at the table.
“I’ve ordered Sekt,” she said by way of a greeting. “I hope that’s all right with you.”
Josefa didn’t mind at all. When they clinked glasses, the German lady introduced herself. “I’m Ingrid, by the way.”
Josefa introduced herself and then got around to asking her what her business was on Tenerife.
“A lot of Germans live here, and they often need legal advice.”
“You work for the consulate?”
“Not directly,” Ingrid answered evasively. “Not everyone wants to handle things through the consulate.”
Josefa decided not to ask any more questions along those lines. Instead Ingrid asked her about her work. Josefa tried to give polite answers without being too concrete, but the Sekt had begun to go to her head.
“Who gets on your company’s VIP list? What are the criteria for selection?”
Josefa explained that she made suggestions but management had the final say.
“And do many of them lobby hard to participate in company events?” Ingrid persisted.
“That may well be, but I don’t hear anything about that.”
“Tell me, are there guests who are no longer invited because the company can no longer afford them?”
“Yes, that also happens. It’s handled very discreetly,” she replied, thinking that was an unusual question. In general she found the topic an uncomfortable one so she tried to change the subject, asking Ingrid about the beautiful necklace she was wearing, a chain of white coral.
“You have a fabulous purse,” Ingrid remarked, returning the compliment. “Does that come with the job, having to carry Loyn’s handbags when you’re not at work?”
Josefa stared at the woman across from her. She had not mentioned Loyn in their conversation. She was always very discreet as far as her work went, particularly with strangers; discretion was part of her job, after all.
“How do you know I work for Loyn?”
Ingrid seemed to flinch a bit—or did Josefa just imagine it?
“It’s so unmistakably Loyn…You’ve told me about handbags, so there was a high probability,” she replied confidently, pointing to Josefa’s handbag.
Josefa nodded, admitting that her explanation certainly seemed plausible. Why didn’t I think of that myself?
Then they enjoyed their lobster, white wine, and the flan for dessert. Before leaving the restaurant, Josefa asked the waiter to take a photograph of them together as a souvenir. Ingrid offered to take a couple of pictures of Josefa in front of the magnificent hotel façade. They both giggled like teenagers at their touristy behavior, and as Ingrid, still chuckling, handed Josefa back her camera, she remarked, “I’m certainly not as good as Pius Tschuor, but that’s good enough for a snapshot.”
Late that night, wrapped up in the cool sheets, Josefa racked her brains to figure out what Ingrid had said about Pius. Damn that Sekt .
Arriving at the airport the next morning with a serious hangover, Josefa bought a strong coffee and a Swiss paper—the first one in ten days—and sat at the gate waiting for her flight. When she looked at the front-page headline, her heart began to race.
FINANCIER BEAT THÜRING MISSING OFF TENERIFE
Spanish police have reported that Swiss entrepreneur Beat Thüring, former CEO of the notorious bankrupt Swixan AG, fell off his yacht into the water on Tuesday under mysterious circumstances and is missing. Spanish police have begun an investigation. Thüring was apparently going with some friends for a night sail at the time. Some witnesses stated that Thüring was under the influence of alcohol and drugs when he boarded his yacht. They reported he suddenly fell overboard and did not resurface. Spanish police are not ruling out foul play.
Zurich was gray and wet. Josefa felt her heart grow heavy; her vacation was over.
“Feltenstrasse eighty-three?” the taxi driver asked as they turned into her street. He stopped a few yards from her house and turned toward her.
“There’s a cop car in
“I’ve ordered Sekt,” she said by way of a greeting. “I hope that’s all right with you.”
Josefa didn’t mind at all. When they clinked glasses, the German lady introduced herself. “I’m Ingrid, by the way.”
Josefa introduced herself and then got around to asking her what her business was on Tenerife.
“A lot of Germans live here, and they often need legal advice.”
“You work for the consulate?”
“Not directly,” Ingrid answered evasively. “Not everyone wants to handle things through the consulate.”
Josefa decided not to ask any more questions along those lines. Instead Ingrid asked her about her work. Josefa tried to give polite answers without being too concrete, but the Sekt had begun to go to her head.
“Who gets on your company’s VIP list? What are the criteria for selection?”
Josefa explained that she made suggestions but management had the final say.
“And do many of them lobby hard to participate in company events?” Ingrid persisted.
“That may well be, but I don’t hear anything about that.”
“Tell me, are there guests who are no longer invited because the company can no longer afford them?”
“Yes, that also happens. It’s handled very discreetly,” she replied, thinking that was an unusual question. In general she found the topic an uncomfortable one so she tried to change the subject, asking Ingrid about the beautiful necklace she was wearing, a chain of white coral.
“You have a fabulous purse,” Ingrid remarked, returning the compliment. “Does that come with the job, having to carry Loyn’s handbags when you’re not at work?”
Josefa stared at the woman across from her. She had not mentioned Loyn in their conversation. She was always very discreet as far as her work went, particularly with strangers; discretion was part of her job, after all.
“How do you know I work for Loyn?”
Ingrid seemed to flinch a bit—or did Josefa just imagine it?
“It’s so unmistakably Loyn…You’ve told me about handbags, so there was a high probability,” she replied confidently, pointing to Josefa’s handbag.
Josefa nodded, admitting that her explanation certainly seemed plausible. Why didn’t I think of that myself?
Then they enjoyed their lobster, white wine, and the flan for dessert. Before leaving the restaurant, Josefa asked the waiter to take a photograph of them together as a souvenir. Ingrid offered to take a couple of pictures of Josefa in front of the magnificent hotel façade. They both giggled like teenagers at their touristy behavior, and as Ingrid, still chuckling, handed Josefa back her camera, she remarked, “I’m certainly not as good as Pius Tschuor, but that’s good enough for a snapshot.”
Late that night, wrapped up in the cool sheets, Josefa racked her brains to figure out what Ingrid had said about Pius. Damn that Sekt .
Arriving at the airport the next morning with a serious hangover, Josefa bought a strong coffee and a Swiss paper—the first one in ten days—and sat at the gate waiting for her flight. When she looked at the front-page headline, her heart began to race.
FINANCIER BEAT THÜRING MISSING OFF TENERIFE
Spanish police have reported that Swiss entrepreneur Beat Thüring, former CEO of the notorious bankrupt Swixan AG, fell off his yacht into the water on Tuesday under mysterious circumstances and is missing. Spanish police have begun an investigation. Thüring was apparently going with some friends for a night sail at the time. Some witnesses stated that Thüring was under the influence of alcohol and drugs when he boarded his yacht. They reported he suddenly fell overboard and did not resurface. Spanish police are not ruling out foul play.
Zurich was gray and wet. Josefa felt her heart grow heavy; her vacation was over.
“Feltenstrasse eighty-three?” the taxi driver asked as they turned into her street. He stopped a few yards from her house and turned toward her.
“There’s a cop car in
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