Books & Poetry

Last week, Owain Paciuszko continued our London chain story. Here is the fifth chapter, written by Time Out reader Stephen Emms. Thanks to everyone who contributed.

Chapter Five by Stephen Emms

She spoke quickly: the easy life in Berlin, the presumed whereabouts of Betsy.
‘At least you know she’s alive, right?’ said Tobias. ‘He wouldn’t do anything, would he? He’s corrupt, but not dangerous?’
‘I don’t know,’ Mo shook her head. ‘Everything was about money. He didn’t care about anybody.’ She laughed: ‘It sounds like I’m making this up doesn’t it? But I’m determined to find him – and get my money back, too.’

She felt foolish making grand proclamations to a stranger, especially as that was how she had impressed Franz in the first place. That bloody trust fund.

‘I’d better get back to work,’ Tobias grinned. ‘Can I see you later?’
‘Maybe,’ she smiled back. ‘Yeah, why not?’
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He disappeared into the kitchen. Mo tried to concentrate on the thousands of Franz Schmidts listed on the screen.
‘Did you forget your keys?’ she had snapped that night.
‘I’m taking you out.’ Franz was standing at the door, beaming. ‘Come on, get dressed. I'll be outside.’
She had thrown on a clean top, put her hair up and run down the six flights of stairs. She remembered feeling something, but couldn’t pinpoint the emotion. Franz was sitting in a black limo.
‘Look at you!’ she said. ‘Tell me where we’re going.’

‘No.’
‘You know I hate surprises.’
‘You’ll see.’ His look silenced her. The cab sped past the concrete expanse of Alexanderplatz towards Mitte. On the corner of Charlottenstrasse, the driver opened the door.
‘Lutter and Wegner!’ Mo had exclaimed.

‘It’s my way of saying thank you,’ he said. ‘Thank you for investing your money and thank you for inviting a poor stray in.’ He kissed her. ‘I love you. Come on, we’re late. Let’s eat!’
Inside, the restaurant was abuzz with chatter. They were led through a series of rooms decorated with fresh flowers to a table away from the sea of avuncular men and vulture-faced women.
‘I’m having weiner schnitzel,’ Mo had announced as they glanced at the menu.
‘Why not try the fish?’ Franz had said. Typical Franz. ‘Okay, okay, have the schnitzel if you must.’
A few moments later he had said: ‘Why are you doing this?’
‘Doing what? It’s what I fancy, that’s all.’

They had eaten two courses and drunk two bottles of Fleurie. She had barely spoken, but with Franz it was always like that.
‘Excuse me,’ he had said, flushed with wine. ‘I’m just going to the toilet.’ She smiled. After ten minutes he hadn’t returned so she called his mobile.
No answer.

‘And that was the last I saw of him,’ she said to Tobias as they sat, that evening, in a noisy bar. ‘But this feels weird, talking about an ex when…’
‘Don’t be silly.’ Tobias smiled at her.
He had honest eyes. ‘It’s your family at stake. So what now?’