Kennedy's Brain Page 0,31

problems with cars,' he said in English. 'Always.'

'I speak Swedish. But you're right, cars are nothing but trouble.'

The man stood up, came over to her table and introduced himself. His name was Oskar Lundin, and his handshake was firm.

'Louise Cantor. A pretty name. Are you a casual visitor or resident?'

'A very casual visitor. I haven't even been here for a full day yet.'

He gestured towards a chair, asking permission to sit down. A waiter moved his coffee to Louise's table.

'It's a lovely spring day,' he said. 'There's still a bit of a nip in the air, but spring is on the way. I never cease to be surprised by this world, where spring and autumn can be companions even if they are separated by continents and oceans.'

'Have you lived here long?'

'I came to Australia in 1949. I was nineteen then. I was convinced that I would be able to whittle gold using my trusty sheath knife. I'd made a mess of my school studies, but I had a bent for gardening, for plants. I knew I would always be able to make a living trimming hedges or pruning fruit trees.'

'Why did you come here?'

'I had such lousy parents. Excuse me for saying so, but it's the truth. My father was a vicar and hated everybody who didn't believe in the same God as he did. I didn't believe in anything at all and hence was a heathen: he used to beat me whenever he could until I became old enough to defend myself. Then he stopped speaking to me. My mother always used to mediate. She was a Good Samaritan, but unfortunately she kept a running tally and never did anything to make my life easier without demanding something in return. She forced out all my emotions, my bad conscience, my guilt feeling over all the sacrifices she made, just as you squeeze out a lemon in a fruit press. So I did the only thing open to me. I ran away. That was more than fifty years ago. I never went back. Not even to their funerals. I have a sister over there and talk to her every Christmas. But basically, I'm here. And I became a master gardener. With a firm of my own that doesn't only trim hedges and prune fruit trees, but creates whole gardens for anybody who's prepared to pay.'

He drank his coffee and adjusted his chair so that his face was in the sun. It seemed to Louise that she had nothing to lose.

'I'm looking for a man,' she said. 'His name is Aron Cantor. We used to be married. I think he's here in Australia.'

'You think?'

'I'm not sure. I've asked the embassy and the friendship society.'

Lundin pulled a dismissive face.

'They haven't a clue about the Swedes living in Australia. It'll be like looking for a needle in a haystack. The society has no idea.'

'What are you suggesting? That people come here in order to hide?'

'Just as many people from here go to a country like Sweden where they can conceal their sins. I don't think there are all that many Swedish crooks hiding in Australia, but I've no doubt there are a few. Ten years ago there was a man here from ?nge who had committed murder. The Swedish authorities never tracked him down. He's dead now and has his own gravestone in Adelaide. But I take it the man you used to be married to isn't wanted for some crime or other?'

'No. But I need to find him.'

'We all do. Need to find the people we are looking for.'

'What would you do if you were me?'

Oskar Lundin stirred his half-empty cup of coffee as if deep in thought.

'I suppose I'd ask me to help you,' he said eventually. 'I've got vast numbers of contacts in this country. Australia is a continent where most things still happen by personal contact. We shout and we whisper to one another, and we generally find out what we want to know. Where can I get in touch with you?'

'I'm staying at the Hilton. But it's really too expensive for me.'

'Stay there for two days, if you can afford it. I won't need any longer than that. If your husband's here, I'll find him. If I don't find him, you can look somewhere else. New Zealand is often the next place to go.'

'I can't believe that I was lucky enough to bump into you. And that you are prepared to help somebody you don't know at all.'

'Maybe