Anna's Ring: A Story of Love and Hope in a Hostile Environment

Anna’s Ring

A story of love and hope

in a hostile environment

This book is a work of fiction,

based on historical facts and circumstances.

Names, characters, organizations, events, and incidents

other than the historical background either are the products

of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

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© Copyright 2008 Anni Bodmer.

Cover design and art work by Otto Spalinger, www.schwarzschimmel.ch

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author. Note for Librarians: A cataloguing record for this book is available from Library and Archives Canada at www.collectionscanada.ca/amicus/index-e.html

ISBN: 978-1-4251-4244-5 Softcover

ISBN 978-1-4251-7258-9 eBook

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Contents

The Truth

Policy Making

A Life in the Ukraine

Rebecca

A life in Palestine

Rabbi Rosen

Love

Joshua Warsef’s Memories of War

Peter Flut’s Memories of War

Summer

Joshua and Olga

Berlin

Olga’s Illness

Digging into the Past

Confrontation

Sammah

Two Weddings

Honeymoon

Missing

Trapped

Bad News-Good News

Hope

Heroes and Cowards

Struggling

I cannot be silent any longer!

The Rabbi and the Pastor

Desperation and Encouragements

At the Bethlehem Children’s Hospital

Ziad’s Adoption

A Dramatic Birthday

Mr Flut and Mr Allip

Another Kidnapping

Take the baby and run!

Escaped-and Caught Again!

Abdul’s Mission

Joachim and Abdul

Freedom!-Freedom?

A Lie to Save Lives

Solutions

Epilogue

Chosen

Sources of First-Hand Information on Palestine

Principal Organizations and Characters

This Book is dedicated

to all the men and women

who engage themselves in favor of

a just peace in the Middle East,

often at the risk of their own security.

The Truth

You’re convinced the Truth is on your side

because you are descendants of

Abraham, Isaac and Jacob …

You say the Almighty reveals himself to you

when you chant, sway and pray.

You declare to the world:

We are God’s chosen people!

You are.

You’re sure you have a patent on the truth

because you are followers of Mohamed.

The Almighty talks to you

when you kneel and pray, facing Mecca.

You declare to the world:

We are God’s chosen people!

You are.

You claim you have found the Truth because the Holy Spirit revealed it to you. The Almighty manifests himself to you when you sing, pray and preach. You declare to the world: We are God’s chosen people! You are.

You are certain that you know The Truth

because your intellect has figured it out.

Has it?

Policy Making

Tuesday, January 20th 1998

In the basement of one of the oldest buildings in the Jewish sector of Jerusalem, a top-secret meeting was taking place. The building had been carefully swept for bugging devices. Anybody who regularly read the newspapers would have recognized most of the men engaged in a heated discussion around the table, but three of them were only known to a handful of senior politicians. They were the heads of Dossum, Israel’s Secret Service, and Thib Nash, the internal Secret Service.

One of them was speaking now, his voice shaking with emotion.

I have a feeling that you still don’t realize the value of these papers.

His eyes were fixed on the pages spread out before him, and the sweeping motion of his right arm reinforced the passion in his voice.

If we use these documents to our advantage, we will have a powerful bomb in our hands …

Hold it right there! That bomb could easily blow up in our own faces! interrupted an agitated, red faced man, unable to contain himself any longer. His gray hair betrayed his age, and the deep creases on his forehead and around his mouth were evidence of a tough life. He was the brain behind one of the most prestigious Jewish organizations, well known for his diplomacy and negotiating skills.

The speaker who had been interrupted glared at the man with the kind of annoyance that showed no patience, and no respect for the years that separated them. Even seated at the table, he was taller than all the others. In his early forties, he was too young to have witnessed first hand the creation of his beloved country, but he was totally committed to it, never hesitating to bend or break rules and laws, in order to enlarge Israel’s control of what he called ‘our rightful and promised Land.’

He hated all Arabs, especially the Palestinians.

Although it was known that he held an important position among government advisors, only very few could connect him to his code name, ‘The Eagle.’

Confidently, he continued.

Do you realize how much work has gone into sifting through documents and into the research that followed? It was a Herculean task to come up with seemingly valid claims. Some of our people have worked full time, for years, in the archives of Washington and all over Europe.

He picked one up at random. His trained eyes quickly swept the first page.

Here we have the bank statement of a Joseph Levin, dated November 1940. Let’s see …

Focusing on the neatly handwritten figures, and tapping the paper with his finger for emphasis, he said In 1938, Levin transferred 100,000 Reichsmarks from his bank in Warsaw to a bank in Zurich.

He flipped through the attached notes of the researcher and continued.

This man, as well as his family, died in Auschwitz in 1943. According to these records, a large sum of money from this account was transferred to the Reichsbank in Berlin, in January of that year. By whom? We have proof that Mr Levin was arrested in early October 1942. Before that date, there had been no movement in the account, and we doubt very much that he voluntarily authorized anyone to access his foreign nest egg.

A distinguished-looking man, president of the JftH (Jews for the Homeland) Organization intervened.

I’m familiar with this case. We have told you already that we have been to Zurich, to meet the presidents of three major Swiss banks. These people refuse to cooperate. They keep their mouths shut and hide behind their banking secret, and they kept reminding us of the financial settlement their country has made in Poland in 1962.

Glancing around the table to see if everyone knew what he was talking about, and reassured by their nods, he continued.

It is of no interest to them that most of that money was gobbled up by the Communist regime. Very little of it actually ended up in Jewish hands.

His brows narrowed in anger.

It makes me furious! However, that doesn’t worry the Swiss. You should have heard them: ‘We made a generous attempt to benefit former depositors or their descendents. At the time we had no other means of distributing the money.’ They were self-righteous and smug, and treated us like dumb little messenger boys asking for hand-outs.

Those arrogant bastards! exclaimed the second Dossum representative, his eyes blazing.

Short and wiry, not really ugly, but not handsome either, he could easily blend into a crowd, which was very much to his advantage. His sharp mind and talent for making precise and useful observations, accurately interpreting events and options, and taking quick decisions, had frequently benefited the State of Israel.

Who do they think they are? he continued. Swiss bankers are always hiding behind their damn banking secret. It’s time we applied some pressure!

And make them sweat! added someone else.

It’s not just the Swiss, gentlemen, intervened The Eagle. He picked up another document from the pile.

Here are the title deeds of a hotel in the heart of what was formerly East Berlin. What happened to the Elder family?

He took his time to let the question sink in, while searching the faces of the others. Satisfied to have their attention, he went on.

We have not been able to track down the heirs to this property as yet, but let me tell you: this building, and especially the ground it’s standing on, is worth a fortune. Since the fall of the Berlin Wall, it has become one of the most valuable pieces of real estate in all of Germany. If next of kin can’t be found, the proceeds from the sale of this land should rightfully benefit Jewish causes, not the German State.

A senior politician spoke up.

Remember that most countries, including Israel, have laws that give the proceeds of unclaimed properties or inheritances to the State, after a certain number of years.

To hell with laws! To hell with Germany! an elderly man replied angrily. The Germans murdered almost my entire family. No settlement can ever make amends for that, nor make me forgive!

The anguish in his words brought on a moment of silence, as they all remembered the Holocaust.

Gentlemen, said The Eagle, picking up a thick folder. Let’s discuss this one.

He opened the heavy file with the familiarity of someone who knew it well.

Here, we have evidence suggesting that there are unclaimed bank accounts of Jewish customers in Sweden, Denmark and France, as well as in all the other European countries and, believe it or not, also in the USA. This is the fruit of many years of hard work by volunteers who have dug their way through mountains of records, wherever they could be found.

Another man, who had sat in silence until now, spoke up.

Gentlemen! I thought we had come here to look for ways of finding money for the State of Israel, not to argue about bank accounts that may, or may no longer, exist.

The two Dossum men exchanged looks, while The Eagle tapped his index finger on the folder he was still holding.

What do you think we’ve been talking about? If we play our cards right and apply the right pressure in just the right places, we can turn these papers into a goldmine for our country.

Fixing the man who had spoken last with a cold stare, he went on.

We are all aware of our urgent need for hard currency, if we don’t want to fall behind with our building programs, or with our military budget. I’m sure I speak for all of us when I say that after what happened to our people in Germany and Europe during the Nazi era, the world owes us. Well, let them pay!!

The previous speaker was not convinced. He was concerned about the image of his country abroad.

I’m afraid we’re becoming too aggressive, he warned. The Germans have paid us billions of Marks in settlements, and gave us loans that have never been repaid. Not to mention the secret arms deals they made with us in the fifties and early sixties, against NATO agreements.

Shaking his head, he went on.

And without the help of Jews in the United States, or the American government, we might as well pack our bags. Believe me, it would not be wise to pressure our allies too much.

He scanned the faces of the others, looking for support. His voice was cautious when he said People will resent us, and we all know what that means …

The two members of Dos sum gave him angry looks, and The Eagle snapped "Since when have we been afraid of applying pressure? How did our predecessors achieve the creation of Israel? It has been proven that political memory is short. Most people don’t remember the deals of the 50’s and 60’s. Those who do, are old. They no longer have any impact on public opinion.

"European governments fear one magic word: ‘Anti-Semitism’! It will bring them to their knees every time. The death camps have not outlived their usefulness. All one has to do is to mention them in the press, and politicians will cringe and do anything not to be called ‘Nazi sympathizers’ or ‘Anti-Semites’!

Let me remind you, gentlemen: our press campaigns have destroyed the reputation and the political career of more than one person.

He took a deep breath.

I suggest we concentrate on the Swiss. You may have noticed, reading international publications, that we have already started an extensive media campaign against them. Those people are for the most part non-aggressive, and predictable. They have their rules and their ethics …, the Dossum leader smiled slyly, … their rules on conduct, their rules on honor, their rules on this and their rules on that. Let’s bend their rules a little in our favor!

While the men around the table continued debating, one of them remained silent, seeming somehow detached from his surroundings.

With his seat pulled back slightly from the table, as if to signal his distance from the discussion, he was observing everyone else. Busily involved in their exchanges, nobody paid much attention to him. An eyewitness could easily have thought that he was there by mistake, although he had been invited like all the others. As a matter of fact, a great deal of care had been taken in choosing him, a highly respected rabbi, well known in Israel.

The meeting’s organizers wanted to include a religious official among them, to give their gathering a spiritual touch. They wished to convey the message to everyone present that God was on their side, although their objectives were not at all motivated by religious thoughts. Known for his liberal ideas, the rabbi was recognized as a serious scholar and ardent seeker of ‘The Truth’, even in Orthodox circles. Nobody questioned his integrity and fundamental respect for the Torah. Nobody needed to worry about his discretion. He would not talk to anyone about the things he had heard here.

The rabbi had come as a religious observer, not a participant. From living in Europe before and during the Holocaust, he had an intimate knowledge of the ‘Final Solution’, which had exterminated his wife and her entire family. A miracle had saved him and eventually brought him back to his native Palestine.

The longer he listened to the discussion taking place around the table, the more troubled became his expression. Every once in a while, pictures of his lost loved ones, or of gruesome events that had been filed away in his subconscious, reappeared before his eyes.

That’s when he lowered his head and started praying. What came to his mind was his own version of the 145th psalm.

‘The Lord is just in all His ways

and kind in all He does.

The Lord is near to all who call upon Him,

to all who call upon Him with sincerity.’

The prayer comforted his troubled mind and reassured him that the Holy One, honored be His name, was greater than the greedy policy makers sitting here.

‘Yes,’ he vowed, ‘I will praise Thee my God and my King and bless Thy name forever and ever!’

A Life in the Ukraine

Wednesday, April 8th 1998

In a tucked away corner of the Ukraine, not far from Kiev, Joshua Warsef looked up from his reading, to pay closer attention to the birds in the trees at the end of the yard. There was a constant coming and going among the branches, as the feathered creatures went about their chores. Way up at the top of a group of trees, proudly displaying their plumage, some males tried to out-perform each other with their singing.

On the sun-bathed terrace of the little cottage, with his back leaning against the wall, Joshua was enjoying this beautiful spring day. Before him on the table lay his Torah, a tattered old book that he cherished more than anything else, since it was the only possession reminding him of his early childhood.

The sun’s rays caressed his thin forearm, highlighting the 5-digit number permanently imprinted in the wrinkled skin. Noticing it, he quickly rolled down his shirt sleeve, and turned his troubled eyes back to the open pages in front of him.

He resumed his reading of the 145th Psalm that he had learned by heart so many years ago.

"The Lord is good to all.

His tender mercies are over all his works"

he whispered through clenched teeth.

Silently, he read on.

‘All Thy works shall praise Thee, O Lord;

and Thy saints shall bless Thee.’

But his face clearly reflected an inner torment, and he hissed No!! I cannot praise Thee, and I won’t bless Thee! No! No!

From his lowered head, a single tear fell on the table, disappearing immediately into the porous old wood. The tiny dark spot left behind bore no resemblance to the huge somber mark which scarred his soul.

In a small, hardly audible voice, the old man asked, no one in particular, Why can’t I forget?

Olga Lebov came out of the house and placed two glasses of water on the table. She sat down opposite the old man, pushing one of the glasses toward him and looking across the yard at the trees.

You were wise to come outside. The sun adds beauty to everything.

Yes, agreed Joshua, glancing at the sleeve of his left arm, you can’t hide anything from it.

Seeing the grim expression on his face, Olga quickly changed the subject, trying to coax a smile from him.

She liked Mr Warsef, although she hardly knew him. He was her only lodger, very discreet and easy to live with. In the time she had known him, he had never criticized her, bless his soul. It felt good to live in peace with the people close by.

Isn’t your granddaughter coming to visit you on your birthday? she mentioned casually. Her tenant’s face lit up immediately.

Yes, she will make a special effort to come and see me, and of course to find out where I live now. You know, he continued proudly, Rebecca is a very conscientious student, with excellent grades. But good results never happen by themselves; she rarely puts her books aside …

A sigh escaped his lips.

I haven’t seen her for almost four months, since I moved out of Kiev, so I’m very much looking forward to her coming.

His smile faded.

What they say is true-we don’t realize how much we miss our loved ones, until we are separated from them.

He gazed back at the trees, as if he was seeking comfort from them.

I knew your home could not easily be reached by public transportation, but I do want to spend the few years I have left as far away from the big city as I can. I don’t see my daughter and granddaughter as often as I used to, but that’s the way it is with choices-what you gain on one hand, you loose on the other.

Seeing the question in his landlady’s eyes, he added quickly Let me assure you, I’m very comfortable here; the benefits outweigh by far the inconveniences. It is probably good for Rebecca not to live so close to her old grandfather anymore.

The corners of his mouth made an effort to rise

again.

There comes a time when every young bird has to try its wings and become independent.

He smiled gratefully at Mrs Lebov.

No one ever brought me a glass of water when I lived in town. Every time I wanted to sit in the sunshine, I had to walk several blocks to find a park bench-which was usually occupied.

He reflected for a moment.

Besides all that, in town, one is never invited to free concerts like this one.

His eyes took in the peaceful scenery so close at hand, and he listened to the birds again.

Lifting his glass, he mumbled Na zdorovié! (Cheers!) and took a sip.

Olga studied the thin face with its soft, sad eyes. Having learned early in life not to ask questions, she didn’t want to pry, yet she was curious.

All Mr Warsef’’s daughter had told her when she was helping her father move in, was that he had recently retired from his job as a street cleaner, for health reasons. She had also mentioned that he had been assigned to that work after the fall of the Iron Curtain, which had caused so much economic upheaval and uncertainty, and ended so many careers.

For years, he had been the first violinist for the Kiev Philharmonic Orchestra, but nowadays, no one had money to buy concert tickets, so many musicians had lost their livelihoods. Mr Warsef was just one of the many unfortunate victims of the implementation of free enterprise.

Her eyes focused on his hand that was still holding the glass. The slim shape and the long fine fingers were not those of a manual laborer. How had they remained so beautiful, considering all the physical work they had had to perform these past few years? Until now, the violin had rested in its case, silent. Its master had placed it in the darkest corner of his room, like a punished child. Olga wondered why. Secretly, she hoped that he would soon release it from its prison, to let it do what it was designed for, and fill the house with music.

She would never get rich on his contribution to her household expenses. It was less than she had envisioned, when she placed the Room for rent ad in the newspaper. But how could she ask for more? Mr Warsef handed his meager government pension over to her in its entirety. His daughter had agreed to pay for all of his personal expenses, but Olga knew that besides soap, toothpaste and shaving cream, he needed next to nothing.

He was meticulously clean, which was just one of the many things he did not have in common with her late husband, rest his soul in peace. Olga, too, had only a small pension, which is why she had hesitantly decided to take in a boarder. In a tiny house, built for only one family, with just one bathroom, this meant making personal sacrifices.

She liked the independence she had found after her husband’s death a year ago, but her tight budget did not allow her to enjoy this freedom. How glad she was that she had not listened to her neighbor’s advice, not to rent to a man. The ad had clearly stipulated a female tenant, but when this thin, soft-spoken man arrived at her door, she had followed a sudden impulse and shown him the room anyway. She tried to remember why.

There was something disarmingly gentle about him, and as God was her witness, she was not used to being treated kindly by men. She had tried to escape the chains of her strict and domineering father by marrying at eighteen, only to find her father’s repressive hand replaced by her husband’s, who found fault with almost everything she did. No, she did not want another male in her life. Men had never given her anything but grief, but she had felt immediately that Mr Warsef was a very different kind of man, and somehow she had fallen under his spell.

Struggling with her intention not to rent the room to him, she had taken him upstairs, to show it to him all the same. Entering it, he went straight to the window and admired the view.

This is wonderful! What a peaceful place! I have wanted to get away from the anonymity and noise of the city. This is perfect! Will you rent it to me?

Carried away by his enthusiasm and some unconscious urge, she had decided right then and there to let him have it, no matter what the neighbors thought or said.

‘For once, my instinct guided me well,’ she thought, remembering the moment. The two of them had closed the deal with a handshake, since she didn’t know how to prepare a contract, and that seemed to suit Mr Warsef just fine.

She smiled inwardly, remembering the day he moved in. He had arrived with his daughter, a handsome woman in her forties, bringing with him two old suitcases, two large boxes full of books and musical scores, his violin and a radio. These were all his earthly possessions, except for a small, elegant writing desk and chair, which were delivered two days later, and which added a touch of class and gaiety to the otherwise austere room.

The empty suitcases were stored in the basement in no time at all. Peace reigned in the little house again, and they quickly found a routine that suited them both.

Mr Warsef’s needs were few. Olga cooked simple meals which they shared, and she agreed to wash for him and clean his room once a week. Since he never made a mess, this took no time at all. They coexisted easily, each giving the other plenty of space and asking no unnecessary questions. All she heard from him were words of praise. For the first time in her life, she felt appreciated. She liked the feeling it gave her, although she still had some trouble getting used to it.

I hope I get to meet your granddaughter, she said, returning from her thoughts. When you don’t have children of your own, you tend to pay closer attention to those of the people you know.

Joshua noticed the cloud that darkened her face, and the tightening of her lips. So, this kindly woman had her own demons …

I will gladly introduce her to you, when she and her mother come out in May, to celebrate my sixty-third birthday with me, he smiled.

Her expression brightened immediately, and she suggested spontaneously I would like to prepare a birthday dinner for you and your family-with your permission of course. Trying to find a restaurant out here for an intimate get-together is not easy. The bistros I know are all filled with smoke and noise.

Oh, replied Joshua, I don’t want to impose my family on you; you are already doing more for me then I could ever repay.

Mr Warsef, you hardly cause me any extra work, and if your daughter and granddaughter are anything like you, it will be a real pleasure to get to know them.

You are very kind, Mrs Lebov. I gladly accept.

Olga rose to her feet, content.

Well then, it’s settled!

She rubbed her hands together briskly.

I better stop chatting now and do some more work in the garden, otherwise, we will have no salad to eat. You know, the weeds always grow faster than the things one plants.

Joshua nodded in agreement.

Yes, that’s true not just in gardening. It can apply to everything else in life, as well!

As Olga took the two empty glasses into the house, she wondered what had made her lodger’s eyes so sad.

With determined steps, she headed for her beloved garden, and started working on one of the neat plots.

Watching her strong back, Joshua marveled at the energy of this simple woman, who was obviously used to hard physical work. True, she was quite a bit younger than he, but unlike him, she never seemed tired.

‘The earth gives strength to those who remain close to it,’ he thought to himself. ‘We trample it with our feet and abuse it, we take it for granted and think we can own it, when in reality, it owns us. Without its generosity, we would all perish.’

He closed the book still lying before him, and went into the house to find some other, less disturbing reading.

Rebecca

Rebecca Golden was having trouble concentrating on Professor Ustinov’s astronomy lecture. Her eyes refused to focus on the numbers and formulas he was writing on the blackboard. They were drawn into the courtyard beyond the large windows, through which the sun beckoned. Who would want to be inside on a day like this? She wished for a magic wand to speed up the time. The planet Pluto’s distance in relation to the sun and the earth did not interest her today, nor did the formula for measuring vast distances in light years.

Her neck was tingling, and mechanically, her hand reached to touch it under her thick, shoulder-length brown hair. In doing so, she turned her head slightly to one side, and a shock went through her! There it was again, three rows behind, that same face she had noticed a few days ago, looking straight at her.

He smiled and nodded, as their eyes met. Rebecca turned her head back quickly and started taking notes, resisting all temptation to look again in his direction. Why was she so nervous?

Classmates had looked at her before, even asked her out. This only bothered her if they became too persistent. It was natural that guys on campus showed an interest in you, when you where young and half-way decent looking. Until now, she had not met anyone to whom she felt particularly attracted. She preferred the casual friendships that discussion groups could offer. Her priority was to get a good education. As far as the opposite sex was concerned, she wanted to be nothing more than a friend.

‘This is ridiculous,’ she scolded herself. ‘I haven’t even seen him up close. Why does he make me nervous?’

‘He’s good looking,’ teased a voice inside her. ‘He’s got blond hair, lots of it,’ it continued.

‘Stop it!’ she chastised herself, while her pen made illegible hieroglyphs on the note paper.

It seemed like an eternity before the lecture was over. Rebecca went out the door with the first wave of students, without looking back.

She felt an urgent need to be alone with her thoughts. No place was better suited for this than the river walk along the Dnipro, where her feet led her automatically. She always went there, when she needed a moment to sort out her feelings.

By the time she reached the path, she had regained her composure and sat on an empty bench overlooking the river, staring at the current that was lazily working its way into the city. It felt so good to soak up the sun and feel close to nature. She no longer dwelt on the incident in class. All notion of time faded away as she daydreamed.

Suddenly, a voice shocked her back into the present.

I also like watching the sun drawing designs on the water. It’s inspirational.-Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to ask if I could sit next to you for a moment.

Rebecca stared at the face of the man she had seen in class. He silently sat down and turned his attention to the water. Momentarily at a loss of words, she sat up straight and felt her face reddening with anger.

What do you want from me?! she snapped. You have been following me!

As he turned toward her, the blue of his eyes nearly took her breath away. He was so handsome. The stubborn hair that seemed to have won the last battle with a comb gave him a boyish look, but his straight nose and strong chin showed character, determination and honesty.

Not really. I had wanted to talk to you, but you left the classroom so quickly, as if someone had cried ‘Fire!’. So I came down here to the river, which I do whenever I want to think, or meditate-and here you are!

There was something disarming in his voice and in his face.

So you found me, she said, her brown eyes flashing. Now tell me, what do you want? Whatever you sell, I’m not buying it!

He chuckled, and she noticed the sun dancing in his eyes. You have a sense of humor, he observed, I like that. I confess, I wanted to know if you are as pretty up close as you are from a distance.

It was only now that she noticed his accent, but she couldn’t place it.

Ok, she replied, trying without success to sound irritated. Now you have seen me up close. I hope you are satisfied.

Yes. Very!

He gave her a bright smile, exposing perfect teeth.

Let me introduce myself, he continued. My name is Joachim Flut. All my friends tease me, saying that my name is the reason why I like water so much. ‘Flut’ means ‘flood’ in German, you know.

He paused briefly.

What do you think-do names have an influence on peoples’ behavior or character?

‘So, he’s German,’ she thought. Although her anger had evaporated, she still felt inexplicably tense.

I have never really given it a thought, she replied. I also like water, in spite of the fact that my name makes no reference to it.

She realized her mistake too late, and anticipated his next question.

May I ask what it is?

I don’t know if I should tell you. Did you know that there are tribes in Africa, whose members never give their names to strangers? They believe that if they do, they expose their soul or identity, which an ill-intentioned person could steal.

She searched his face for a reaction.

How interesting, was all he said, but she could see the amusement in the upturned corners of his mouth.

He looked straight into her eyes.

We could easily find out. I suggest that you get to know me, and you’ll discover that I’m quite harmless.

More seriously, he added Really!

Now it was her turn to smile, despite herself.

Well, telling you my name does not commit me to anything. Besides, I don’t believe in witchcraft.

She reached out her hand.

I’m Rebecca Golden.

As her fingers touched his palm, her heart skipped a beat, and then began