CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
It’s a bright cold day in late February. You stand at your apartment window, watching the westerner, as he has been watching you. He’s sitting at a window table in the café opposite, tapping on his iBook. He’s wearing a white shirt and a navy blue pullover and he has glasses on. Gert brings him a coffee, and he smiles in acknowledgement. From this distance, he looks little changed, but Gert says there are deep lines round his eyes and that his hands shake.
You shoulder on your coat, wrap a scarf round your neck and head downstairs. The westerner stands up when he sees you in the doorway of the café.
“Hello,” he says and shakes your hand, holding your gaze with those green eyes you remember so well.
“Hello,” you say. He’s still the same in so many ways. Square and stro
