Excerpt from Whispering Shadows by Jan-Philipp Sendker, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"No."

Paul thought for a moment. Perhaps she had lived in the city before, and they had met at Justin's school?

"Do you have children?"

"Yes, a son." She looked away and stood up. Her strength seemed to desert her midmovement; she held her breath for a moment and dropped back onto her chair. She tried again, holding on to the table, swayed, and sank back into her seat.

"Are you unwell?"

"Just a bit dizzy," she said in weak voice. "My circulation. I can't cope too well with this climate."

"Can I help? Would you like some water?"

"Water would be good. Thank you." Paul stood up and walked over to the serving counter. Suddenly, he heard the sound of chairs scraping and a dull thud from behind. When he turned around, the woman had disappeared. It was only when he looked again that he saw her lying on the ground between the two tables.

Although the ambulance from Matilda Hospital took only a few minutes to arrive, Elizabeth Owen was conscious by the time the ambulance staff arrived. Deathly pale, she was sitting up against a wall and drinking some water. Paul was kneeling next to her. She did not want to go to the hospital. Under no circumstances. She wanted to go back to her hotel. Her husband was waiting there. She had low blood pressure, had had it for years, and had simply forgotten to take her pills this morning. The heat and the high humidity had taken their toll on her. She would feel better as soon as she took her pills. No reason to put her under the care of a hospital. The ambulance crew packed up their equipment and Paul hailed one of the taxis that were waiting in long lines on the Peak for customers.

———

Elizabeth Owen was staying with her husband at the InterContinental Hotel in Tsim Sha Tsui on the Kowloon side of the harbor. The taxi ride seemed to take forever. They were stuck in a jam on Peak Road because of roadwork; traffic crawled through the narrow road at a walking pace down to Central. The approach to Cross-Harbour Tunnel was congested, as it was almost every day. They barely exchanged a word. Elizabeth Owen kept her eyes closed most of the time. The odd tear ran down her cheeks, but Paul did not hear her sobbing or crying. He wondered if he should ask her what she was sad about, and if he could be of any help, but discarded the thought immediately as a reflex from another life. Why should he get involved? What did this woman matter to him? He would take her back to her hotel and make sure that someone there took care of her and that they called her husband. And he would leave her his telephone number in case she needed it. That would have to be enough. He didn't have the strength to do more, even if he had wanted to. Paul felt that the last hour had taken a lot out of him. He had spoken more than he normally did in an entire week. He wanted to go back to Lamma. Back to his house. Back to his memories.

Elizabeth Owen. The name meant nothing to him. Was he mixing her up with someone else? Or had they really met before? But where? And if so, why was she behaving as if she did not know him?

III

He hated the sound of a ringing telephone. It didn't matter which ring tone he chose; it always disturbed his peace most unpleasantly. Paul sat on the terrace in the garden, finished the rest of his morning tea, and let it ring. He was not the kind of person who jumped up as soon as someone called him. His mobile phone was in the kitchen. Only very few people had his number; it was probably Christine, but he did not feel the slightest desire to speak to her or to anyone else, and he hoped that she would give up soon. There was silence for a few moments then the phone started ringing again, without pause. He stood up and fetched it.

Paul did not recognize her voice or her name.

"Owen," she repeated slowly. "Elizabeth Owen. You helped me yesterday on the Peak. Don't you remember?"

Excerpted from Whispering Shadows by Jan-Philipp Sendker. Copyright © 2015 by Jan-Philipp Sendker. Excerpted by permission of 37 Ink/Atria Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.