“That’s very...impressive,” Carla replied, unsure if he was boasting or just stating facts. “I personally graduated from the University of Life with a first-class honors degree.”

He stared at her for a moment, her words seeming to mangle his computer of a brain. “Perhaps this is a joke?” He forced an unnatural short laugh. “Yes, I think it must be.”

Carla wondered if anyone ever teased him, or if he had a sense of humor at all. “Yes, it was a joke. I didn’t go back to university after my travels.”

“That is a great shame. I am sorry to hear this,” Ruben said solemnly, as if she’d just announced someone had died.

Carla left out a nervous chuckle. “Don’t be sorry. I learned more from setting up my own business than anything I could have learned at college.”

“What does your business entail?”

She sat up straight and proud. “I help cautious people find love, using a set of unique questions and algorithms.”

Ruben steepled his fingers together, his eyebrows knitting as he tried to work out if this was another joke or not. “A scientific endeavor to capitalize on emotion and the need for human contact, and monetarizing it? This is most interesting. It sounds like you took influence from Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.” He nodded, prompting her to enter into a debate with him.

In the past, Carla would have tried to answer in a way that might impress him, welcoming a linguistic version of tennis. She’d once been in awe of this knowledgeable older man, but their age gap no longer seemed that alluring. “The idea originated from my terrible divorce,” she said flatly. “I wanted to help other people find a better match than mine.”

“And surely also from the 1943 ‘Theory of Human Motivation,’ no? Humans may think they are looking for a partner, but really their needs are Maslow’s third, fourth and fifth levels of love, esteem and self-actualization. Don’t you think your clients need to look inward as well as outward?”

Carla considered his question. Was she herself looking outward, physically trying to find a man from her past, when she should be exploring her own intuition more? Her hunger made it a theory too deep to contemplate in a café and she was glad when the waitress set down their plates and coffees. Carla leaned over and inhaled the smell of the pancakes. “Gosh, these look fantastic. I could eat a horse,” she said.

Ruben gaped at her, as if he’d suddenly found he was dining with a stranger. He adjusted the angle of his knife, fork and spoon so they were perfectly aligned, and draped a napkin across his lap. “Perhaps I have overwhelmed you with information?” he asked quietly.

“Not at all.” Carla ate a piece of pancake and closed her eyes at its heavenly taste. “Your curious and searching mind might have helped to inspire my business.”

Ruben’s face lit up. “It did?”

She nodded. “I believe that the probability of people meeting their best match organically and by chance is very low. I calculated that introducing a range of specific questions and algorithms directly enhanced a positive outcome.”

“Absolutely,” Ruben agreed, his eyebrows lifting with delight at the sound of her scientific words. “I also believe that humans match through a range of other attractions other than physical attributes.”

“Precisely,” she said, and he beamed ever more.

“What would you like to do this evening, dear Carla? I believe the Electric Tram Museum is most interesting. Or perhaps the Body Worlds exhibition? It features bodies donated to science that have been plasticized for education and entertainment purposes. Or...” He hesitated and cleared his throat. “We could watch a foreign language film in my apartment. I have a very good bottle of red wine and a fine selection of cheese. You would be most welcome to stay overnight, too, if you should like?”

Carla swallowed uncomfortably, realizing that he may have construed their “elevated” conversation as foreplay. In the past, she’d managed to avoid invitations to his bedroom, afraid he might pepper her with questions in there, too.

She looked around her quickly, trying to find something else to focus on, and grabbed a tourist booklet off a nearby table. “This looks interesting,” she said, glad to see it was translated into several languages. She leafed through it, hoping to find something that wasn’t trams, bodies or Ruben’s bedroom.

Her gaze settled upon a new exhibition, Magic and the Mind—Science and Spiritualism in the Twentieth Century. The accompanying photos showed Victorian lantern slides and a ghostly figure spewing ectoplasm. “This looks cool.” She turned it toward Ruben.

“Moderately.” Ruben peered up in thought. “My colleague Anastacia has been involved in curating this exhibition. I believe it does not open until next week.”

Carla scanned the copy. “It says here that there’s a preview taking place tomorrow evening.”

Ruben waved the idea away. “There are more interesting items in my itinerary.” He was about to continue, but paused, watching as Carla wrinkled her nose in annoyance. “Though, of course, we shall do whatever you would like to do. I am most flexible,” he added.

“I’d love to go to the exhibition,” she confirmed.

He was a kind man, but there was no romantic interest from her side, which made it easier for Carla to cut their agenda short for the day. She’d be going to see Magic and the Mind tomorrow, and Ruben was welcome to join her.

They stood outside the café together and Ruben took hold of her elbow once more. “We shall meet again tomorrow, dear Carla. But if there is anything you require that is not in your room tonight, do not hesitate to contact me.” The light glinted off his spectacles, so she couldn’t see his eyes.

“Thanks, Ruben,” Carla said uncomfortably, extricating her arm from his grip. “I’m sure I’ll get by.”

Sixteen

Butterflies

It was a relief for Carla to wake up the next morning, knowing she would have the daytime to herself. Her previous day of traveling, sightseeing and conversing with Ruben had drained all of her energy. All she wanted to do was have a peaceful, relaxing day, with the freedom to escape her thoughts about fortunes or men from her past for a while.

After eating breakfast alone in a local café, she took a tram to a butterfly pavilion on the outskirts of the city.

The building was from the Victorian era and had a curved roof with hundreds of panes of glass. Lush plants and tropical flowers filled the warm space with a sweet, exotic aroma, and terrapins swam in swallow pools, perching on rocks jutting out of the water. A rainbow of butterflies fluttered above her, some settling upon small wooden stands, where they feasted on melon and berries.

Carla felt her pulse slowing as she walked along the maze of narrow pathways, past all the lush emerald vegetation. Lucinda believed butterflies were a symbol of joy, change and good fortune—especially the blue ones—and Carla gasped when one with indigo and turquoise wings landed on the back of her hand. She raised her fingers to admire its delicate legs and antennae, carefully taking her phone from her pocket to take a photo. The butterfly stayed with her for a while before fluttering away, flying higher until it almost reached the ceiling.

She peered into glass cases where chrysalides hung in rows, their translucent cocoons pulsing and splitting open to reveal butterflies emerging with their wings wet and crumpled. A sign next to the cabinet informed her that they lived for only two to four weeks on average, and her heart sank. What would she do, and who would she spend her last precious moments with, if she only had such a short time to live? On the other hand, perhaps an overly long life gave people too much time to dwell on unimportant things.

She sent a photo of the butterfly sitting on her hand to Tom. My new friend, she messaged.

She promptly received a picture of a dead fly on his hotel windowsill in return.

You’re beating me in the beautiful pet competition. Sorry we haven’t managed to chat for a few days x

Carla could berate him for his lack of contact, but instead she sent him a shot of the butterflies breaking free from their pupas.

They’re supposed to be lucky.

Is this in Portugal? he texted back. I wish I was with you

Carla clicked her jaw, realizing she hadn’t updated him on her latest travels. I’ve moved on to Amsterdam now, she replied.

Oh, cool! I’ve always wanted to go there. Don’t they put mayonnaise on fries, though?

She liked how he took her announcement in stride, not questioning why she was there or who she was with. In return, she didn’t ask him anything more about Sara, though she longed to know if his ex-girlfriend was still taking showers in his hotel bathroom. Before she could reply, Tom sent her another message.

Keep me posted on your trip. Got to shoot to a meeting now. Love you x

Love you too x, Carla replied.

Later that evening, Carla stood with Ruben in the museum foyer waiting to be admitted into the Magic and the Mind exhibition. A poster featured a wild-eyed man whose turban and crystal ball reminded her of Vadim the eerie mannequin. It said, Alistair, Crystal-Seer. Knows all, sees all, tells all.

Ruben looked handsomely formal in a dark blue suit, and he’d changed his glasses to tortoiseshell-rimmed ones. Carla wore her black linen dress with a pair of Babs’s ballet flats, and a slick of red lipstick. The other guests around her wore an eclectic array of clothing, from jeans and T-shirts to long floral gowns. Ruben took two glasses of red wine from a tray and handed one to Carla without asking if she’d prefer white.

They filed inside and he greeted several people, shaking hands and bowing his head as he received compliments about his research and theory work. “Too kind,” he said humbly, but Carla saw the flicker of a self-congratulatory smile on his lips.

She’d have been happy to circle the room on her own, peering into the glass cabinets and paying closer attention to a glass-topped séance table. She glimpsed a wooden Ouija board and an ear trumpet used by mediums to supposedly listen to spirits. Might these things confirm that some of her family’s beliefs and superstitions were hokum?