She had to meet up with Sam.
Immediately Nina e-mailed Professor Kulich’s office to see if she could go ahead so long. She would meet Petra Kulich in Prague on Sunday, so that they could leave for the chateau according to plan, but she needed to go to Germany so long to assist an old friend.
Chapter 8 — The Good Samaritan
“You are just going to let him get away with it?” Heinz asked his wife. He could not believe that she did not press charges against the little brat who stole her bag and all her money. He was old school, the brave Heinz. Even his hair style gave away his affinity for discipline and old world values. Shaved much like Hitler’s, his shaded scalp was prevalent on the bottom half of his head while the top of his head sported wet looking straight grey and black strands, carefully Brill creamed with a comb. He lacked the moustache, but his eyes were like Arctic water — cold and tumultuous.
“He is just a child, Karl-Heinz. And who knows how long he has been living on the streets, having to scavenge and deceive for food? He is no more than twelve years old. There is time to mold him into a fine citizen, still, but not if he is already put behind bars just for doing what he needs to stay alive,” his wife replied while she sat in front of the hotel room dressing mirror, fixing her elaborate golden earrings to hang straight.
“He needs a bloody good hiding, that’s what!” he thundered as he struggled to get the triangular knot of his tie just light on his collar. “Children like that need to see that there are repercussions to their actions. I don’t care what his reasons are. When I was a young boy, we were just as poor, but we were on a farm. If we lived in the city, no doubt we would also have been homeless just like this little criminal. But let me tell you the truth — you would never have caught me stealing!” he said under his scowl.
Heinz’ distinct mouth totally resembled his personality. A wide gash with hardly any lips fell downwards at the ends, dropping to give him the impression that he was either very unhappy or very mean. In truth, Heinz was neither. Perhaps it was his giving nature and his love for his wife both, that had him especially fuming at the unfortunate incident in Cluj.
“Oh come now, you have never been that hungry. How would you know? Besides, I did get my purse back with most of my things. All he took was my money,” she defended the boy, to her husband’s discontent.
He mumbled, “And then you still arrange for him to be brought here and have his hospital bills paid too, Greta! Really? I tell you, that seizure was his punishment for taking what did not belong to him.”
Gracefully she rose from her chair, checking her eyeliner just before walking over to her grumpy husband to help him with the stubborn tie. She was a ravishing German woman in her fifties, her hair auburn with fancy signs of grey which only enriched her looks. Her dark eyes were always glinting with innate fire. Greta was a passionate woman. In business, in leisure and in charity she was known as an active and energetic lady who worked tirelessly. What made her so loved by her peers was the fact that she did not allow her wealth to change her or provoke any self-importance. No, Greta was even more helpful to the less fortunate, and ‘less fortunate’ in her case, was a broad spectrum. She was a millionaire in her own right, involved not only in charities but quite a few global organizations as well. Her office held three assistants in the capacity of secretaries and PA’s, and they worked full time to coordinate all her attendances and funding activities.
Her husband was a retired brigadier, ex-mercenary in the 1970’s in Angola and Nigeria and generally a big game hunter when the mood took him. In fact, he had met his wife of twenty five years on a safari she was on with her boyfriend at that time, a visiting dignitary from Austria. He was the father of her only son, Igor, the young man who almost never left her side. Her husband had raised Igor as his own son and the two got along splendidly, which only added to Greta’s amicable demeanor towards strangers. Her life had been good. She came from an affluent family and her adult life was adventurous, free and rewarding, so she had never had any reason to be bitter or unhappy about anything, apart from trivial things all people have to deal with, of course.
After the boy had made away with her belongings, she was contacted by the police in Cluj who returned the ransacked purse and the child’s sweater to her. Naturally, he could not be traced by the piece of clothing, but one of the men from the petrol station was familiar with the little vagabond and when he saw the woolen jersey he knew exactly who it belonged to. On the insistence of Greta’s stern husband the man informed them of all Radu’s hang-outs, one of which was the park where he had been seen often. It was there that they found the two hysterical Australian girls carrying the convulsing child to the road for help.
Greta and her husband had flown their friends to Cluj with them for the weekend for antique hunting in the old Romanian haunts, so they simply hired two EMT’s to accompany them back to Germany on the private jet with the homeless young boy. Greta had contacts at all the embassies and higher orders where she personally knew politicians and judges. Getting a homeless orphan to cross borders was not a problem.
Greta’s cell phone interrupted her husband’s bombastic mumbling.
“If it’s work, tell them no,” he grumbled. His wife responded with a look of light reprimand, rolling her eyes as she answered the call. Heinz washed his face with cold water in the en suite bathroom, trying to eavesdrop on Greta’s conversation, but he could not hear any of the words he was listening for. He always allowed her her independence, but still he kept a keen ear on her calls and diary appointments. For all her admirable qualities, she was a bit of a flirt, something her husband had never been able to make peace with. There was no doubt that his wife was a very fetching woman who’s standing and reputation only made her more charming to all who encountered her. That was all good and well, but Heinz was neither young, nor attractive and he knew it. He often wondered what kept her to his side. After all, she was the wealthier of the two of them, the better looking, but he was nonetheless grateful for her loyalty. Regardless of the fact that he thought she stayed out of some sort of moral driven pity or perhaps for Igor, she never gave him reason to doubt her affection. Things like requited respect always posed a subliminal doubt deep inside Heinz, born from his countless let downs with women and military superiors alike in his youth.
When Greta chose him he reckoned it was his history as a disciplined and capable man of the world that intrigued her. Later on in their relationship he realized that it was more a matter of support and freedom, both things she craved and he gave freely. He soon noticed that she would acquire much of her aid, both financially and socially, from men she flirted with, however subtle her charms. At first he shrugged it off as diplomacy, but sometimes his beautiful wife would take her hand gestures and grazing of jaw lines a bit far.
Yet, she had never conclusively cheated on him. They were almost inseparable, Greta and her Heinz, most of the time. Whenever she had to spend time on business trips she usually asked him along without reservation and most of the time he complied with his darling spouse’s wishes. With her progressing age she seemed to have become more restless in her personal pursuits and quite recently she had Heinz worried with her insistences on keeping her latest ventures more…to herself. It sparked a small amount of jealousy in Heinz which he hid successfully under his stern appearance, through which his little self-doubt would ever elude his control.