When Robert crossed the bridge, he wasnāt expecting anything out of the ordinary. He was on the way to meet his girlfriend, but when he reached the other side, she didnāt know who he was.
Robert finds himself thrown back in time, further and further, reliving the history of Amsterdam through war, riots and the plague. Each time, his fate is bound up with the same woman, and with the work of the Netherlands' greatest painter, Rembrandt.
Robert is caught in a race against time. Will he make it back to his normal life? Or will he be trapped in the past with his discovery as his insulin runs out?
Genres: Historical fiction, Romance, Time travel
When Robert crossed the bridge, he wasnāt expecting anything out of the ordinary. He was on the way to meet his girlfriend, but when he reached the other side, she didnāt know who he was.
Robert finds himself thrown back in time, further and further, reliving the history of Amsterdam through war, riots and the plague. Each time, his fate is bound up with the same woman, and with the work of the Netherlands' greatest painter, Rembrandt.
Robert is caught in a race against time. Will he make it back to his normal life? Or will he be trapped in the past with his discovery as his insulin runs out?
Genres: Historical fiction, Romance, Time travel
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā PART I
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Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āWho the hell was that?ā
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Ā Ā Ā Ā CHAPTER ONE
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The abruptness of the abuse was more surprising than alarming. It was supposed to be a peaceful morning for Robert, enjoying a coffee break at one of the many terraces in Amsterdam. The assault on him was thankfully verbal, rather than physical, but he felt the legs of the chair shake under him, as if he were sitting too close to the bass speakers at a festival. Or was it his own legs shaking?
āHere, what you looking at, mate?ā said a deep voice.
Robert had been in one of those trances, staring at nothing in particular, deep in thought. He was jolted into life by a person he had never seen before, inches away from his face. He felt the warm breath. As he focused his eyes, Robert found himself nose to nose with a sorry apparition who looked like he had just come from another century, with plump cheeks and ruffled hair protruding from under his black beret. He had an unwashed aroma to go with the look and was unsteady on his feet. He was leaning on the table with a soiled hand coated in what looked like paint remnants.
āPay no attention to me,ā answered Robert. āOr have I missed something?ā
āWhat you staring at? Listen, I have a lot of problems and I donāt need people like you making me feel worse,ā replied the stranger.
āSorry, if you thought that. I really wasnāt looking at you; I was miles away.ā
The stranger seemed torn between pushing his anger further or lapsing into despondency. The despondency won.
āMaybe youāll be hearing more from me,ā he said, and resumed his travels, pushing his ancient and unusable bike, which seemed to be loaded with his only possessions. Robert sighed. He never felt he was in any danger, but it had certainly woken him up. He knew he had been in a world of his own. His attention was on the girls in their summer clothes, not the wanderer. He watched as the owner of the booming voice and strange gait disappeared from view, wondering why he had picked on him. Just for staring?
Ā It was nice, warm, pre-summer weather and everyone had a spring in their step, especially the girls. Before he was disturbed, Robertās thoughts were bouncing awkwardly between the girls on the street and his marriage. He was happy ā no, comfortable ā but the excitement was gone, and he had little idea how he could get that back. Right now, he was playfully contemplating how he could travel back to his student days, a time he felt he was more in control, even if it was control of a more chaotic life. He wanted his past back. In the meantime, he was playing with fire and the fireās name was Saskia.
The day dreaming was over. As he was about to leave, Robert eyed a coin that had been left on his table. He had no idea how it got there, but he was pretty sure it wasnāt there before. He picked it up and saw that it was very old, rough around the edges. It looked silver, but he didnāt know what it was made of. It appeared to depict an armed figure holding a sword and a coat of arms; the date looked like it said 1660. It was clearly not a current currency, so he put it in his pocket for later investigation. Strange morning, thought Robert.
Robert was a picture of health. He lived a good, if complicated, life close to the centre of Amsterdam, in a leafy part of Java Island, just on the northern edge of the city. He recently made his life more complicated when he started juggling too many things at the same time.
Ā Saskia was one of these things, but so, too, was his decision to embark on a new business venture with one of his best buddies, Mark. On paper that gave him two jobs, but he thought he could handle that with relative ease. His main employment was the business of organising music festivals, but because that was seasonal it gave him ample time to explore other opportunities. His friend Mark was in the business of selling high quality paints for artists and had stumbled upon some of the artist collectives in China who specialised in copying old masters. One thing led to another and after much brainstorming they started a webshop with the name Masters in Paint, offering āoriginalā hand-painted copies of old masters and, later, even copies of any painting that anyone wanted. It wasnāt limited to the famous old masters like Rembrandt, Vermeer, Constable, or Monet.
Mark was a British expat who had been living in Amsterdam for a while. While Robert was full of ideas, Mark was the one who moved things along with a typical British can-do attitude, one that Robert was sure had landed them in the trouble.
Mark had all the right contacts in China, and they had front-loaded their website with hundreds of sample paintings so that potential clients could see and choose from a library of images. It didnāt matter that these paintings were not part of their stock, it was just a part of their marketing strategy. Each order was unique, so all they had to do was wait and let the orders come in, without holding any inventory. For Robert, the business was a no- brainer.
One of the more immediate complicating factors was Robertās wife, Belinda. Unlike him, she was the conservative type, and did not share Robertās enthusiasm for new ventures that might disrupt their steady suburban life. She already had to live with the vagaries of Robertās festival business and, without knowing why exactly, she didnāt like the sound of a business that copied other peopleās paintings. The Chinese already had a bad reputation for copying intellectual property, and to her this was even more āin your faceā than a hectic festival. She was not happy about it and she made sure Robert knew.
āIsnāt it time you started thinking more about your family than new businesses? Especially risky ones,ā she would say.
Robert, in turn, tried to head his wife off by answering, āI think I am doing this for the family.ā He emphasised the word family. āYou know the festival business is somewhat unpredictable and insecure, so itās only right that we have something to fall back on. Mark knows his stuff and we have all the right contacts in China. Itās not a huge investment because we only need a website, some good marketing, and a generous dose of common sense. The bottom line is that it gives us some extra income. For the family.ā
āI still think itās risky. What happens if you get caught selling copies? I mean, your website will be easily traced.ā
āNo, no. You donāt understand. Thatās not an issue. Itās all perfectly legal. If the artist has been dead for more than seventy years, then it falls into the public domain. Then anyone can copy the painting. You just canāt try and pass it off as a genuine article.ā
āBut stillā¦ā
Robert immediately added, āAnd the margins are good.ā
āRobert, it still doesnāt change my opinion. Youāre already away a lot, and now youāre adding all of this, so how do you think thatās going to help our already rocky relationship?ā
āI had hoped it would. Yes, I am doing this for meābut also for the family. And I think youāll warm to it, eventually,ā Robert finished hopefully, adding, āAnd I think you should meet Mark. Heās a bit of a charmer, but Iām sure youāll like him and maybe itāll make you feel more comfortable about the business. And, like you, heās English.ā
āIām not going to be a part of it. Itās your thing. But be careful. Iām sure Iāll meet Mark one day. Then I can give him the same message Iām giving you.ā
Belindaās lack of interest in her husbandās entrepreneurial instincts had become more and more frustrating for Robert, and he was sure that she felt frustrated too. Robert wondered where this would lead. In the meantime, he carried on with his two jobs and, in his own opinion, finely managed the balance between them and his family. That included his two kids, Daniel and Maxine, who were thirteen and eleven respectively. Even if the children could now look after themselves, Belinda was the brooding type, continually worrying about every little thing, and she expected Robert to be the same. That wasnāt working either, as Robert was much more inclined towards a laissez faire existence. He was a freewheeler who wanted to see his own children stand on their own two feet and not be fretted over.
Belindaās fears about Masters in Paint were about to become reality. On their website, Robert and his partner Mark had decided to include an option that allowed users to select any painting they wanted to have copied, regardless of whether or not it was in their portfolio. They didnāt say anything about the rules of public domain, but it was addressed in the frequently asked questions.
The result was that there were people who wanted more than just a painting from a long dead master. They started receiving requests for works of art from well-known painters who were still very much alive.
āNow what?ā said Robert to Mark.
āAs I see it, we have two options. One is to simply say āsorry, we cannot do this,ā but then weāre turning away good business. The other is to ask for assurance from the buyer that itās for personal use only and will not be used in any public place. I favour the latter,ā said Mark, who was surprising Robert more by the day. He steadily became more assertive, more of a risk taker. For Robertās part, the rattling cogs in his brain were reminding him of Belindaās warnings.
āAre you sure weāre not running any risks?ā
āNo, not if the buyer is using it privately.ā
āYes, but weāre just going on his word. Thatās not safe.ā
āRobert, look how many requests weāre getting. I think itās something we can safely do. And other sites in other countries offer the same, at least from what I can see.ā
āOK, but letās make sure we get it in writing from the buyers.ā
āAgreed, but, technically, that is not protection. You know that?ā
āTechnically, yes.ā
Ā After that, Masters in Paint started accepting orders for living artists, and it slowly became a sizeable part of their small business. Everything had been running smoothly, but that smoothness was interrupted when they received a cease and desist letter, and a claim. The letter came from the lawyers of one Emerson Parker, a well-known Brazilian-American painter who normally enjoyed sales of his work in the low millions. The letter made it very clear that there would be financial consequences.
Robert was stunned when they received it. He was in the small office he had set up with Mark, where they fielded customer enquiries, managed the website, and even did some framing for clients who wanted a finished product. The paintings normally arrived as rolled canvases from China.
Ā After the inevitable arguments with Mark had died down, Robert began pacing the office and went on like that for a while.
āWill you stop that āijsberen?ā Itās driving me insane,ā said Mark, who had used the Dutch word for pacing. Literally translated, the word turned the noun polar bear into a verb, āto polar bear.ā Robert was often like a pacing polar bear. He always thought it was one of those Dutch words that aptly described the feeling of frustration.
āIām going to continue my āijsberenā outside. We can talk about this later.ā
The fact that Robert now had a major problem on his handsāand was in the middle of the festival preparation seasonāmeant pressure was mounting up. He needed some immediate down time and Saskia was the comfort he craved right now. It had been fifteen years since he first got together with Belinda, and eight years since they had married. Saskia offered him the refuge he needed, when he needed it, but Robert was aware that he was walking a tightrope. Sometimes he asked himself whether he was exploiting Saskiaās kindness and affection for him without giving much in return, though he did think that his sexual prowess was a bonus.
Saskia was in her mid-forties and she had had some tragic moments in her life. The worst was the loss of both of her parents in the MH 17 plane crash over Ukraine, along with more than one hundred other Dutch citizens. As a result of this tragedy, she had received an inheritance which enabled her to lead a more relaxed life than others around her. Saskia would often remember the repatriation of the bodies, arriving at Eindhoven airport followed by the precision of a convoy of over seventy hearses, all black, driving over more than 100km of motorway lined with clapping onlookers. Her personal tragedy played out as tear-jerker news on all media channels and around the world.
She had been married very briefly, and had one daughter, Lynda. She was the product, if you can call it that, of a short but intense relationship when Saskia was in her early twenties, long before marrying her husband. She enjoyed motherhood and looking after Lynda, but the relationship with her partner at the time was always doomed. Lynda was now twenty-one, no longer at home, and studying at the University of Bristol in the UK.
It was one of those impulsive on/off relationships that started at the height of youth; but, when Saskia became pregnant, she dearly wanted to try to make something of it, if only for the benefit of Lynda, and maybe for any other children she might have. It didnāt take long for her to realise that this was not going to happen and there was clearly no future in trying to hold the relationship together. This relationship cast a shadow over her future love life. Her new partners were never settling companions, and she had difficulty juggling the dating scene with being a single mother. She was happy with the place she was in now. Despite the lack of a father figure, her daughter had both feet on the ground, and she was proud of how things had worked out. The father was nowhere to be seen or heard from, which had been a tragedy.
More recently, Saskia had had her own personal setback. Medical this time.
She had never been one to grumble or rush to the doctor at the first sign of something. She was also not one to pay much attention to inspecting her own breasts on a regular, or even irregular, basis. She was still relatively young.
Breast tumours were known to be deceptive. They hid, like snakes under a rock. Saskia didnāt find her snakes until it was almost too late, only turning over her rock after the tumours had been germinating for several years. They were small but malignant, so had to be removed, and the surgery was complemented with a round of chemotherapy. Fortunately, breast cancer treatment now had a remarkably good track record for recovery, but the scare was there, and remained a constant reminder. The snakes could come back. But she was not worrying about that now.
At home, Saskia heard the doorbell ring and knew it was Robert. She lived on the bottom two floors of a house on the Herengracht canal in the heart of Amsterdam. There was hardly a nicer place in the city to live, unless you needed a lot of parking space, which simply did not exist in Amsterdam. The house was a traditional āherenā house, the type of house that would have been home to a gentleman of the city many centuries ago. Now, the houses were occupied in whole or in part by the established rich as well as the millennial rich. The house was part of the inheritance which Saskia, an only daughter, had received after the plane crash.
Saskia liked Robert, whom she met a few years ago. His surname was Dekker, which Saskia thought was a little pedestrian compared to some of the weird and whacky names that many of the Dutch have. She did allow herself the thought that it would be nice if he had something a little more colourful. In Holland, you would only have to open the now non-existent telephone directory to discover the range of wonderful surnames; Throw-a-Coin (Muntjewerf), Born Naked (Naaktgeboren), Thunder Shop (Donderwinkel) and many more. The story, or myth, went that when the French occupied The Netherlands, Napoleon was frustrated that no one had a surname and if he wanted to collect taxes and draft new soldiers for his army, he needed some form of identification. So he instructed the Dutch to create surnames for themselves. Not taking this particularly seriously, the Dutch developed names to amuse themselves and confuse their French occupiers as much as possible. They also thought it would be a temporary measure, but the names had stuck and been passed on from generation to generation.Ā Ā
Robert was a powerful name in its own right and fitted her Robert well. Two strong syllables, and plenty of precedent, with names like Robert the Bruce, Robert Kennedy, Robert de Niro, Robert Redford. On the other side of the coin, Robert Mugabe might not be a shining example, but he also belonged to a powerful, if questionable, elite.
Saskia met Robert quite by accident. One day, he was driving down the Herengracht canal at the same time as Saskia was going back into her apartment loaded with bags and boxes. Her trip was only from her car further down the road, but she was being a little too ambitious. Robert, who had an impulsive streak to him, pulled over into the miraculously free parking space behind and offered his help. With some hesitation, Saskia accepted. Robert stood out in a crowd and her curiosity got the better of her.
Robert grabbed a couple of the boxes from her arms and followed her up the short flight of steps to the front door. Once inside, they went down the narrow hallway to the back of the house where there was a large kitchen and living area that opened onto a large inner patio. There were double doors opening from there back towards the front of the house, where there was another large room, primarily used as a den and an office for Saskia. There were high ceilings, which was typical of the old houses, and Robert noticed that his new acquaintanceās place was exceptionally āgezellig,ā the all-encompassing Dutch word for cosy, and the apartment was blessed with some stunning paintings. One in particular was a very large and striking abstract painting that looked much like wheat fields, dominating the kitchen area with many of tones of yellow.
āHi, my nameās Saskia, and thanks very much for helping me,ā she said before Robert headed back out.
No problem at all, I enjoyed it. Iām Robert,ā he said as he presented a hand to her.
āI have one more bag in the car, front seat, I mustnāt forget.ā
āDo you need help with it?ā
āNo, no. Youāve already done enough, thanks.ā
Robert started heading for the door but turned just before leaving.
āCan I be ever so rude and ask to use your bathroom?ā
āOh, is that why you wanted to help?ā she quipped. Robert ignored it with a big smile.
āThe toilet is down there on the right. Yes, thatās it.ā
Saskia followed Robert out of the house as she went to retrieve her last package.
āIt was nice meeting you. Itās a small town, so maybe weāll see each other somewhere, sometime,ā Robert said, trying unsuccessfully to elicit a positive response.
A few months later, more or less, Robert finally āmetā Saskia at a reception for people in the events business. It turned out that Saskia had her own business, designing and arranging sets for theatre and occasionally product launches, but she preferred the former. After the excitement of the first few months, and as they became closer, it was clear Robertās marriage was not a deterrent to Saskia; she was not in search of anything lasting. She did have her reservations about the secrecy, however. She didnāt want to be responsible for any break between Robert and Belinda.
It didnāt take long for the two of them to be physically attracted to each other. In fact, that was the easy part, much like covalent bonding between two chemicals. Their characters also matched well. Both were freewheeling types with strong independent tendencies, with a good dose of intelligence and a grounding of common sense, even if having an affair was a deviation from that.
Today, Robert had arrived at Saskiaās by bike because he knew that it was highly unlikely he would find a parking space for his Volvo estate. Unlike many others in the city, Robert was not a fan of the bike, considering it merely a necessary evil. With more bikes in Amsterdam than inhabitants, if you couldnāt beat them, you had to join them.
He had had to cover some five kilometres from the Masters in Paint office, which also meant navigating what could only be described as a gridlock jungle, despite all the dedicated bike lanes.
Robertās journey to the Herengracht canal meant he had to deal with a mix of the local car and cycle traffic and the horror of tourists. One group knew exactly what it was doing and disobeyed every road rule known to man; the other had no idea what they were doing and were a hazard to themselves and others. Robert knew what he was doing, but didnāt enjoy it. He knew the city and could easily avoid the worst hotspots, but there was always a hothead who was not paying attention, on their phone or listening to music on headsets.
Saskiaās house was generally their meeting place, as they both preferred not to take the risk of being seen together in bars, restaurants etc. Amsterdam was a small city, and if you were in the bombastic festival business, or the more pedestrian theatre business, you could generally assume that everyone knew you and you needed to know everyone.
Robert arrived, not exhausted but hot. The weather was already getting warm. The dayās events had not left him in a good mood, but he summoned up some level of frivolity when Saskia greeted him at the door with a simple kiss and hug, supplemented by a tug at his bum.
āI do like that bum of yours. Always have,ā she said.
Robert followed Saskia down the narrow stone hallway to the back of the house, which opened onto the inner garden via the patio, a large wall of glass windows, and a small flight of steps. Saskiaās bum was also a sight to behold, and she knew it. Today she was dressed in a tight, revealing jogging outfit with colour highlights in all the right places. Robert could not resist a quick grope as they proceeded to the back.
āAnd I am jealous of yours as well. How do you keep it like that? At your age.ā
A quick but friendly slap followed. Saskia worked hard to stay in shape and took the compliment as it was intended. She was not tall, but also not small. She had a nice figure, with only a bit of weakness developing in the stomach area. Her hair was black with highlights that enhanced her face and gentle skin, which had a very slight hint of olive. She was the product of a Dutch father and an Italian mother, and it was clear that the prevailing genes had come from the maternal side. She was in top form.
It was only mid-afternoon. And it was almost as if the two already had a muted regimen together. There was no hot pursuit of a sexual encounter, nor any plans for one. Saskia had recently arrived back from the gym.
āI have to take a shower. I know this is no way to greet you. If youād like a drink, why donāt you grab something and come with me?ā
āSure, Iāll be there in a sec.ā
Saskia headed downstairs to the bathroom, which adjoined her bedroom in the basement. It was not a basement as most people would understand it to be. It opened onto the garden at the back, so got plenty of light. It was a sunken part of the house that ran from front to back, and for Saskia it was home to her two bedrooms, a bathroom, and some utility space for things like bikes, a washing machine, and an old wooden chest of drawers; a chest that looked odd because it was not symmetric. Her own bedroom had French windows which could open out to the garden. She had a large shower, as well as space in the bathroom to accommodate a whole family, if you wanted to. She turned on the shower, disposed of her jogging clothes and jumped in. Robert came downstairs, with a beer, bottle of wine, and glasses in his hands.
āI brought you a wine.ā
āIsnāt it a little early for alcohol?ā
āBelieve me, now is a good time for alcohol. I need it.ā
āSomething happen?ā
āYes, but Iāll tell you after youāve had your shower. Iāll just sit here and watch.ā
That statement in itself was enough to excite Saskia. She decided to play up to the situation, with a lot of soap and much overstated caressing and limb movement. Robert knew what was coming, but that was part of the game. Just the stimulus and excitement that he was looking for, remote foreplay. He put down his glass. As much as he would have liked to walk into the shower fully clothed, he was realistic enough to know that would have raised another dilemma. Instead, he undressed and joined Saskia in the shower and immediately took over the task of gently caressing her body. Saskia enjoyed the attention to all parts of her body. Water and soap was just as sexy as massage oil and without going any further than the shower, they entwined under a stream of water that drowned out their respective climaxes. It was what Robert needed, but Saskia felt he was rougher than he normally was. Robert felt better, blissfully unaware of any change in himself.
An hour later, they were both on the patio in the garden, this time with a couple of wines. As it was pleasant weather, Saskia had put on one of her favourite floral dresses that ended just above the knees, revealing shapely legs and, especially, that sweet spot visible along the outside flank when a woman sits cross-legged. Robert knew he needed to get back home soon. The phone was in his pocket on silent mode, but he could feel the buzz of WhatsApps that came in. Ā
āSo, tell me, whatās stirring in you? I can feel it?ā Saskia asked.
āYes, Iām sorry if itās so obvious. Iāve had a shitty day, really shitty.ā
āTell me, if you want. I canāt help you if you donāt tell me.ā
āI know, but Iām not sure you can help me anyway, apart from being here.ā
āWell?ā
āItās the painting business. Weāve received a threatening letter and a claim from a lawyer representing a living painter.ā
āBut you donāt copy living paintersā paintings. You told me that.ā
āYes, but we changed our policy, provided it was for personal use only and not hung in public. Other sites offer something similar.ā
āRobert, youāre an intelligent man. That wasnāt a wise thing to do, was it?ā
āThatās what I thought too,ā Robert said, ābut Mark convinced me, so now I donāt know what weāre going to do. The worst thing about it is that if it comes to a serious claim, then I am personally liable. I donāt have Masters in Paint protected as a limited company. And Belinda will kill me if that happens. Or Iāll kill myself.ā
āIām going to stay calm, but I think we can agree that was very naive of you. With any luck, theyāre just making an example of you to warn off others and it will blow over. But you will need to be very apologetic. Time to grovel.ā
āI know. I havenāt really discussed it with Mark yet. I was too pissed off to be around him.ā
āSo, you came here?ā
āYes, Iām sorry. That was unfair of me,ā said Robert.
āNo. In a way, Iām flattered, but I canāt always be your bolt hole when things are bad; or even good. Which brings me to the subject.ā
āWhich is?ā
āYou know, Iāve been thinking, weāve been going around ināā and at this she hesitatedāāvery enjoyable circles for a couple of years now. You know I love you coming here, and I love being with you, but itās no longer as rewarding as it was.ā
āEh?ā
āNo, donāt get me wrong. That didnāt come out right. I mean I still love seeing you, I still love the sex we have; but our relationship is potentially heading up a cul de sac, donāt you think?ā
āI havenāt really thought about it.ā
āExactly my point. Robert, sometimes youāre in your own world and you lose sight of the people who are important to you. Me, for example. I donāt know that I can go on like this forever without some prospect of a future. And itās not going to be a future which has you just turning up when itās convenient for you.ā
āWow, two low blows in one day.ā
āYes, Iām sorry, our chat just led into it. I hadnāt planned it for right now. But I had been meaning to talk to you one of these days. Maybe itās for the best. This way you have one really bad day instead of two.ā
āBut I thought you liked your freedom and independence?ā
āI do, thatās me to a tee. But with you I feel Iām moving on from my past, even if youāre not the most attentive of men. I do think you have it in you, and thatās the you I would like to get to know. And I fear Iām the one who gave you the wrong idea. Yes, I once told you that the one marriage I hadāand any subsequent relationshipsādidnāt work out because I liked my independence. Maybe that gave you the wrong impression?
Robert seized on what little defence he had and answered, āYes, I think maybe you did. I do remember your husband was a First Officer on a cruise ship, he had a glamourous life on board, and you also got what you wanted; time to yourself and time with him.ā
āYes, two months on, two months off. What I had not counted on was that the two months off for him, was two months on for me, literally and figuratively. It became suffocating. But itās not the same. And I am older now. More mellowed, donāt you think? And Iām not looking for a repeat.ā
āAbsolutely, but I think you are sending me mixed messages.ā
āNo, Iām just reinforcing the message you donāt seem to be picking up on.ā
āThatās clear,ā Robert said. āI used to think you didnāt even know what you were going to do tomorrow, let alone next week or next month. I guess thatās changing?ā
āNow you got it.ā And then a pause. āNo, I didnāt mean it like that. Robert, all I am asking is that you think about where you want to go with our relationship. Thereās no rush. I donāt want to burst the bubble weāre in, I just want it to be bigger than this house.ā
āAlright. Please, give me time. As you can see, Iām juggling just a few too many things at the moment. And maybe I should compare my marriage to a cruise ship. Once it gains momentum it takes forever to bring it to a stop.ā
Saskia ignored this.
āYouāve forgotten your wine. Take a few slugs. Youāll feel better.ā
There was a bit of a pregnant pause. Then the two of them moved onto less touchy issues. They talked about Robertās other work with festivals, Saskiaās own work, and rehearsed standard grumbles about the Amsterdam council, traffic, tourists, and other mundane matters.
At about 6 oāclock Robert left to head back home so he would be there in time for dinner and help with some homework for the kids. It was the same hectic story on the bike ride back, this time even more so because of the rush hour. Robert had the opportunity to get rid of some of his frustration by yelling at other cyclists and pedestrians who got in his way.Ā
Ā Fortunately, his day didnāt get any worse, but he did call Mark and suggested that they let the copyright liability matter sit until after the weekend. It was going to be dragged out anyway.
Ā
Robert is sitting at a cafĆ© in Amsterdam thinking about his work and his women. Heās an events organiser, but thatās seasonal, so heās started a side business with Mark dealing in reproductions of famous paintings. He also has two women, wife Belinda, whoās none too happy about the side business, and Saskia. He picks up an old coin. Heās a diabetic and needs to inject himself regularly with insulin. His paintings business has begun dealing in copies of living artists, and one of them is suing. Saskia, too, wants a change. His son buys an antique chest online, and the owner lives in the house next to Saskiaās.
Suddenly, crossing the bridge over the Brouwersgracht, heās transported 3 years back in timeāhow? why?āto the day he first met Saskia. He begins reliving his life, but the second time around, he manages everything better. He has a propensity for making āpredictionsā. Heās boringly out on a very ordinary first date with the Saskia only he knows he will fall in love with, while weāre thinkingāhang on, man, you just travelled back in time!
Suddenly, crossing the bridge, heās again transported back in timeāhow? why?āto 1945, where there is an entirely different āSaskiaā. The two become embroiled in the Dam Square Massacre, which Robert predicts just in time. But heās low on insulin.
Crossing the bridge, again he goes back to 1886, and finds himself in the middle of the Eel Riot. Again, he meets a āSaskiaā. His lack of insulin will become life-threatening within weeks. He is ābeginning to enjoy the learning curve with a new Saskia each timeā. Sometimes the way the different Saskias explain things to him seems a bit unnatural. WE know sheās talking to a time traveller, but SHE wouldnāt have known it.
Crossing the bridge, again he goes back to 1664, and heās in the middle of the Plague. This time, āSaskiaā recognises him. Itās the 2019 Saskia; sheās time travelled, too, only in this time period, she has a husband and is mistress of a large house. Her next-door neighbour was apprentice to Rembrandt. He has been making the chest which Robertās son bought in 2019, and 2019 Saskia has the other of the pair. He discovers something remarkable about the chest. Ā Ā
Crossing the bridge, heās back again, and everything is different for him with his two women.
What would you do if you time travelled? I would first find a confidantāotherwise, it would just be too lonely--and the first thing you want to do is to figure out how it worked and have someone to help you do so. Then Iād make my way to the bookies and bet on some things I knew were going to happen. Then Iād try to answer some archaeological/historical mysteries. Was this really this way or that way back then? Or Iād try to influence history, try to prevent something awful from happening. Robert just keeps seeking out Saskia. He does take photos, though, which is another thing Iād do.
This works better than some time travel novels. The hero does face some adversity, and he changes due to his experience. Satisfactorily, he also gets his hands on a historic treasure. Itās well written and well edited, and though we never fully understand how the time travel mechanism works, it works.