CHAPTER TWELVE
My therapist, Sally, was fascinated by Magda. Women aren’t really interested in men. What they’re really interested in is other women.
“Magda sounds amazing,” she gushed. “Was she really so beautiful?”
“Incredibly beautiful,” I said, warming to my subject. “She had this … special quality. I don’t know. It was like she shone or something. And in Leipzig at that time, surrounded by brown coal pits and chemical plants, I suppose she seemed quite exceptional.”
Sally nodded dreamily. “I don’t think she just seemed exceptional. I think she was exceptional.”
I shifted on my orange plastic bucket chair, basking in Magda’s reflected glory.
“Have you got any photos of her?” Sally asked.
This was strictly out of bounds, and she knew it. However, I’d anticipated it. I whipped out
