The Lie (29 page)

Unusually, Heller wasn't leaning out of the window and didn't appear as she went up the stairs. He'd be in the pub. Some children seemed to have used his absence to play a trick on him, sticking transfers on his door and over the lock.

She noticed them as she went past, but didn't give them a closer look, her mind being occupied with Nadia. She waited until the early evening for the taxi that would bring her to collect the Alfa. She passed the time by giving the flat a thorough clean. By half-past six there wasn't a hair, a speck of dust or a piece of fluff anywhere. She couldn't think of anything else she could do and she couldn't stand the waiting any longer. Taking her jacket and handbag, she went out to phone Philip Hardenberg. He would surely know where Nadia was and when she would be back. She hoped she'd find his home number in the telephone directory, she even had enough change to ask directory enquiries. All that was left in the telephone box, however, was a dangling piece of cord.

It seemed pointless to go back to her flat. There was a telephone in the house and Hardenberg's home number on the computer. At least she hoped the index card she'd deleted so quickly in September would have that information. If Michael had actually gone to Munich, Nadia could come back any time during the weekend. Knowing the house would probably be empty calmed her nerves a little.

When the garage door slid up to reveal an empty space, she heaved a sigh of relief. She switched off the alarm in the hall and ran up the stairs two at a time. Hardly had she sat down at the desk than all the lights on the computer were glowing. A few words glided across the screen, then the picture came to a standstill with the instruction: Enter password.

Hurriedly she typed in “Arosa” and pressed Enter. Nothing happened. She tried twice more, after that every time she pressed a key there was an unpleasant bleep. Nadia must have changed her password. Without thinking, she picked up the telephone. The extension on the desk was connected, Michael must have plugged it in. She dialled directory enquiries and requested Philip Hardenberg's number. She was asked where he lived, she assumed it was in the city. After a few seconds the operator said that she was sorry but the number was ex-directory. Her request for Helga Barthel's number met with the same result.

She was hungry and exhausted. She'd hardly had anything to eat all day and felt she couldn't think straight on a rumbling stomach, so she made herself two pieces of toast. She had to go into the garage to get the ham from the boot - and there she saw the laptop. Two minutes later she had it in front of her on the kitchen table and switched it on. All she got on that one too was an unpleasant bleeping, the screen flickered and went dark again. She swore angrily. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the monitor above the refrigerator flicker on. The screen showed the usual section of road, the front garden and the paved path to the front door.

A woman was approaching - on extremely high-heeled shoes, which gave her a stork-like gait. To go with the uncomfortable shoes, she was wearing a ridiculously garish trouser suit made from some floppy material, which hung loose round her figure like a parachute. Her face grew larger and slightly distorted by the lens as she came to the door and set off a brief barking in the hall. Lilo had come to see her - straight from a surprise party, to judge by her dress.

The visit was really no laughing matter, but she couldn't repress a grin. She definitely wasn't going to go to the door. Lilo seemed to suspect that and went round to the kitchen window. When she saw her sitting at the table, she knocked on the window to announce her presence, then reappeared on the screen. After three or four seconds the slightly squashed face on the monitor made a grimace of frustration followed by continuous growling and barking from the hall. With a long sigh she got up and went to the door. She'd got on well with Joachim Kogler, if things didn't work out with his wife, that was Nadia's problem.

Lilo greeted her with a caustic, “I'll never get used to that nonsense.” She presumably meant the dog.

She grinned wearily. “I'd have preferred a crocodile, but Michael wants to keep the pool for himself.”

Ignoring her joke, Lilo said, “I was here earlier, around lunchtime. There appeared to be no one in.” It sounded as if she was implying that there had been someone in the house only they'd not answered the door.

“I had some appointments. And Michael's gone to Munich.”

For whatever reason, this remark had Lilo positively oozing pity. “Oh, you poor thing. Jo told me, but I couldn't believe it.” Then she beamed. “But that fits in perfectly. We've got a few old friends round. They'll take your mind off things.”

“Don't think I wouldn't love to come,” she said, “but I've got a pile of stuff to do.”

“I won't take no for an answer,” said Lilo in severe tones before announcing, with a roguish smile, “Henseler's there, Barlinkow's there, Hannah's there and
Georges
is bound to arrive any minute.” She put such a heavy stress on the last name, that it looked as if she was about to burst with enthusiasm.

She tried again. “I'm really sorry—”

“A change is as good as a rest,” Lilo broke in determinedly, “and that's what you need.” She looked her up and down. She was still wearing the trouser suit she'd taken out of Nadia's wardrobe in the morning. The blouse and trousers were crumpled. “Get changed and come over.”

“I really can't,” she said, emphasizing every word. “I've a problem with the computer and I have to—”

Once more Lilo didn't let her finish. “Nonsense. Jo'll see to that tomorrow. You're going to put all these problems out of your mind, have
a nice hot shower, put on something pretty - and a bit of rouge, you really do look pale. Then we'll have a lovely evening. We've got a surprise for you.” Before she could refuse again, Lilo had stalked off back to the neighbouring house on her high heels.

She closed the front door, took the useless laptop and its case upstairs and dumped it on the desk. If Joachim Kogler could see to the large computer in the morning… a man who could transform a house into an electronic mantrap would surely be able to get round a password and conjure up an index card with a telephone number on the screen. Barlinkow, she thought, Henseler, Hannah and
Georges
. In her mind she could hear Nadia saying, “Do your best.” What else could she do?

The shower pepped her up a bit. Make-up concealed the tiredness in her face. Then she had a look at the party dresses in the dressing room. There were a few formal gowns - presumably for the opera - and a few striking ensembles. She decided on a lime-green outfit, loose-fitting like Lilo's trouser suit. Armed with half a dozen fictitious but amusing episodes from the life of an independent investment adviser, she went out, with only the keyring in her hand.

There were seven cars parked out in the road, so it didn't look as if there'd be too many people. Wolfgang Blasting opened the door and, instead of a greeting said, “I've already heard Doc's in Munich. Word's got round that he didn't like the beach hut either. He talks too much, if you ask me.” When she didn't reply, he jerked his head towards the interior. “Come in and vent your spleen on the rest of the assembled company.”

He stood aside to let her past into the brightly lighted hall with a wide-open double door opposite. One look through the door and she felt like turning on her heel and going straight back. A motley crowd filled the Koglers' living room. Lilo's “few old friends” came to at least three dozen, of whom she only recognized four.

A little white-haired man extricated himself from the crowd and came towards her with outstretched arms and a warm smile. With a “How delightful!” he raised her hands to his lips and placed a kiss on both. He had a Slavic accent. Barlinkow? Joachim Kogler released her before it could become embarrassing.

Lilo had already told him about her computer problem and he wanted to know all the details, especially whether the security system had been
compromised or whether it might simply be a joke Michael was playing on her. Then he destroyed her hopes of seeing an index card with Hardenberg's number. “I'll be happy to have a look at it, but if there really is a problem with the password, you'll have to insert a jumper.”

“I thought that might be the case,” she said.

Whatever else she had thought might be the case vanished in the hubbub. Her fears regarding all the unknown people turned out to be unfounded, there would probably have been more complications had it been a small group. In larger numbers no one was interested in the anecdotes she'd prepared or anything else. There were a few little scattered clusters talking about Cubism or Dali's love life, but most had gathered round a young man who was enthusing about Julia's symphonies of colour.

She did a circuit of the room, returning a smile here and a “Hello” there, then withdrew to an unoccupied spot beside the doors onto the patio, where she almost fell asleep on her feet.

About ten minutes later a man in his mid-fifties and a grey-and-black-striped silk suit came over and started talking about the increased value of the Beckmann. Without having to contribute to the conversation, she learned that she wouldn't find the Beckmann in the house any more. It had been bought in the spring as a present for a dear friend. Now
mon chéri Jacques
was enjoying it. After that had been dealt with, he realized she hadn't got a drink. When he brought her a glass of orange juice, which gave her something to hold on to, she decided to think of him as Henseler. Lilo called him Edgar.

For a while she wondered about
mon chéri
Jacques. The recipient of an expensive present as recently as the spring. There must have been a reconciliation. How was it that Nadia was still with Michael? And why was she carrying on with fat Hardenberg?

 

Wolfgang Blasting also ventured to approach her. Twice. The first time he offered her an olive branch. When she rejected it, he raised a mocking eyebrow. “Withdrawal problems again, eh? That explains a lot.” The second time he brought her a plate filled with food from the buffet, which had already been fairly thoroughly plundered. He praised the Waldorf salad. “Ilona brought some from Carlo's recently, but it wasn't half as good.”

Somehow - via Carlo's, the Waldorf salad and Ilona's new preference for vegetarian food - he got onto his own profession. She didn't notice the change, her thoughts were still with Jacques and Philip, until Blasting mentioned a serious road accident in which “friend Arnim” had been killed.

“Terrible,” she murmured.

Blasting grinned and asked whether she intended to continue warming up her vitamin ration much longer or whether he should get her a proper drink. She just nodded. He swapped the orange juice for a glass of champagne, telling her she'd earned it and Doc wasn't around anyway. Then he went on about “friend Arnim” again.

She was too exhausted to concentrate on his story. It wasn't anything to do with her anyway. Nadia would presumably know who the unfortunate Arnim was. It made her feel uncomfortable, as did the way Blasting spoke to her, much too close, his mouth right by her ear, as if he was going to nibble it. She wished his wife would glance their way and call him off.

Ilona was ten or twelve feet away, with the group gathered round the young man, listening to his effusions on Julia's colours, a malicious smile on her face. At some point the young man - it must have been
Georges
- had insisted Julia be invited over. Lilo told Jo to ring Julia. Jo asked whether Julia was on fifteen or seventeen and, once he had been told, hurried off to the telephone.

“Are you actually listening to me?” Wolfgang Blasting asked.

“Of course,” she said, her eyes and ears on Joachim Kogler in the hall. The telephone there was the same model as the one in the study. She saw that Joachim Kogler pressed one of the buttons at the bottom then just two numbers. Speed dialling! At once she was wide awake and all attention. She heard Blasting say, “I didn't expect you to jump for joy. Respect for the dead and all that, but I did think it would cheer you up a bit.”

“Oh, but it has,” she assured him, “it really has. I think I'll go and get myself something to eat.”

He shook his head. “You really are a one-off. Where are you with your thoughts? The Bahamas? Munich? Surely you can manage one weekend without your stud? Let him have his bit of fun. Two days fraternizing with the plebs and Doc'll soon remember what he has in you.”

Your stud! Revolting. Wolfgang Blasting was no better than Heller and he just refused to be shaken off. He followed her to the remains of the
buffet with his empty plate, noted with relief that all the Waldorf salad had gone, checked with a quick glance that his wife wasn't watching and grabbed a piece of pork fillet.

Then he came back to the terrible road accident. “It didn't have to end like that but, as I said, he'd seen the lads were after him and went into the lorry at a hundred and twenty. He was squashed flat. The only thing that survived was his briefcase. There were no revealing documents, of course, just envelopes with numbers.”

“It never does to build up your hopes too much,” she said, taking a sip of champagne and adding a piece of pork fillet, some cheese, bread and a few grapes to her plate.

Lighting a cigarette, Wolfgang Blasting explained, “He must have been to see five clients that evening, he had twenty thousand on him. The lads were quite surprised.”

“I can imagine,” she said.

He gave a mocking smile. “With the sums you're used to dealing with I'd expected more. Röhrler was just a little fish. But how did you know he'd changed sides? Have you seen him recently?”