouble.”