The Zurich Conspiracy

how stately the Bürgerhaus she stood before really was until she was inside the premises. The front room where Frau Meyer-de Rechenstein took her was paneled to the ceiling. A huge, ancient stove with blue and white tiles stood in the corner—a magnificent antique. The whole room exuded history.
    Frau Meyer-de Rechenstein had given her an effusive welcome at the door.
    “Josefa, I have been hoping you would come visit for such a long time! I am delighted you are here. Helene has told me so much about you.” The words tumbled out of her as if she hadn’t talked to anybody for days.
    “Shall we sit?” she said and escorted Josefa to two armchairs upholstered in white chintz.
    The Black Forest cake and expensive porcelain were already set out on a black, polished, inlaid wooden table.
    “You have to do something nice for yourself in this weather,” her hostess remarked as she poured her guest a cup of coffee without asking Josefa whether she preferred tea or a decaffeinated drink.
    This tall, elegant lady with silvery gray hair looked nothing like her friend. Josefa calculated that she must have had Helene, her only child, rather late in life. And her language! Josefa automatically switched to High German, but Athena Meyer corrected her at once.
    “I understand Swiss German of course,” she said. “But as a German one should under no circumstances attempt it. It sounds frightful, and the Swiss cannot stand it. But let’s talk about you! What is it you are doing at Loyn just now?”
    It took Josefa a moment to collect her thoughts. Oh, yes, the company. “I have recently left Loyn and am working for a consulting firm,” she explained.
    “Oh, really,” Athena Meyer-de Rechenstein replied, a little disappointedly, it seemed. She toyed with the neckband of her mustard-yellow silk blouse. Josefa knew that Helene’s mother loved Loyn handbags. When the company produced a limited edition of Napa leather handbags for special friends of the house on their jubilee, Josefa had wangled one for her. No doubt part of the reason Frau Meyer-de Rechenstein invited her for coffee and cake: to thank her for the gift.
    “I wanted to go independent,” Josefa added. “I can work at home now.”
    “How wonderful!” her hostess exclaimed, as if she had just been given another beautiful handbag.
    “This room is most appealing,” Josefa said, changing the subject and thereby giving Helene’s mother occasion to describe in detail the history of the building and the tile stove.
    “At least we have managed to keep the house,” she said with a sigh, out of the blue. “My poor husband lost almost our entire fortune because of Swixan. The others at the head of the corporation looked out for themselves beforehand, but not my husband; my Peter had principles. He was a good man, much too good for the likes of them.”
    Josefa was surprised that Frau Meyer-de Rechenstein broached the subject so frankly. But she was a distinguished lady who clearly made no bones about her belief that she was somehow betrayed by fate.
    “He was, after all, on Swixan’s administrative board,” Josefa cautiously interjected. “Didn’t he have to know what was going on with the company?”
    “No, my husband knew nothing, absolutely nothing ,” she replied at once and a little defensively. “Those people kept everything secret and hushed up. The man responsible for finance…”
    “Karl Westek?”
    “Yes, precisely, Karl Westek. The entire business world considered him a genius. How was my husband supposed to be suspicious of him? But Peter had his pride, you know. He did not wriggle his way out of anything, unlike the others. Honor still counts for something in our family.”
    She folded her hands in her lap. Josefa put her coffee cup down.
    “And how did Helene take it?”
    “Terribly,” her mother said. “Terribly,” she repeated, dabbing her lips with an embroidered napkin. “Actually, she was supposed to become the head of the company. That was my husband’s fondest wish. The two got along so well. He even took her hunting as soon as she was old enough. Every October, in the Valsertal. That was where our daughter had Papa all to herself, and it meant so very much to her. That is why she still goes hunting in Vals… Would you like another piece of cake?”
    Josefa nodded, but her mind was elsewhere.
    “She went to the school in St. Gall and took business,” Josefa heard her say, though she was suddenly having difficulty