JF04 - The Carnival Master by Craig Russell

had ever known, yet behind the clumsiness lay a razor-sharp intellect. Otto loved books, and his bookshop was probably the most successful independent in the city. But Fabel had often thought that his friend could have achieved a great deal in some other field.
    Otto greeted them cheerfully but muttered under his breath that the book that was being launched was incredibly dull.
    ‘Couldn’t tell you that before,’ explained Otto, ‘or you wouldn’t have come. Sorry … but I need you to pad out the crowd.’
    ‘What are friends for?’ said Fabel.
    ‘Listen, the wine’s not bad at all this time. You’re half-Scottish, half-Frisian … I thought you’d do anything for a free drink.’
    Otto had arranged a small reception after the event for the author and some of the guests. People stood in clusters, sipping wine and chatting. Susanne and Otto’s wife Else had become close friends and were deep in a conversation about somebody that Fabel didn’t know when Otto took him by the elbow and steered him away.
    ‘There’s someone I’d like you to meet,’ Otto said.
    ‘Not the author, please …’ pleaded Fabel. He had found the event, and the author, as tedious as Otto had promised.
    ‘No. Not at all. This is someone
infinitely
more interesting.’
    Otto guided Fabel across to a shortish man of about fifty who was dressed in a beige linen suit that looked as if it had been worn every day for a week without making the passing acquaintance of an iron.
    ‘This is Kurt Lessing,’ explained Otto. The man in the crumpled suit extended a hand. He had an intelligent face that hid a certain handsomeness behind too-big spectacles that needed to be wiped clean. ‘I should warn you that Kurt is quite mad. But really interesting to talk to.’
    ‘Thanks for the introduction,’ said Lessing. He smiled at Fabel. But his attention focused immediately on Susanne who had joined them. He gave a half-bow and raised her hand to his lips. ‘It is my pleasure,’ he said and grinned wolfishly at her. Fabel laughed at the deliberately conspicuous display of attraction. ‘You are an extraordinarily beautiful woman, Frau Doctor Eckhardt.’
    ‘Thank you,’ said Susanne.
    ‘I have to point out,’ said Otto, ‘that despite seeming to state the obvious, Susanne, it is actually an enormous honour for Kurt to say such a thing. You see, he is one of the world’s experts on female beauty.’
    ‘Really?’ Susanne regarded Lessing sceptically.
    ‘Indeed I am,’ said Lessing, with another small bow. ‘I have written the definitive work on female beauty over the centuries and across cultures. It is my speciality.’
    ‘You’re an author?’ asked Fabel.
    ‘I’m an anthropologist,’ said Lessing, without taking his eyes from Susanne. ‘And, to a lesser extent, an art critic. I have combined the two fields.’ At last he turned to Fabel. ‘I study the anthropology of art and aesthetics. I have written a book about the female form over the centuries. About how our ideal of beauty has transformed so radically over time.’
    ‘Has it changed so much?’ asked Susanne. ‘This is something that interests me. I am a psychologist.’
    ‘Beauty
and
intelligence. Now that has been universally attractive throughout the human experience. But to answer your question, yes, it really has undergone radical variations. What is particularly interesting is that our ideal of female beauty has changed more rapidly over the last century than at any time in human history. There is no doubt that mass media has played a key part. All you have to do is to compare the screen sirens of the forties and fifties with the stick-thin fashion models of today. What I find particularly amazing is the way that, within a given time, one will find different ideals of beauty running concurrently within the same culture.’
    ‘What do you mean?’ asked Susanne.
    ‘No man finds the stick-thin catwalk model attractive. It is a woman’s definition of female beauty.