Never Trust a Callboy (6 page)

"You have to talk to her and rid her of this moronic idea."

"Me? Oh, no. Nana's old enough. I will not interfere in her love life."

"Love life? PAH. The man is only interested in her money."

"Yes, but..."

"Tamara, no excuses! You're the only person she listens to. If you tell her that you think it’s not right..." With a sigh, I blank her voice out and wait for a break in her speech. When she’s in this mood, there’s no sense trying to discuss anything with her. So I do what any reasonably intelligent person in my situation would do: calm her down, promise to do everything she wants, and wait for the problem to solve itself.

About half an hour later I can end the call at last. Of course, not without making a huge number of promises which I have no intention of keeping. Ron has left in the meantime.

I make myself a cup of coffee in the kitchen and take it out with me on to the terrace.

A gentle breeze caresses the plants and ensures that it is not too hot. Thoughtfully I sip on my drink. My decision is final: tonight, Ron will know the truth. But until then I will banish all thoughts of this conversation and instead think about what I’m going to do today. There is so much to organize for the wedding. It should be a very special day. The day when my dreams finally comes true.

If I'm not sitting in pre-trial detention.

The thought brings me back to reality with a jerk. Fear washes over me. I can remember only too well the feeling of despair and helplessness that I felt at my first arrest. But this time it's different. Ron will help me, I try to calm myself down. Together, we will find a solution. Ron's ability to comprehend even the most complicated situations, is one reason why he has come so far in his profession, and is one of the youngest Board members of a small private bank in Frankfurt.

As if to prove to myself that I have nothing to worry about, that with Ron’s help I will be able to get out of this mess, I deliberately turn my attention to the part of the garden I recently turned into a graveyard.

Not a good idea. A cold chill crawls up my back. What was I thinking? I can’t just bury a corpse! If you find a dead body, you call the police! Just as it happens in any good murder mystery... Whoever moves a corpse in the trunk of their car or buries it in their back garden, is usually the one who is also responsible for their demise, an unwanted voice in my head says. So, in this case: me.

I must find a lawyer. Whatever happened, one thing is certain: there was a stranger in our house who is now dead and buried on the property.

As so often in the last few hours, I suddenly see a picture in my mind's eye. Ron, coming home yesterday evening, being angry about the fact I was drunk and making unwarranted accusations. Ron, wearing the blue striped shirt... that I didn’t pack.

Ron was wearing the wrong shirt! I know that he didn’t have it, because I packed him his two white shirts made of Egyptian cotton. I remember particularly well, because I had to iron them first. And I hate ironing!

It’s as if a giant hand has brought the world to a halt. In one fell swoop, all the sounds around me seem to be muted. As if on autopilot I stand up and head in the direction of the bedroom to take a look at the clothes Ron was wearing yesterday. Usually I would have already put them in the laundry, but this morning I was too confused to think.

With trembling fingers, I reach for the shirt. It is the blue striped one! I wasn't so drunk after all!

Maybe it’s possible that it wasn’t Ron I saw with another woman outside the hotel. But it is also impossible that he came directly home from Brussels. He must have been here first to pick up this shirt. Why did he do that? And above all, when?

My heart starts to pound wildly in my chest, while the questions dance a frenzied jig in my head. Faster and faster they turn in my brain. Until there’s only one left:

Did Ron lie to me?

No! I order myself. I will not allow myself to be guided by flights of fancy. I know where that leads. This fight was the worst we have ever had, and I will make sure that it never happens again. I’m wrong. Can I really know with one hundred percent certainty which shirts I packed for Ron almost a week ago? I already have problems remembering the birthdays of my closest family members!

In any case, maybe Ron packed the shirt in his suitcase before he left. I have to stop with such suspicions. Although it is understandable that my nerves are not at their best, I can't expect Ron to tolerate such thoughts. Particularly when he doesn't know why I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Despite these considerations, my hands have begun, as if by themselves, to go through his jacket pockets. Of course, I’m just making sure no important documents go through the wash, I justify to myself. I trust Ron. I know he would never lie to me. The thought that he could sleep with another woman in a hotel is totally absurd. Unthinkable. Ridiculous.

My fumbling hands freeze. A hotel bill!

For several minutes I dare not look at it.

Ron would never do that.

He loves me.

He wants to marry me.

My fingers tremble as I finally unfold the paper and flatten it out.

Everything is okay.

Ron is true to me.

Just like he said.

Except, that’s a little strange, the hotel bill issued by the Spa Hotel is for a double room. Mr. and Mrs. Krämer.

R
on lied to me! And I believed him, like an idiot. Although I would prefer to hide under the duvet for the next three years crying in self-pity, I force myself to do something. I shouldn’t grieve in any case. I should be angry. But how do you transform a howling misery into a powerful fury?

Perhaps, by doing something. I mumble incessantly to myself while I randomly yank any clothes out of the closet and stuff them into my suitcase. I carefully put Ron’s gun in there too. The safety is now on, because I had the conscience of mind to look it up on the internet. I want to feel sure I can defend myself. Nevertheless, I feel like a criminal.

I have to go. Right away. Out of this house. Out of Ron's life. The lock on my Samsonite snaps shut with a loud click. Shortly thereafter I drag the heavy piece of luggage down the stairs, toss it in the trunk of my car and drive.

"Honey, I am so sorry for you!" Nana eyes me with a look full of worry and awkwardly pats me on the back. I fled to her, just as I did as a child when I had a fight with my mother. But I have also often visited without the need for refuge. I love her fervently and intimately and unconditionally.

“Yes. Me too," I mumble and unsuccessfully try to suppress the tears that have steadily flowed since the discovery of Ron's hotel bill. You'd think that they’d have to stop at some point. Especially when you consider that this son of a bitch does not deserve my grief. It happened again: he never loved me. He was only interested in me, because I come from a rich family. A family that has connections.

"Believe me darling, I know how hard it is when you can’t trust anyone, because you come from a wealthy family. What you need now is a glass of champagne!" Nana jumps up, without waiting for a reply. Years ago Nana had a butler, but since he was put to rest several years ago, she hasn’t found a new one. "It's an outdated tradition," she said at the time. I have to say I think she’s right, but still I miss Edward. He belonged to the family. Since he's been gone, I feel like I’ve lost an uncle. These thoughts feel meaningless now. Just as meaningless as the entire romantic nonsense I've been embroiled over the last few years! Edward only did it for the money after all. Like them all. Maybe he didn't even like me.

“Here. Have a drink, and you'll feel better in no time," encourages Nana.

"There’s nothing to celebrate," I say and feel infinitely tired suddenly. Tired and empty.

"Nothing to celebrate? That's a laugh. Of course there something to celebrate! You're rid of him. This devious, dishonest, nasty..."

A reluctant smile creeps onto my lips. "You're right," I allow. "I'm glad it's over." The lie comes slowly to my lips, and I wonder whether I will ever actually be happy about it.

"How could he do this to you? Four weeks before the wedding! The next time I see him, I'll show him that even a septuagenarian knows exactly where men are most vulnerable," says Nana enraged. Her anger over Ron's behavior is good for me. At least there is one person in this world who loves me just as I am.

"Believe me, you deserve better than that," Nana interrupts her tirade.

I nod and take another sip of champagne. A toasty warm feeling unfolds in my stomach while Nana continues to be annoyed on my behalf. With a sigh I let myself sink back into one of the thick pillows scattered on the grass-green couch like little moss islands. It's so cozy here, so... decadent.

My grandmother loves luxury and everything connected with it. At her home in Königstein she has established her own jungle in the two hundred and forty square meters and approximately seven meter high entrance hall. Okay, there are no lions but a plethora of rare birds and iridescent butterflies for which Nana has a special affection. A small pond sits in the middle with colorful fish in it, and of course a waterfall. The waterfall alone ensures that the pulse is slower in this paradise. This oasis acts as a balm to my soul. I always liked it here, but today it feels to me as though all the plants and animals that inhabit Nana's artificial tropical forest are turning my own world into an iridescent bubble that flies high up into the canopy and dissolves there in the shimmering sunlight.

My gaze glides over to my grandmother, who is still outraged on my behalf and pulling Ron to pieces. The alcohol has worked peacefully on me, Nana's words meld together with the murmur of the waterfall like a long forgotten fairy tale. My brilliant Nana is the fairy godmother in this charming jungle. A contented glow emanates from her, almost as if she were in love.

Nana is happy.

The realization hits me unprepared. So far I've always assumed that she is satisfied with her life, and yes, that she was happy. But I've never seen her like she is today. I sit upright and look closely at my grandmother. Fleeting images run through my head: Nana’s racehorse winning at the Baden-Baden Grand Prix, my grandmother as grand lady holding a summer festival every year during my grandfather's lifetime for the crème de la crème of the Frankfurt society, not forgetting the countless celebrities that as a child I found horribly boring and conceited.

Despite her success in all these years she never looked so happy as she does now!

Although upset about Ron's behavior, she cannot hide it.

She's in love.

My grandmother has a lover. I should ask her, I think again of my mother's accusatory voice ringing in my ear, but I can't.

Not now. I close my eyes and listen to the sound of Nana's voice and the sound of the waterfall. The beguiling effect that emanated from it, is suddenly gone.

And me? What do I have? Nothing but a lying, unfaithful ex-fiancé. Apparently, my grandma has more sex appeal than I do!

M
y brother Reinhard begins the conversation with "Sis, I have bad news for you." I wait for him to continue talking without saying anything. After all that I’ve witnessed in the last few days, Reinhard would have to tell me that World War Three had broken out to shock me.

"It looks as if Ron..... I think you should reconsider, whether you really want to marry him."

"Excuse me?" Even though I know exactly what Reinhard is alluding to, I can't believe what I’m hearing. How has my stepbrother heard of Ron's infidelity?

"It's just, father and I, we’ve been considering whether to take Ron on to the Board of the Bank. But I think he might be involved in illegal activities. At least it looks that way, but we have no evidence yet."

It takes a moment before I understand the meaning of his words. Reinhard isn’t alluding to Ron's girlfriend.

"How you did find out?" I ask the question that concerns me the most.

"We routinely check everyone who qualifies for such a position. Of course, Ron had to agree to the review. Apparently he thought that nobody could prove anything, but the investigations indicate that something fishy is going on. I don't know anything specific, but I'm worried about you. I don't want you to marry him, only to then find out what kind of person he really is. I know it's not a good time so shortly before the wedding, but still..." Reinhard inserts a pause. Even over the phone line, I hear his regret for having to give me such news.

"Don't worry, Reinhard, I'm not marrying Ron."

"You? What? ... Why?"

"He cheated on me," I answer the question which I know Reinhard was trying to say, but couldn’t in his surprise.

"Oh. So... I'm sorry. Honestly."

"Yeah, me too."

"But why didn't you tell me? I didn’t know..."

"I only found out today myself."

"Sis, I’m sorry. Really, really sorry. Not, that you won’t be marrying him, because that’s the first piece of good news today. But that he could do something like that to you! The next time I see him, I’ll break every bone in his body, I promise."

"That's not necessary, anyway, he’s not worth the trouble. I'll get through it."

"You want to come over? Tina certainly won’t mind, come to dinner. Tomorrow we’re flying to the Seychelles, and I’d like to talk everything over before we go."

"Reinhard, that's sweet of you, but I need a little rest. And your sweet marital bliss is a bit too much for me at the moment. Give me some time, okay?"

“Alright. But Tamara, I'm serious. If you need a shoulder to cry on, then come over. Even though I have no idea what to do with a crying woman."

"Okay, I’ll hold you to that," I reply, and smile. The idea, of my brother sitting helplessly with a woman crying on his shoulder, is worth its weight in gold. I know Reinhard well enough to know that would be one of his worst nightmares. He’d rather face a whole pack of angry board members.

After our conversation my mood is a little better. Maybe I've never had a boyfriend who really loved me, but at least there are two people in this world who accept me as I am: Nana and Reinhard.