The Stronger Sex by Hans Werner Kettenbach Read Free Book Online Page B

cold cutlet in a bar or heating up a can of soup at home.
    I was in luck. Frau Novotna’s young ladies came back with hot meatballs and sharply seasoned canapés. With the last canapé and afresh Pils, I withdrew from the main thoroughfare of the room to a quieter corner where a large and brightly coloured painting hung. As I ate and drank I tried to decipher
the picture, but apart from a large number of irregular rectangles of different colours, stacked together by the artist and interlocking, I could make nothing of it. Going first closer to the picture and then away from it again was no help.
    I glanced sideways, suddenly afraid that some art freak had been watching me and pointing me out to all his clan, who were now standing together, grinning, as they watched my hopeless attempts to make sense of Willy Ferber’s work. No, no one was taking any notice of me. I did see, however, that Frau Novotna and Cilly Klofft were in a farewell embrace. Cilly Klofft moved my way, but was held up again by the green blazer, who barred her way with hands raised. I turned back to Ferber’s rectangles.
    What did a woman like Cilly Klofft have to do with these eccentric figures? Was she one of those rich people who set up as collectors or patrons, trying to buy their way into a world of which they understand little or nothing, although they like to bask in its atmosphere?
    â€œDoes it interest you?”
    I jumped when I suddenly found Frau Novotna behind me. “Oh, I… I’m just getting to know it.”
    She nodded. “Not a difficult work, though. Or do you think so?”
    â€œNo, no, not that! But…”
    I immediately cursed myself, because I knew I couldn’t follow up that “but” with anything reasonably intelligent, let alone well-phrased. I smiled, swayed slightly back and forth, as if polishing up what I had to say. But suddenly she said, “And so you’re acting for Herr Klofft in a legal case?”
    What was this about?
    â€œA legal case? Well, no, we haven’t got that far yet. It’s not certain.”
    She nodded with a forbearing smile, as if to suggest that she knew more than I might think. I asked, “What makes you say that?”

    â€œOh, you know… Cilly Klofft and I have been friends for a very long time. Too long for me to tell a charming young man just how long.” She laughed.
    I felt I ought to contradict her gallantly, but before any idea of what to say occurred to me, she went on, “She’s very taken with you!”
    I had even less idea what to say in answer to this revelation, but finally I said, “Ah, yes, and how… how did you meet?”
    â€œWell, how do you think?” She shook her head, laughing. “A gallery owner in this city who didn’t know Cilly Klofft would be in the wrong profession, don’t you think?”
    So that was it – she bought paintings. But maybe she pursued this idle hobby not of her own free will, maybe he sent her off to spend his superfluous money and get him the social status that his valves could never supply. I said, “I see. Then she’s a collector.”
    â€œNo, no!” She raised her eyebrows and looked at me almost indignantly. “She’s a painter! Didn’t you know that?”

6
    Next morning I spent two hours in court, and when I came back to the office, Hochkeppel was out. I was disappointed because since last night I had been wondering what kind of a painter Cilly Klofft was, whether she was well thought of, and why, if she really was an artist to be taken seriously, she had married that uncouth oaf of a husband.
    I hadn’t found out the answer yesterday evening. She had indeed come over to me, but before I had a chance to bring her painting into the conversation, Frauke had followed her and joined us, starting a discussion of which I understood at the most half, because it was mainly about people of whom I knew hardly anything. I