Chapter 3

Kurt ate fragrant julienne and unfolded the newspaper. His eyes ran over the headline. Every day, if it was possible, he dined at Ellington's restaurant. He was friends with the owner. Once he had cured the restaurateur's little daughter of the fear of the dark in a single session.

Kurt liked it here - a calm quiet place, excellent cuisine, though without frills, and a pleasant family-like atmosphere. It might be because this restaurant was a family business, and everyone tried their best for the good of their loved ones. And this unobtrusive concern could be felt throughout.

A waitress approached Kurt. She put a cup of tea with mint on the table and removed the empty dishes.

"Would you like anything else?" she asked politely and smiled.

"No, thank you," Kurt smiled, and she walked away. Kurt took a sip from the cup with pleasure and again plunged into reading.

"Oh, I knew that news a month ago!" came a voice.

Kurt folded the newspaper and noticed an aged woman was sitting at the next table.

Elder faces piqued Kurt's curiosity. Over a lifetime, a person experiences so many emotions, but the most frequent are printed on the face and freeze as a mask. It's a hint for others.

The lady's face was fresh, and her eyes were slightly squinted. She calmly waited while Kurt examined the fine wrinkles around her eyes, deep wrinkles on her forehead, and slightly pursed lips. She without embarrassment studied Kurt's face too.

"And that news didn't please you?" Kurt asked, tilting his head.

"People should be more interested in what will be and not what was."

"We can't know what's coming," Kurt countered. "Unless you believe in fate?"

"I don't believe," the lady corrected him. "I know."

Kurt chuckled quietly. He had never been a fatalist. He considered himself the captain of his ship, and he had always felt this way.

Fate for him was just an artful conjecturing of other people's actions with your own. And if you lie dormant, then fate will overtake you. People care about themselves, about their own benefit, and it's a part of human nature. If you don't take care of yourself, you'll never get what you want.

Of course, this can happen by chance, and it means by someone else's will, so what? Wait in vain? Wouldn't it be better to be the one who builds your life actively and gets what you need, what you want? For Kurt the answer was obvious. But people with a different point of view on the matter were interesting.

"And what do you know about fate?" Kurt asked. Instead of answering, the woman got up and walked over to him. Looking into Kurt's eyes, she sat opposite him.

"You think that your fate is subservient to you, don't you?" She smiled slightly.

Kurt continued to study her face. "You like to think that you wit others' fate. Thus you implicate yourself in the mystery that you have made unattainable. And your fate doesn't belong to you. You're a fortune teller," concluded Kurt.

"And who are you? A clairvoyant?" the woman asked, surprised.

"No," Kurt answered. "The newspaper has a note about your new salon and your photo, Madame Brittan," he said and showed her the page. A smile touched Madame's lips. "And you knew that I had to see it, and therefore you started this conversation."

"Not bad, Mr. Rhein. No wonder you are so praised in society. So you meant what you said about fate?"

"Yes, I really think so."

"Do you want to become a partaker of the mystery?' she asked as she opened her purse.

"Do you want to tell my fortune?"

Madame Brittan pulled out an old deck of tarot cards and shuffled them carefully. Kurt didn't stop her.

"Pick a card, Mr. Rhein," she said, her voice getting lower. Kurt pulled out a card from the deck and placed it on the table in front of him. It was the card of The Devil.

Madame Brittan picked it up and turned to Kurt, saying, "Do you know what this card means?" She didn't wait for his answer. "You are playing with fate, Mr. Rhein. She also loves to play, but she always wins. There is a temptation in front of you and you're ready to jump into the maelstrom without a flinch, but... I would advise you to beware; however, this will only provoke you." She pulled out another card from the deck and looked at it, not showing it to Kurt. "Yes, the devil is eager to meet you as you crave to see him. However, remember, whatever you see, the reality is always duller than fantasy."

She smiled and put her deck into the purse. "Goodbye, Mr. Rhein," Madame Brittan said as she got up from the table. "If you have more questions, you know where to find me."

Kurt watched her with a smile and went back to reading. The fortune teller didn't scare him; on the contrary, Kurt felt vigorous. Kurt liked such people; they went beyond pale, trying to surprise, and sometimes it came out quite amusing.

Kurt returned home, and Eliza came to greet him as always. While he unbuttoned his coat, came the knock on the door. Eliza hurried to open it.

Philip stood on the porch. Kurt started to say, "Hello," but stopped when he saw how Philip was looking at Eliza.

"Good... good afternoon, ma'am," he said excitedly, barely even noticing Kurt. "I came to see Mr. Rhein."

Eliza turned and looked at Kurt. He smiled and nodded. "Good afternoon, Philip. Please, come in! Eliza, please, bring us tea. We will be in the living room."

Philip, throwing another confused look after Eliza, finally came in.

"Hello, Mr. Rhein."

"Please, call me Kurt."

"As you wish... I brought you the invitation you requested."

"Why would you bother? You could've sent it with a messenger."

"Well, I still want to try to talk you out of this."

They sat in armchairs at the unkindled fireplace in the living room. Philip took the envelope out of his inside pocket and placed it on the table between the armchairs. He wanted to say something, but Eliza entered the room, carrying a tray. Philip blushed noticeably when she put a cup next to him and filled it with fragrant hot tea. Kurt watched again; he found the situation touching and amusing.

In Kurt's head, Eliza, in a rich elegant dress was sitting at a table in a cozy salon, and Philip was a waiter. He shyly handed her tea and glanced furtively at her, as if trying to steal her beauty, keep it somewhere deep within himself. However, she didn't notice his mental anguish, because she had her own. She hid it in a small silver medallion on her graceful neck. And sometimes, when she thought that no one was looking, furtively, she peeked into it.

"The reception starts on Friday evening and sometimes continues until Monday morning," Philip spoke. "The people who gather there are very different, but I'm afraid you will not find anyone to your liking," Philip shook his head.

What Kurt liked about this young man was that he always expressed his emotions so sincerely. As soon as any emotion slipped across his face, he immediately voiced it. And Kurt liked this directness and frankness. His demeanor was not vulgar, but admirable.

"You know, if your patient's problem is associated with John, the best solution is to be as far from him as possible. You can't reason with John; he doesn't feel sorry for anybody, and he doesn't love anyone. He toys with people until he gets bored. And then it's over. I saw so many girls who were tormented by love for him and how he played with their feelings and enjoyed their suffering," Philip winced. "He's just a sadist."

"Believe me, behind every action, there's a reason," Kurt said softly.

"It's his nature," Philip objected. "As I remember, he was always like this. He was never in need of anything. Father never spoiled us, but he never deprived us of anything either. But John was never grateful and constantly pushed everyone away - father, mother, and me. Actually, he didn't want to know me at all."

"You said you're half-brothers?"

"Yes, we have the same father."

"And what happened to John's mother?"

"I don't know. As I heard she died in childbirth. No one has ever told me about her. And I wasn't interested." Philip paused and sighed. "But... I guess I can understand why John hates me."

"His father remarried after his mother's death and had a second child - you," Kurt confirmed.

"It's not my fault," Philip said as if beginning to make excuses. "My mother always treated him like her son, and I grew up thinking that he was my blood brother. And I could not understand why he hated me. Even when I learned about his mother, I couldn't forgive him for taking it out on me," Philip pursed his lips. "It was hard to live with him under the same roof. The last couple of years were a nightmare. Father had at least some influence on John. He would grit his teeth, but he rarely contradicted father. After father's death, John broke loose. A year ago, my mother and I moved out of the Fenrirs' house and settled separately. John hasn't contacted us after that."

"Yet you painted his portrait..."

"Because resentment lives somewhere inside of me. He's my older brother; I loved him, and I expected him to love me back. Maybe it's childish and stupid." Philip paused and took a sip of cold tea.

Nothing surprised Kurt yet. All was clear and predictable. He was interested only in the so-called charms that John used to befuddle others. And in order to understand its nature, Kurt was sure that he must experience it for himself. John's past, of course, was a great help, but Kurt's impatience increased. He only had to wait for the evening of the next day to witness John's character at close hand. He made a mental note on the picture of John in his gallery.

Eliza entered the room. Philip's demeanor instantly changed; he straightened up and smiled even though before he had looked depressed.

"Would you like anything else?" she asked politely, glancing at Philip.

"No, Eliza, thank you," said Kurt.

She was about to leave when Kurt turned to Philip. "Tell me, Philip, I think Eliza's face would be very good for a portrait, wouldn't it? Of course, I know nothing about art, but..." He paused and looked at Philip expectantly.

"Mr. Rhein, what are you talking about?" Eliza turned back, embarrassed. But Kurt knew that she was waiting... And she hoped.

"Erm," Philip coughed as if something had stuck in his throat. "Of... of course... I mean, I think... Miss Eliza would look perfect in a portrait," he said at last, and his cheeks blushed.

Kurt smiled. "So why don't you try to paint Miss Eliza?"

Eliza stood a bit further and didn't move; she looked at Kurt and then Philip, as if her fate was about to be decided.

"With pleasure," Philip answered a little later, trying to catch his uneven breath. "If Miss Eliza would not mind posing for me."

Now it was Eliza's turn to blush. Kurt openly enjoyed this situation, feeling like a conductor of an orchestra.

"I wouldn't mind," Eliza uttered and looked at Philip with sparkling eyes. For a moment it seemed to Kurt that he was no longer in the room, the two young people were alone, and he was a disembodied spirit.

"Then I will send for you tomorrow at two. Is that possible?" Philip said and finally turned to Kurt.

"Yes, of course. I don't mind," he responded confidently and leaned back in his chair.

"Thank you! Thank you!" Happy and elated, Eliza ran out of the room.

In Kurt's cozy internal salon, Miss Eliza suddenly encountered the confused look of Philip-waiter, and for a second she released a silver medallion from her hands.

Saying goodbye to Philip on the doorstep, Kurt thought about the following night.

"Kurt, please, be careful. Better to watch from afar, otherwise you will not be able to think soberly," Philip said.

Kurt just smiled in response; Philip didn't realize that his words just further whetted Kurt's curiosity. "Don't worry, Philip. Thank you for the invitation. Goodbye."