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I groped for clarity
as the heat numbed my mind.
I reached for one more piece of paper. There was a single fold across
the middle of the page, which had no letterhead and held just two typed
lines: "Madame the enclosed documents set out the details you requested",
and a signature. It was a name I recognised. - Eduard Schulthess. Yes!
I had met him once, when I was fourteen, in Zurich, at the bank. He had
been introduced to me as the manager of my mother's accounts. The enclosure
he referred to must be somewhere within the mound of papers before me…
I was stunned by my sudden recognition of his name on that bland piece
of paper, but it seemed impossible that I would be able to find and recognise
the enclosure.
As I leant back to stretch my cramping body. I glimpsed the framed photo
of Grandfather Fritz Mendl hanging on the opposite wall.
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The grey-haired patriarch stood calmly saluting me, holding an upraised
wineglass. "Give me a hand here, Fritz, it's you little Bettina I
am trying to discover," I said aloud, then shook my head at my own
foolishness and glanced away to the other side of the room.
Over there a folded page lay by itself. Did it imagine it could escape
my systematic sorting? I picked it up in my right hand - in my left hand
I still held the two-line communication from Bank Leu. The folded grooves
slid into one another. This second page, like the first, had no letterhead,
no name, no number, no identification of any sort. It was the listing
of a share portfolio with an attributed value of 1.2 million Swiss Francs.
This was another confirmation of Ellen's claims. Bettina had a life about
which I was absolutely ignorant. Again I had stumbled on the evidence
by a strange series of coincidences. Thank you, Grandfather Fritz.
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A Story Dreamt
Long Ago
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