The Lie (18 page)

 

After two, at most three seconds of absolute terror, she calmed down. The alarm had been switched on, activating the central locking and turning the house into an impregnable fortress. So much was obvious. But there must be several combinations. The one she knew wouldn't have closed the shutters. Steps could be heard coming up the stairs. It could only be Michael.

Her initial reflex was to jump out of the bath, give herself a quick dry, slip under the covers and pretend to be asleep. It was too late for that.
He appeared in the doorway, a piece of toast and ham with a bite out of it in one hand, a pickled gherkin in the other. A perfectly ordinary man with nice eyes who was hungry. She gave him a forced smile and whispered, “Hi.”

He showed no reaction, just leaned against the doorframe, took a bite of toast and looked at her appraisingly. It's Nadia he's seeing, she told herself, to allay the embarrassment she felt rising inside her. Hesitantly she asked, “How did you get on with Kemmerling?”

He shook his head. “A wasted journey. He'd actually managed to fit everything in. I didn't believe he could do it. But the sick machine's going to take three weeks to sort out.”

The feeling of embarrassment refused to go away. The mountains of foam had long since disappeared. She squinted down along the surface of the water, trying to assess how much of her he could see from where he was.

“I'm sorry,” she said, “but there was something urgent I had to get done. Anyway, you can't expect me to let Kemmerling get his sticky fingers on my machine. That nerd's quite capable of compressing my hard disk into a stock cube.”

He gave a brief grin, stuffed what was left of the toast in his mouth and followed it with the gherkin. Then he pushed off the door post and came closer. “You know, if you'd said something, I wouldn't have asked.”

Remembering Nadia's words, she said firmly, “Excuse me, but I've told you that a thousand times.”

“Seven times in the last five months. I've kept count.”

She assumed they were still talking about Kemmerling. “Good. Then you should know I mean it seriously.”

“Oh, I know that,” he declared. “I just hope that this time you can stick to it for more than just one day.”

She had no time to start racking her brains as to what he might mean. He went over to the lavatory, lifted up the lid and seat with one hand, opened his trousers with the other and inserted his hand. It took a great deal of self-control, but she managed to keep looking at his face and not to stare, as if hypnotized, at what was in his hand. His complete lack of inhibition spoke volumes about the intimacy they enjoyed in their marriage and was clear proof that so far he hadn't had the slightest suspicion that it wasn't his wife he was talking to.

He looked across at the bathtub, running his eye over the water and, therefore, over her body. She was completely exposed to his gaze. It's Nadia he's seeing, she kept repeating to herself, like a mantra. Then she remembered she hadn't taken the tampons out of the cupboard.

He flushed the lavatory, went to one of the basins and washed his hands. Even as he did this, his eyes were still wandering up and down her body in one of the mirrors and the strange smile stayed on his face. She felt as if she were being frisked. Next he cleaned his teeth, taking, as expected, the blue brush. He didn't seem to notice that it had been used only a short time previously.

Then he came over to her, sat down on the top step leading up to the bath, dipped one hand in the water and trailed it about a bit. “Shall I keep you company for a while?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I was just going to get out. I still have a headache.”

That didn't put him off at all. With a tender gesture he pushed a damp strand of hair back from her forehead. “That's what I was hoping. Get out.”

She had no intention of getting out of the bath as long as he was there. “I'll stay in here for a few more minutes. It does my back good.”

With an understanding grin, he said, “What, a sore back as well. Shall I give you a massage?”

A tempting offer. While her mother-in-law had still been alive she'd sometimes enjoyed a massage prescribed by the doctor. Despite that, she shook her head and said, “Thanks, but no. It's not necessary.”

He put his hand on her shoulder and pressed his fingers into the tense muscles at the back of her neck. “Really? I'll make a special effort and I can guarantee you won't think of a cigarette for the next half hour.”

It wasn't only the tampons she'd forgotten. During his short return home in the afternoon he didn't seem to have noticed her abstinence. Now he must have noticed the empty ashtrays and drawn his own conclusions.

Heavy smokers became a bundle of nerves when they were forced to give up. They became irascible, unjust and unpredictable. She'd been through all that with her father, when he'd had to curb his addiction on doctor's orders. Gentleness and patience had flown out of the window, his response to the most harmless request had been more than just a
sharp “No”. Michael must have been through that as well and seemed willing to view her odd behaviour and her refusal in that light and to forgive her.

The pressure of his fingers on the back of her neck was by no means unpleasant. If it hadn't been for her inhibitions, for the frustrating knowledge that she wasn't the person he thought he was seeing, she could have enjoyed it.

“You really are tensed up,” he declared. “Come on, out you get before you get all wrinkled. I'll fetch you a towel.” Before she could say no he had gone and came back immediately with a large bath towel. “On the couch with you.”

“No, really. It's not necessary,” she hastened to assure him. “You're tired too.”

“Not that tired,” he said, spreading out the towel in a way that brooked no argument. There was no doubt that he wanted to help and would keep on at her until she let him do what he had resolved to do. She recalled the bottles of massage oil in the next room. Presumably it was a matter of course for him: Nadia's back was all tensed up so he gave Nadia a massage. And inside her head she could hear Nadia saying, “You can stop him getting suspicious. You just have to behave as I normally do.”

She could feel a flush start to creep over her face again as she sat up in the water. He held the outspread towel to her chest and wrapped it round her back. Then he finally went out. She quickly dried herself and wedged the towel under her armpits so that it covered her back, breasts, stomach and thighs. She tried to tuck the end in over her chest. It wouldn't stick. But if she clamped it tight under her armpit and didn't make any too hasty movements, it stayed in place. To be on the safe side, she quickly took the tampons out of the cupboard, placed them in a visible position on the edge of the wash basin and followed him into the adjoining room.

He had spread another towel over the couch and with a sweep of the hand invited her to lie on it. A bottle of massage oil was open ready on the cupboard. All the cushions were on the floor. Two seconds later the damp towel had joined them as he whipped it off and she hurriedly lay face down on the couch. Hardly had she stretched out than he was on top of her and sitting astride her thighs. She pressed her face into
the towel and found breathing difficult. Not because of his weight. She could feel it on her thighs and the sensation was not unpleasant.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw his arm reach out over her head for the bottle. He poured some oil out into the palm of his hand. Then he started - with her shoulders. With practised hands he gave her tense muscles a thorough massage, then stroked the back of her neck up to her hair with the tips of his fingers and down the side of her spine to her hips. Twice he asked, “Is that good?”

“Mhm,” she replied.

It really was very pleasant and for a while it was almost like being at the masseur's. True, he hadn't sat on her thighs and she'd worn panties, but otherwise the difference wasn't all that great. It was obvious it wasn't the first time Michael Trenkler had given a massage. Gradually she relaxed as she felt a pleasant warmth spread over her back. Eight fingertips pressed against her hairline while two thumbs firmly kneaded the back of her neck. She took a deep breath and felt four fingers and one thumb run down the right-hand side of her spine. She enjoyed it and didn't wonder for one second what the other hand was doing.

He shifted his weight and slid back to her lower legs. His hand worked its way up her spine and slowly back down again. Something briefly brushed against her thigh, too briefly for her to register that it was the end of an undone belt. She only realized that when she heard the noise of a zip being pulled down and immediately after felt his fingers touch a spot that Nadia had not subjected to comparison. Because he was not supposed to see it from close to and certainly not touch it.

She should have taken the tampons out of the cupboard in the afternoon or the evening. If he saw them now he would know they were only an excuse. “No,” she protested, “don't.”

He did in fact remove his fingers, but only to take off his shirt, as she saw to her horror when she twisted her head to one side. It fluttered down to join the cushions and towel on the floor.

“No,” she repeated, more vigorously this time, and tried to shake him off her legs. “Stop it. I really do have a headache.”

He leaned over her, kissed her on the neck and whispered, “Of course. So have I. Come on, don't be a prick tease.” He put his hand under her chin, lifted up her head and turned it more to the side. His face came nearer.

“Leave me alone! I don't want to!” she said, before her mouth was firmly closed.

 

It was a long kiss - and her first for a long, long time. Initially it was new and strange, then tender, if not particularly comfortable with her head turned to the side. Later it became urgent, rousing and more comfortable. He slid off her and down from the couch, then took off his trousers, underpants and socks. She closed her eyes, like a child imagining it won't be seen if it can't see anything itself. Yet despite the darkness, her senses, sharpened by panic, perceived every movement. She had no idea how to stop what was coming, nor was she sure that she wanted to stop it. In time with her accelerating heartbeat, her mind was hammering against her skull: No! No! No! Her body, on the other hand, simply responded.

He turned her over, continuing to kiss and caress her. At one point something did seem to give him pause for thought. She peeked through her half-open lashes and saw him looking thoughtfully at her breasts. Immediately she felt a rush of fear. He had discovered the deception! He was bound to realize! No. He bent over her again and slid his lips over the very feature that had briefly disconcerted him.

With unremitting tenderness he continued to arouse her. And there came the point where she rolled over on top of him and returned everything in full. The cause wasn't simply her long period of abstinence and her craving for love, it was more his occasional puzzlement. Several times he paused as he was about to do something. When she opened her eyes she could see his half veiled, half questioning look. He must have sensed that something was different, completely different. But he didn't understand, couldn't understand what it was because ultimately it was just too monstrous. Her growing arousal was matched by a surge of fear that he would realize at the very last second that he was being palmed off with a copy. Eventually there was nothing for it but to accept what he was offering and to hope that Nadia responded in a similar way.

Afterwards, lying with his arms round her on the couch, he checked out the points that had made him wonder and looked for rational explanations. Placing his hand on her breast, he said “You've put on a few ounces, haven't you? Don't even think of going on a diet. It feels good like that.” Then he ran the tip of his finger round her navel. The bath had washed off the concealer. “Since when have you had that?”

Still dazed by what should never have happened and by the response it had released inside her, she looked down at her stomach. “Since yesterday. It's just a spot.”

“That's not what it looks like to me,” he declared. “But we'll leave the diagnosis to a specialist. You'll go and see Reusch about it. And no more sunbed until that's been sorted out.”

She just said, “Yes.”

He stood up and pulled her up off the couch. “Let's get to bed. I really am tired now. How's the back?”

“Fine. My headache's gone too.”

“I should hope so,” he said with a smile. “I couldn't offer you a second course of treatment today.”

She went to the bathroom, used the toilet and put the tampons back in the cupboard before Michael saw them. In the bedroom she started to shiver. It wasn't the temperature; it was warm in the room. He hadn't bothered to put his trousers on again and was standing by the double bed throwing back the covers. Then he went into the dressing room. She couldn't get into bed because she didn't know which side Nadia slept on, so she scurried back into the bathroom.

A couple of minutes later he followed her in with clean clothes over his arm and a little alarm clock in his hand, which he put on the basketwork shelf. She went back into the bedroom together with him. He lay down on the left-hand side and patted the sheet. “Get in, I'll hold you tight, at least until twelve. By then you'll have stuck it out for almost a whole day.”

She cuddled up to him, he put his arm round her and almost immediately fell asleep. She lay there, awake, not daring to move. The bed was too different, the pillow too firm, the sheet too cool, his skin warm against her back. She could feel his breath on her ear and neck. And she couldn't understand how Nadia could be unfaithful to him. He was perfect! At least that's what he'd been for her in the last hour, and in comparison with Dieter Lasko.