Raven Sisters (Franza Oberwieser Book 2) (2 page)

Lilli, darling
,
I’m setting off for the airport soon. So looking forward to seeing you! It’s been ages since we saw each other.
Have you grown?

Lilli couldn’t help laughing. What a question!
Yes, I have,
she thought.
I have grown.
She texted back.
Yes, I’ve grown.

“Two salmon sandwiches, please,” Lilli said to the girl at one of the food counters, “a bottle of water, a slice of chocolate cake, a coffee, and an apple.”

She enjoyed the look of surprise on the girl’s face. She thanked God for her healthy appetite and her even healthier metabolism, which disposed of all she gave it in no time at all. She sat down and ate and drank, satisfying her hunger and thirst.

London Stansted. So. She’d gotten this far. As always, she had given herself up to the inexorable logistics that characterized all airports. The map of the systematic processes had taken her under its spell, but now that she was satiated she waited in the row of seats in front of the gate, and snuggled into the purple velvet of her coat. She realized with a shudder that not everything was as perfectly straightforward as it sometimes—only sometimes—seemed.

Boarding was due to begin in half an hour. In just a few hours, she would be in Munich.

“May I have this seat?”

Lilli nodded without looking up and felt a large man sitting down beside her, filling all the nearby space. She sensed a tall, strong body, visible from the side as merely silhouette, and saw a large pair of shoes next to her own. They astonished her. Her own feet were not small, size 9 as they were, but these
. . .
these were flippers!

Lilli grinned to herself and felt slightly flushed. That was indeed what they were, flippers. Such huge shoes, at least size 14, probably even 15! Now those were what she called big feet. How sure-footed a man with such big feet must be!

Yes,
thought Lilli with deep conviction.
Yes.
She nodded to herself, unable to take her eyes away from the feet. He must be successful in everything he touched, everything life threw at him—everything. Nothing could affect such a person—not cold, not heat, nothing. A man like that wouldn’t chase around after an elusive scent or seek out security in a purple coat. A man like that carried around his own inner security.

She finally tore her gaze from the giant shoes and the equally large feet and turned toward the man himself as if to ask him something
. . .
But what? Suddenly, he stood and walked away, leaving her staring after him without so much as a glimpse of his face or knowing anything about him. She merely saw his feet clearly before her, those feet that went through life anchored on solid ground, like mountains, or hills, at least (she mustn’t exaggerate).

Lilli finally closed her mouth, which was still hanging open with her unasked question, the question she could not even form into words, the question that now lay somewhere in the mysterious center of her brain.

Crazy,
she thought with a self-satisfied sigh.
Boy, am I crazy. But there it is. That’s just how things are sometimes.
She grinned just as she heard the announcement that the flight was delayed for another hour and a half.

2

She’s always been like that,
Gertrud thought.
She’s had that arrogance since she was a child, and I know who she got it from.

She looked at the clock and then at the arrivals board and then back at the clock.

She could have got in touch,
Gertrud thought.
Surely she could have sent a quick text from London. I needn’t have rushed if she had.

Ah, well, another hour and a half to go. Lousy delay. I might as well have a coffee.

She turned and wandered around the huge concourse, then sat down in a bistro and ordered a coffee.
Oh, Lilli,
you little devil. I love you so much. How I’ve missed you. Should I have told you the truth? Has the time finally come?

She stirred her coffee, following the dark swirls with her eyes, and trickled in some sugar. She thought about the events of the last few days. It had been only a week. She’d immediately suspected that the world would be turning differently from then on. Faster. In the wrong direction: backward into the past, where no one wanted to go. Not Gertrud, at least. No way. There was no damn reason for the damned past. But he saw things differently. The man who had suddenly appeared.

“I’m Tonio,” he’d said with a smile. “And you’re Gertrud. Forgive me if I gave you a shock. I know how much I resemble my father.”

Then he came out with some cock-and-bull story about how he had watched her coming down the avenue that led to her house, how he had silently prayed for her to stop. How he had thought,
Stop! Wait for me. Turn around!
And despite herself, she’d actually stopped. He’d started walking toward her as if drawn by a string.

She shook her head vigorously, bringing her thoughts back to the present, and realized she was shaking. If the recent past could shock her so deeply, how would it be if she delved deeper into the past? She suspected it was bound to happen; it sure as hell was bound to happen.

“Can I get you anything else?”

She looked around, and her gaze fell on the huge clock that hung above the counter. It had gotten late. She’d lost all track of time. The London plane must have arrived by now, and the luggage carousel would be turning.

“No, thanks. I’d like to pay now, please.” She looked at the waiter and noticed he was staring at the table, at her coffee cup.

“But you haven’t even
. . .
” He indicated the coffee that stood untouched, getting cold since he’d brought it to her. She waved him away, pressing a five-euro bill into his hand. She left without waiting for the customary polite protestation. He stared after her, shaking his head, eyebrows raised.

As she dived into the tumult of arriving and departing passengers and those waiting to meet them or see them off, the jumble of voices blended into a monotonous hum.
Now I’m late,
she thought, and had to grin.
Now she’ll be the one waiting for me with disapproval all over her face. I’ll take her into my arms and press her to me. I’ll feel her resist at first and then gradually relax.

Yes, Gertrud was late. Slightly. Lilli was already through the barrier, standing there waiting. Her stubborn little girl. She
had
grown. Grown up. Elegant. Gertrud was amazed.
How beautiful she is,
she thought.
Why didn’t I ever notice that?

“Mama,” Lilli said. “Hello, Mama!” She allowed herself to be hugged, and Gertrud noticed that she had warmed toward her a little.

3

Gertrud stood on the terrace, a last glass of wine in her hand. The children were in bed; Moritz had been asleep for two hours, and Lilli had just gone. Christian was loading the dishwasher. She heard him banging around and thought of the meal and the relaxed atmosphere they’d enjoyed. Their little boy had quickly become tired, and after he’d clung to Lilli, wheedling a promise from her that she’d still be there in the morning, his father had managed to persuade him up to bed.

“I’ve missed him,” Lilli had said quietly, with a smile.

Gertrud nodded. “He’s a little treasure, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Lilli said. “Yes, he is.”

A light breeze blew up, carrying the scent of ripe damsons. Lilli smiled. “Damson jelly? Like every year?”

Gertrud smiled, too. “Of course,” she said. “You can’t just leave the fruit to rot.”

“No,” said Lilli. “You can’t. Can I help you? In return for a few jars?”

“Oh yes, that would be lovely! Of course you’ll get some.” They were silent for a moment, then she added, “Will you be staying here awhile?”

“No,” said Lilli, “I want to go home tomorrow.”

Gertrud felt a pang of regret. “But I could take care of your laundry for you. You could relax and have some peace and quiet to settle back in.”

“No.”

“But you—”

Lilli shook her head, cutting her off. No discussion. There was a brief pause.

“I went to her exhibition,” she said finally, and waited for Gertrud to freeze, to coolly arm herself as she always did when the name
Hanna
was mentioned, although that was hardly ever. It was a taboo, a red-hot coal no one touched. No one ever spoke about Hanna, no one. The photo on her grandparents’ living room wall was the only evidence that she’d ever been part of the family.

This time Gertrud didn’t freeze. She took a sip of wine and looked at her daughter wearily. “Well? Are they nice, her photos? Did you like them?”

“Yes,” Lilli answered in surprise. “Yes, they’re wonderful!” She hoped Gertrud would say more, but she didn’t. She merely stared out into the darkness of the garden.

“Mama,” Lilli said, tentatively touching her arm. “Mama!”

Gertrud shook her head. “No!” She heard the vehemence of her own voice. “No, don’t ask me. I can’t tell you anything. Maybe someday, maybe
. . .
”

She trailed off. Lilli nodded, stroked Gertrud’s arm, stayed silent.

Hanna,
Gertrud thought,
always Hanna
. She began to shiver in the darkness of the terrace.

“Maybe I’ll shut up shop and fly out to Greece for a few days,” she said. “It would be a good time to do that. Could you look after Moritz while Christian’s at work?”

“Sure,” Lilli said.

Christian came back out and refilled their wine glasses. Lilli told them about London, and time passed. Gertrud now found herself standing alone on the terrace with her last glass of wine, waiting for Christian to come up behind her and embrace her, waiting for him to trace the lines of her neck with his lips. She would give him a gentle shake and say,
It’s late. I’m tired.
And she would leave without turning back, knowing that he was standing there with drooping shoulders and a resigned expression, wishing she were on the moon or in hell or wherever.

She shrugged. There was nothing she could do about it. It was as it was. And now Tonio had come back. For some mysterious, crazy reason he was back in her life, and somehow also in Lilli’s and probably also in Hanna’s. Which would mean that Hanna was also in Gertrud’s life.

He had just approached her on one of the last mild evenings in August, when the fall was starting to make itself felt in the air. She had been walking down the avenue toward home, wearing a dress of copper and stone, the bronzed moons of her breasts swaying to the rhythm of her steps, black-red shadows falling from the canopy of the maples—a harmonious picture, precious and rare.

He’d told her he started walking toward her as if drawn by a string, silently praying for her to stop. He’d thought,
Stop! Wait for me. Turn around!

And then she actually had stopped. She’d turned her face to the light, closed her eyes, and taken a deep breath, breathing in that early hint of fall, amazed by the moment of joy and peace.

“How strange,” he said, touching her arm lightly. “In my thoughts I asked you to stop. And now you really have.”

He grinned, embarrassed and nervous, cleared his throat. “I must have powers of hypnotism.”

She stared at him, shaking her head slightly.

“What
. . 
. ?” she said, faltering, taking a step back. He seemed to enjoy her bewilderment and shock.

“I know I resemble my late father.” He looked a little remorseful. “Maybe I should have warned you so I wouldn’t have given you such a fright.”

She stared into his face, his eyes, taking in his hair and his clothes. This was no ghost, no illusion—different from her memories, but even so
. . .

His father?

She felt her blood run cold and saw her past open up before her, a gaping abyss.

“Can I take you for a coffee? Or would you prefer tea? Perhaps a glass of wine?”

He talked away in embarrassment, his breath close to her face.
What insolence,
she thought.
What insolence!

His lack of respect for her space irritated her, made her angry. She took a step back, shook her head silently, and stared with fascination at that remarkably familiar face.

It can’t be true,
she thought. She stared fixedly at his mouth, the lines of his cheeks, the gray of his eyes. The familiarity was almost enough to choke her.

“Who are you?” she asked breathlessly. “Who are you?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, gnawing nervously on his lip before finally giving her his first name and surname. She only remembered the first name. She’d never heard the surname, but his first name shocked her afresh. It was clear that it was no coincidence that he was there for her, for Hanna, for the distant past.

“Like my father,” he said, and she finally sensed the way he shifted with embarrassment. She thought,
Like his father. What an idiot—can’t he see it’s obvious?

“You knew him, didn’t you?” he asked, hoping for her assent.

She shook her head hastily, cleared her throat, and said, “No.”

It’s not possible,
she thought again and again, shaking her head. But she could handle it, or at least do her best to.

“No,” she said, louder than necessary. “Leave me in peace. Stop bothering me!”

She turned away.

“Please,” he said. “Don’t just go! Let me explain! Please!”

But she had already walked away. He followed her and pressed a piece of paper into her hand.

“My cell phone number. I’d really like
. . .
Please call me. Please! In a few days, a week. Whenever you want to!”

She stared at him and then at the note in her hand and then back at him, before finally leaving him standing there. At home she got out the old photos. She was alone. Christian was visiting friends and Moritz in bed. It was one of the last warm nights of the year, the summer on the wane. She wasn’t happy about it. Perhaps she suspected that
. . .
No. She suspected nothing. There was nothing to suspect.

She stared at the photos: Hanna, Tonio, herself.
How young we were,
she thought
. How young.
She felt a slight longing for those days.

So, Tonio. Tonio again. With a dull taste in her mouth, she went to the window and leaned out into the night. She felt a churning in her stomach.
Shit,
she thought.
Shit.
But it was already too late.

Later, she lay helpless on the sofa, finally coming to terms in her heart and her head with what was logical and obvious. He had spoken of his father, his dead father, mixing the past with the present in such a way that nothing felt right.

So he deceived us,
she thought.
He deceived us, the bastard. Hanna more than anyone, but also me somehow. He fucked around with others, who knows with how many, and had a son, who knows how many, and he even gave him his name.

This boy is not coming into my happy life,
she thought, feeling helpless that he had casually appeared as if it were nothing.
He’ll ruin everything.

She jumped up, went back over to the window, and looked out into the night. The darkness was soft, like down. There was nothing to get hold of.

Ah, well,
she thought finally as she calmed down.
Ah, well, if that’s how it’s to be.
Time seemed to stand still for a fraction of a second and she turned
. . .
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