The Stronger Sex by Hans Werner Kettenbach

wisdom of making overtures to Frauke again. Did I know how our relationship was going to turn out in the long run? I wasn’t sure.
    However, I did know that I didn’t want to spend the weekend on my own. Waiting for the phone call that Cilly Klofft said she’d give me? Imagining the surprises that Frau Fuchs’s lawyer might come up with in his bill of complaint?
    While I was feeling increasingly gloomy over that prospect, the phone rang. It was Frauke – yes, perfectly casual, carefree and at her ease. She said an engagement she’d had for the evening had fallen through quite unexpectedly, she could leave the office now, and how was I fixed?
    We met outside the cinema. That was Frauke’s idea, and we’d agreed on Live Free, Die Hard , although I didn’t much like the hunk with the thuggish bald patch and childish nose, and definitely not the way he kept dying without ever ending up in his well-earned grave. During the shoot-out I was wondering how Frauke would react if Cilly Klofft’s call came late that evening. I forgot the question when Frauke began massaging my thigh.
    After the film we went to the restaurant next door for some pasta and then back to my place. It was a pleasant
night; Frauke obviously thought so too, and I enjoyed it not least because my fears that my sexual inclinations might have shifted dramatically and alarmingly proved unfounded in practice.
    Saturday morning was sunny and a little windy. A few small white clouds chased over the deep blue sky. I got up, taking care not to wake Frauke, who had thrown off the duvet but covered her face with one corner of it, and made breakfast. It was ready by the time Frauke came out of the bedroom, yawning and rubbing her eyes. While she was in the bathroom, I went down to the newspaper kiosk and bought the Süddeutsche Zeitung . I didn’t subscribe and take a regular copy, but I knew that at her own place it was the first thing Frauke reached for, particularly on a Saturday morning for the arts section.
    We spent almost an hour and a half over breakfast, reading the papers. In the end I saw, in the local paper, a comment about the flea market this Saturday at the big car park of the industrial estate in the Alte Chaussee, and I asked Frauke if she’d like to wander around there for a bit and see what was on offer. She was all for it. While she was getting dressed, I cleared away the breakfast things. I was just putting the cutlery in the dishwasher when the phone rang.
    I was alarmed. Cilly Klofft could have called me any other time, she’d have been very welcome, but not right at this moment. Frauke appeared in the bedroom doorway, brushing her hair, and looked enquiringly at me. I picked up the phone.
    It wasn’t Cilly Klofft. It was her husband. “Good morning, Dr Zabel,” he said. “Herbert Klofft here. Am I disturbing you?”
    I said, “No, no… I…” I was totally baffled, and couldn’t even finish the sentence on which I’d embarked. He left me searching for words for a while, but not too long, before helping me out.

    â€œIt’s nothing important,” he said. After clearing his throat hard, he went on. “Just wanted to ask if you had the time and inclination for a game of chess. It doesn’t have to last a long time. Maybe we could set the clock to two halves of thirty minutes each?” He paused, but while I was still searching for an answer, he added quickly, “Or any other timing, just what you like, it’s up to you.”
    I saw at once that I wouldn’t get another opportunity to come a little closer to this client in a hurry. But I sensed Frauke’s eyes on me. She was still standing at the bedroom doorway, brushing her hair rather more slowly, listening in.
    I said, “Yes… yes, I would like that, only… the fact is, I have something fixed for today.”
    â€œOh. Yes, of course. That comes first,