“You have no idea what you’re talking about. What do you know about my painting? What do you know about the woman? Nothing. Not about the painting, not about the woman. Maybe she wants to go back to her husband. To the comfort he offers: the servants, the holidays, the horses, the tennis, the money. Have you asked yourself that? What will she do when her money runs out and my paintings don’t yet earn enough? Work as a waitress? As a cleaning lady? In a factory? And why should you care about any of this?”

“I’m supposed to draw up a contract. A perverse contract. And you ask why I should care?”

“Slow down. Irene Gundlach is a grown woman. It doesn’t matter what you write, what her husband and I sign – she can do what she wants. If I tell her it’s over, and if he tells her she belongs to him again, she can tell him to go to hell, and tell me she doesn’t believe me. Don’t talk to me about perverse. Two men have got into a mess and want to sort it out, and whether they succeed depends on the woman. An old story.”

During the last few sentences he’d calmed down. He was brusque but in control of himself. He stood up. “I’ll agree to whatever terms. Let him decide when and where and how what needs to happen happens. You know how to reach me.”

14

Today, if a client came to me with such a request, I’d show him the door. Back then I didn’t know what to say, and watched silently as Schwind left the room.

Should I speak to one of the two senior partners? But my reputation in the firm was partly built on never asking for help, but rather solving all problems myself. I thought of the first judge for whom I had worked as a clerk and with whom I had an especially close relationship. I could imagine what he would say.

The phone rang; the firm’s manager had Gundlach on the line. Had Gundlach hired a detective to shadow Schwind and report when he entered and left my office?

“You’re considering what you should put down in the contract. It’s not for me to meddle in your work. But allow me to make a suggestion. It’s best if Schwind and Irene come to me. We’ll talk a little, then Schwind will take the painting to his car, and say he’ll come back to pick up Irene – but he’ll drive away with the painting instead. When I explain to Irene that Schwind has swapped her for the picture, she’ll know to whom she belongs.”

“What if she doesn’t know?”