The Rose Gardener

by Charlotte Link

  Is he afraid now that I’ll empty the account over here? She asked herself this, and the thought that Michael was nervous and brooding over his money cheered her. He had been furious over the phone, and like always he’d been quick to force her back into an inferior position, but she’d also sensed his dismay over her disappearance, his puzzlement, his disbelief. Never in his life had he reckoned with that. She’d shaken his worldview a bit. And that was more than she would have thought herself capable of, even a few days ago.

  Ever more quickly the sky opened up, and just a few minutes later it was free of clouds. The ocean mirrored its radiant blue, but it was also churned up by the wind, and the waves had white caps of foam. The sun was so warm now that Franca took her jacket off and tied it around her waist. If the weather stayed like this, she would have a pretty tan on her face and arms. She went along sunk deep in thought and gave a violent start when suddenly a man appeared before her. It was Kevin.

  “Nothing to be afraid of,” he said soothingly. He had noticed her fright. “It’s only me.”

  He looked beaten down, Franca noticed at once. She thought of Helene’s elated mood this morning. Apparently Kevin had not found their evening together as pleasant as she had. Either that or something else was eating him this morning.

  “Oh, Kevin,” Franca said. “I wasn’t at all expecting to meet anyone else up here.”

  “It stopped raining and I just had to get out for a bit of a walk,” he explained. It sounded like he was being evasive. Franca found it strange that he would go for a walk here, over Petit Bôt Bay, and not in the vicinity of his house in Torteval. But she didn’t ask any questions. If he had wanted to say something about it, he would have done so.

  Kevin grabbed his head. “I’m afraid I’m a bit hungover. After I took Helene home last night, I cleaned up the kitchen and emptied a second bottle of wine. And there were a few grappas in there as well … you notice it the next morning.”

  “Helene enjoyed it very much over at your place,” said Franca. “She’s in the best of spirits.”

  “Oh? I’m glad. She’s a nice woman. Sometimes a bit of a strain, but … well, yeah. She’s grown fond of me, somehow.” He shrugged his shoulders. “All old women are fond of me. I seem to be the embodiment of the dream man they once wanted when they were young.” He smiled, and his features relaxed; a hint of color returned to his cheeks. Franca looked at him, at his well-proportioned, handsome features; his dark hair; his eyes set far apart, with their remarkable gray-green color; his warm smile. A man who had a massive effect on women, by no means only on older ones, but who could never have known what to do with them.

  They stood around indecisively for a moment, then Kevin said, “If you’d like, I could keep you company for a bit. I don’t want to go home yet. The air is magnificent, don’t you think?”

  “And the ocean smells so wonderful. I haven’t been here in so long. You quickly forget in the time in between how good it can make you feel.”

  Side by side they walked along the cliff path. Franca tasted salt on her lips.

  If only I never had to leave this place, she suddenly thought.

  As if he had sensed what she was thinking, Kevin asked, “How long will you be staying?”

  “I don’t know …” She hesitated. Kevin, walking beside her, gave her a searching look.

  “It’s none of my business, of course,” he said. “But if there’s some kind of problem, you’re sure to find some space here, and maybe even a solution. Physical distance helps in a lot of cases.”

  “I think that some kind of path will open up for me,” Franca responded, but she was in no way convinced that it would be so.

  “To me you look different than you did last fall,” Kevin said. “You seemed to me then to be terribly anxious. You …” He broke off.

  “Yes?” Franca asked.

  “You seemed so tense. Impossibly reserved. On Beatrice and Helene’s birthday you almost never smiled, and one had the impression that you jumped out of your skin whenever someone came to talk to you. It’s different this time.”

  She laughed. “Things are better for me than they have been. I feel very free. Maybe you have to … do things sometimes that you never thought yourself capable of. It’s a beautiful feeling when suddenly everything just works.”

  “Naturally it’s a beautiful feeling. You’ve won a victory over your own self. There’s no other victory that brings so much inner strength.” Kevin went quiet, thinking about what he’d said. Then he added, “And no other victory that’s so difficult to attain.”

  Things aren’t going at all well for him, thought Franca. He’s mired in a whole heap of problems.

  It occurred to her that Beatrice had spoken of his constant need of money. Maybe he wasn’t entertaining Helene just to bask in luxury with the money she gave him. Maybe there were very serious worries over business that kept him from getting any sleep at night. He didn’t just look hungover. He looked like a man who hasn’t found any peace or relief in a long time. In his eyes there was a hunted look.

  “I don’t know yet if I can speak of a victory in my case,” she said in response to his words. “Who knows how the whole thing’s going to end? I’ll go running back home with my tail between my legs and crawl into bed.”

  She laughed, but Kevin gave her a very serious look. He stopped walking.

  “You won’t do that,” he said. “I’ll bet anything that you won’t.”

  She stopped laughing. “What makes you so certain?”

  “The look on your face,” said Kevin. “You’ve gotten a taste of it. A taste of freedom. It won’t ever let go of you.”

  He took her arm and pressed it. It was a gesture full of warmth and affection. “I think you’ll be staying for a rather long time,” he said.

  4

  Life on this island is simply unbearable, thought Maya.

  Winter had been just about hopeless. Hardly any tourists, all the rain imaginable, boring nights at the disco with equally boring locals. When she was still in school Maya had found the boys from the island quite thrilling. They were strong, tanned, athletic, and rather keen on a girl like Maya, who was willing to offer herself in the backseats of cars, abandoned boathouses, or on the soft sand of the caves by the beach. But most of them had seen nothing of the world, and it was highly unsatisfying to talk to them. The smarter ones would go into the banking business, the others either took over their parents’ pensions or hotels or became fishermen or dockworkers. Maya found that fishermen simply always stank of fish, even when they’d just come out of the shower. The smell of the ocean had dug its way into their bodies’ every pore. Maya shuddered even today at the memory of certain hurried sessions of lovemaking during which she’d felt like an entire bucket of shrimp was being dumped on her.

  Later on her preference had been to stick with tourists, mainly the French and German vacationers. Some of them had appeared genuinely interesting and generous, but in the end they were all pasty-skinned, often overweight yuppies who felt like irresistible casanovas because they’d managed to screw a pretty local girl. In their enthusiasm they wouldn’t notice that the evening had cost them half a fortune. Eventually Maya started to find them all idiotic, and with them she had the same horrible feeling — that she was wasting precious moments of her life — as she did with the fishermen and the trainee bankers.

  Now, in April, they once again poured onto the island in droves with their cameras, baseball hats, and hiking shoes. At night they would hang around bars on the lookout for a quick conquest. Earlier, Maya had seen every night as an extended hunt; she had presented herself as a prize and kept her own lookout as well. A pleasure that began to bore her more and more.

  Hopefully I’m not just getting old, she thought, horrified.

  She stood in the lobby of the Royal Bank of Scotland in St. Peter Port and asked her
self why, on a normal Monday morning, there were such long lines in front of all the tellers. Apparently everyone had picked this one day to get their banking done. Especially the retirees. With endless deliberation and torpidity they added miniscule sums to their savings or withdrew similar pittances, and it quickly seemed to Maya that their sluggishness was intentional, that they absolutely had to make of this one single event in their day a grand event.

  The line Maya was standing in moved forward a step and she could see herself in the mirror to the side of the entrance. She cast a cautious look upon her face. She had just asked herself if she might be getting old, and now she almost expected to discover wrinkles and age lines around her eyes and mouth.

  Not much longer, she thought, and I’ll be thirty.

  What she saw calmed her down a little. Her boyish figure made her look like a teenager still. Her giant shoes with their platform soles made her legs even longer and more slender; her short black sweater left a strip of her flat, tanned stomach visible. She wore a string of pearls tight around her neck and let her hair fall over her back, a free-flowing mane. She’d colored her eyes with kohl, had painted her lips dark red. The room’s artificial lighting made her look pale, but she knew that in reality she had a pretty skin tone. She noticed that almost all the men in the room were eyeing her, more or less discreetly. That gave her a fair amount of self-confidence back.

  If I say I’m eighteen, anybody’ll believe me, she thought with satisfaction. She was getting ready to empty out her savings account, and she just hoped the amount would be enough to pay for a trip to London. Her grandmother Mae gave her money all the time, otherwise she’d have been flat broke, but Maya had spent a lot on clothes recently, and so she wasn’t sure how much she’d find.

  She wanted to get to Alan.

  At some point in the last few weeks it had become clear to her that her life couldn’t keep going the way it was now. She was moldering here on Guernsey, having to content herself with third-class love affairs and let real life pass her by. Real life was happening beyond the ocean that hemmed her in. A sudden feeling of restlessness had come over her that bordered on panic and made it so she almost couldn’t breathe. Oh God, for how criminally long had she been dawdling? She had to see to it that she took a hold of her life, and she had to be quick about it. She couldn’t afford to lose even a few months. For several nights she lay awake, brooding, letting option after option appear before her mind’s eye, then throwing out each plan and turning quickly to the next.

  And then, after awhile, on a windy, long night in late March, she remembered Alan. She had sat up in bed, her heart thudding fiercely, and she had thought: That’s it! Alan is the answer! Why didn’t I think of it sooner?

  Suddenly Alan was the light on the horizon, the solution to all of her problems. She remembered their last meeting in January, remembered everything he’d said. He’d given her some moralizing sermons, of course — he always did — but she’d seen it in his eyes how much he still wanted her; and whatever he might think of her — he’d never manage to turn her away. Ultimately, he was wax in her hands, even if he so often claimed that he had no intention of bankrolling her life, her idea of luxury, of chic clothes and expensive nightclubs.

  If she played her cards right, eventually he’d be eating from the palm of her hand. She’d have to account for a certain amount of time filled with boredom, but sooner or later she’d be living the life she’d always dreamed of.

  Why had she been so dumb as to always turn Alan down, when really he was the best thing that could happen to her?

  It had been fun for her, she admitted to herself, to have him on a long leash trotting along behind her. To draw him in or push him back depending on whatever mood she happened to be in. To treat him badly and then to see him come anyway if she granted him a smile for a change. Like a poker player, she’d kept on raising the stakes. How far could she go? When would he cry out? When would he — finally! — get mad?

  He didn’t get mad, and so she began to get bored. He lectured her, but he didn’t accept her declaration of war, wouldn’t use her own weapons against her. Maya knew it would have made her nuts if he had started something serious with another woman. She would have put everything into winning him back, and he would have had the satisfaction of seeing her struggle and beg and strategize. He had never understood his own power over her. Poor Alan! Even now, after all that had happened, he’d still count himself lucky to be permitted to take her in.

  The line was no longer moving. Maya saw that the line next to her looked to be moving faster, and so she switched. She noticed too late that she was now standing right behind Helene Feldmann. Up to now she hadn’t recognized the old woman, and luckily she apparently hadn’t seen her either. Maya couldn’t go back any more, she’d have had to take a spot at the very end. She hoped with all her heart that Helene wouldn’t turn around and discover her there. She could imagine the torrent of words that would come pouring over her. Helene could be an insufferable chatterbox. She thought all God’s creatures would just have to be interested in her nattering on about the past; she didn’t get it that no one could muster any enthusiasm for her stories anymore.

  Helene was next in line.

  She’ll take out three pounds and fifty pence and will need an hour to do so, Maya thought spitefully. She’s too stupid to even get the money out of the ATM!

  Bored, she looked at the black nail polish on her fingernails, and then to her deep astonishment, she overheard as Helene stepped to the teller and asked to withdraw fifteen thousand pounds.

  Maya’s head jerked up. Fifteen thousand pounds! The old lady’s really got a nerve to overdraw her account like that. Because she can hardly have that much money, right? Mae had always spoken of Helene’s modest pension whenever Maya had scoffed at the old woman for just sitting at home and whining instead of going on trips and enjoying her life.

  “She doesn’t have any money, Maya! She can’t afford a single luxury.”

  As if! Maya pursed her lips in disdain. Someone who could just go off on a normal Monday morning and take out fifteen thousand pounds without batting an eye wasn’t exactly poor as a church mouse. Even if it was a loan — the bank didn’t let just anyone take out that kind of sum. But it was possible Helene hadn’t overdrawn after all. Maya pricked up her ears, but she couldn’t hear the teller talking about anything like a credit limit or an overdraft fee. Apparently he had no problem at all counting the notes out on the counter for her. Helene put the money in her dainty little handbag — it looked like she’d borrowed it from a choirgirl sometime in the ’50s — and turned around. She saw Maya at once and for a moment she looked shocked, but she quickly recovered herself.

  “Maya! I didn’t see you there at all! How are you? You look good!” The words tumbled out of her mouth a bit too quickly.

  She’s nervous, thought Maya, she doesn’t know what I may or may not have seen, and she doesn’t want anyone to find anything out.

  “Everything’s okay,” she said offhand and stepped up to the window — the teller had been motioning to her with impatience. She inquired about her savings and learned that they consisted of a laughable forty-eight pounds. That wouldn’t be enough. She’d have to hit Mae up again, and if she gave her nothing, she was out of ideas.

  And the old crow just goes up and casually takes out fifteen thousand pounds, she thought resentfully.

  Helene had waited on her and minced alongside her to the door. She moved slowly, and so Maya had to creep along as well. She felt more and more annoyed.

  “A gloomy day, today,” Helene said in a gravely voice. “April seventeenth.”

  It didn’t interest Maya in the least why Helene found this day to be a gloomy one, but she thought she’d make an exception and be polite for once. “Why?” she asked.

  Helene stood where she was and let out a deep sigh.

  “Fifty-f
ive years ago today,” she said, “The nightmare began. That’s when my husband began to descend into a state of panic. The ground was crumbling away beneath his feet. And the disaster began.”

  She started walking again, and while Maya was grappling for an appropriate response, she abruptly changed the subject and asked, “Actually, is there still something going on between you and Alan?”

  “I think so,” said Maya. And to herself she added: I can only hope there is.

  “I’d like to give you something,” said Helene, “as a thank you for driving me to St. Peter Port.” She had reached the car, which Franca had parked in front of the parish church. Maya had very quickly said goodbye, muttering some excuse. Franca had gotten out to help Helene, but Helene wasn’t planning on going back yet. Despite Franca’s protest she insisted on her idea of taking her shopping.

  “I know a very nice clothing boutique here,” she said. “Maybe you’d like to pick something out for yourself.”

  “I really don’t think so, it would be much too expensive. I was happy to drive you Helene, I …”

  “It would be fun for me. Besides …” Helene hesitated, but then went on, “Besides, I think you should go ahead and treat yourself to a few stylish clothes. You’re such a pretty woman, Franca, but sometimes it seems like you do everything you can to hide the fact. The things you’ve got on just hang off you, and …”

  “I don’t have an especially good figure. I can’t get away with letting too much of my body show.”

  Helene’s eyes began to flash. “Who told you all that nonsense?” She cried. “As far as I can see, under all that mass of fabric you camouflage yourself with, you are a slender, long-legged person with perfect proportions. We’ll go to the shop right now and get the saleswoman to confirm it.”

  Franca protested, but Helene wouldn’t relent, and finally they landed in a small store on a side street. “Claire Ladies Wear” read the sign hanging over the tall windows. To Franca’s relief there were no other customers on the sales floor. When was the last time she had bought something to wear? It must have been half an eternity ago, at least five years. She had been too insecure about her body; though she did have to admit that Michael had never made any disparaging remark — not about her body, anyway. But then, he’d also never found a single complimentary word to say either. For a long time he probably hadn’t been aware of her body at all.