The Lie (32 page)

The Jaguar was parked across the drive. Michael must have deliberately left it so as to block both exits. He wasn't in the car. She kept sounding the horn until he finally appeared in the Kogler's doorway - together with Jo, who was giving her the thumbs-up behind his back, while Michael strolled towards her.

When he reached the Alfa and bent down, she lowered the window. “Hi, there,” he said, “you seem to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed again. It looks as if I arrived just in time. Off on a short excursion? Or is it to be a longer one?” He looked at her. She couldn't have said whether his expression was angry, bored, tired, mocking or something else entirely.

“Let me out,” was her only answer.

He shook his head slowly. “Not today.” With that he put his hand in through the open window and switched off the ignition. The engine died. He took the key out and went round to the back of the car. Before she could do anything, he'd opened the boot and taken something out.

Immediately she was beside him and she saw the expression on his face change. He was weighing the worn imitation-leather holder with the keys to her flat in his hand. The glance he gave her no longer seemed tired, mocking or bored, not even angry. It appeared to register the realization that his worst fears had come true. Without a word he put the holder in his trouser pocket.

Then he turned his attention to the plastic bag. At first he must have only noticed the ready-to-eat meals and the tins of chicken soup. He laughed, clearly not knowing what to make of it. “What does this mean? You're travelling light. Off for a picnic?”

Jo was still standing at his front door. He'd stopped signalling to her, his look now expressed incomprehension and pity. And then Michael discovered the envelope, glanced at the address and looked her in the eye. “Who's Susanne Lasko?”

She felt the blood drain from her face. She didn't reply.

“Postage to be paid by addressee?” Michael said in mocking surprise. “Dieter Lasko seems to be a thrifty man. Or is he just poor?” As he went on, his voice took on a touch of sharpness. “Will you please explain what this means?”

When she didn't respond, he pulled out the printouts. The little tape cassette slipped out too and fell on the ground. While he was still looking, she bent down, grabbed the cassette, slipped it in her jacket pocket and tore the empty envelope out of his hand. “Give me that. It belongs to me.”

“No,” he said, “it belongs to Susanne Lasko, it says so here. Who is she?”

She tried to take the papers and the car key off him. He pushed her hand away. “Take it easy, sweetheart. Surely I can have a look.”

Then he took her by the arm and called across to Jo, “You can go in now. There's nothing more your helping hand can do. We'll have a bite to eat, then go to bed. After the long drive I feel I've earned a sleep in the arms of my loving wife. Who knows how long I'll be able to enjoy that pleasure.”

With these last words he dragged her into the garage, then into the hall and, naturally, to the alarm. His voice lost its mocking undertone and became harsh. “Now we can have a chat about your plans without embarrassing poor old Jo.”

She had no intention of discussing anything with him, left him in the hall closet and went to the kitchen. He followed her and, seeing the dirty glass and empty tin of juice, resorted to irony. “That was a hurried departure, I must say. You didn't even have time to clear away the remains of your frugal lunch or raise the drawbridge.”

All that she could think of was that she wouldn't be able to see her mother, nor go back to her flat, if he stayed there and didn't give her
the keys back. “But you said you wouldn't be back until tomorrow,” she said, folding up the envelope and putting it in her jacket pocket with the tape.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Another speculation that didn't work out. But one more or less is neither here nor there. When Ilona rang I thought I'd better see what was going on here. She thought you were about to do a bunk.”

“She got hold of the wrong end of the stick.”

“Yes, I know,” he said. “That's the end we all get when it's your business dealings we're involved in. May I know what tore you away from your pick-me-up?”

When she didn't reply, he turned to the printouts. Perhaps he hoped they'd contain an explanation. She picked up the glass, threw the empty tin in the rubbish bin and peeked at him furtively out of the corner of her eye. He leafed through the sheets, the car key clutched in his fist. Her transcript of the fragmentary letter to
mon chéri
was printed out on the last one, but he didn't get that far, he'd drawn his conclusions before reaching it. “Let me guess. Philip called.”

“No, Helga. She hadn't managed to get out to the shops and asked me if I could bring her some things. Philip's not there, he had to go to Berlin yesterday.”

His lips twisted in a joyless grin. “Berlin? Are you sure it isn't Nassau? You'd better check before you board the plane.”

It sounded as if he knew about Nadia's affair. “Spare me your suspicions and just give me the keys,” she demanded. That was probably the way Nadia would have put it.

His grin became a brief laugh. “Don't overdo it, sweetheart. Jo said I needed to treat you gently, you were a bit confused at the moment. He told me a client had threatened you. Perhaps you'd like to tell me what's going on so I'm prepared for the worst. Will it cover it if we dispose of the shack here?”

She threw her shoulders back and, although trembling a little at the thought that he might grab her again and take the tape and the envelope, which had both her and Dieter's full address, walked past him, keeping her head held as high as possible. He made no move to stop her.

A quick call to the old folks' home to tell her mother that she'd gone out with her friend Jasmin Toppler, that the motorbike had broken down
and they were stuck somewhere, but were still having a great time - that was all she wanted to get done. She also managed to reach the study unhindered and closed the door behind her. But hardly had she dialled the area code than the door opened.

She replaced the receiver. He came over to the desk, slowly, and pointed at the laptop. “Nice little toy,” he said, keeping a tight hold of the car key and the printouts.

“It's not working.”

“Oh, really?” He put on an air of astonishment. “What's wrong with it?”

Before she could reply, he'd put the printouts and key down on the desk, opened the laptop and switched it on. Then he started to laugh. He didn't notice her hand creeping towards the key, which she slipped into her jacket pocket. “You're priceless,” he said. “You might pull the wool over Jo's eyes with an empty battery, but not me. Where's the lead?”

“In the office. It's Philip's laptop.”

“Oh, really?” he said again. “Then why's it here?”

“I'm taking it to be repaired tomorrow.”

His tone was a mixture of disparagement and concern. “Nadia, please. You're talking to me, not the neighbours. Have you been at the office computer as well? You couldn't just stick that under your arm. Unfortunately it won't be much help if you've already got an irate client after your blood. When can I expect him to turn up here? Is there a chance you'll still be around then? Or will I have the pleasure of conducting the negotiations this time? You can't count on your father any more.”

With an irritated wave of the hand, she went to the door. “I need to eat,” she said. It wasn't particularly brilliant, but it helped.

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Me too. There's no point in reading you a lecture if the damage is already done. Let's go to Carlo's.”

For a few seconds she thought she might still be able to see her mother if she let him go by himself. But then she realized what a risk she'd be running. He might well throw the keys to her flat out into the bushes somewhere. There was nothing for it but to follow him to the Jaguar, hoping she could fish the holder out of his pocket some time in the next few hours.

It took a good half hour to get there. He went on at her almost uninterruptedly, revealing some details of the holiday during which the quarrel had broken out. They'd been to the Bahamas, as Wolfgang Blasting had already mentioned. Michael had suspected there was something in the wind when he chanced to take a call for her from a solicitor's secretary in the hotel. Nadia had been negotiating with the solicitor behind his back and tried to explain it by saying she'd been arranging a surprise for him.

He now interpreted her declaration of love in the bathroom on Friday morning as a farewell on the theme of: Sorry, darling, but since you don't want what I want, I'll have to head off into the sun on my own. Perhaps some day you'll remember I wanted you to come with me. The fact that she'd welcomed his idea of going to visit his family in Munich had been the final proof for him. She'd wanted him out of the house so she could clear off undisturbed.

His tone wavered between bitterness and sarcasm. He suspected the worn imitation-leather holder contained the keys to her new home. It appeared that Nadia had been given a similarly grubby object by the solicitor in Nassau so she could view the holiday house. Michael assumed she'd spent the Saturday getting the basic tools and trappings of the elegant lady together and out of the house. Large items of luggage could be checked in well ahead of the flight. The only counter-argument she had was, “You're wrong.”

Finally he drove into a car park on the edge of the pedestrian precinct. Carlo's turned out to be an Italian restaurant that was very busy. It was clear that both the staff and some of the customers knew Michael well. Whether that was also true of Nadia was impossible to gauge. A waiter greeted them with an obsequious, “Good evening Madam, good evening, Herr Doktor” and led them to a table where a middle-aged man was already sitting.

He'd have been in his late fifties, had thick white hair and a similar, neatly trimmed beard. Tall and powerfully built, he made an imposing impression even when sitting down. He looked up from his almost empty plate, surprised and, as it seemed, pleased.

“Is that all right?” the waiter asked.

Michael and the white-haired man nodded simultaneously, Michael appearing slightly embarrassed. “I didn't expect to see you here, Herr Professor.”

The professor stood up and, the perfect gentleman, pulled out a chair for her. At the same time a loud “Hi there” echoed from a group of eight at a large round table in one corner. Two arms were waved.

“Excuse me,” said Michael. “I'll just say a quick hello,” and with that he left her alone with the unknown man.

 

The professor gave her a friendly smile. She returned it. The waiter had disappeared. Michael was chatting with the people at the round table - the hello was definitely not going to be a quick one. He was particularly directing his attention towards a young woman whose hair was dyed an unnatural red and who turned round to look at her several times with an expression that was initially sour, later exultant.

The professor suddenly spoke. “I heard Niedenhoff's going to give a concert in the Beethovenhalle soon.”

“I heard that too,” she replied, continuing to smile. She felt her cheeks had already gone to sleep.

“I wonder if it's still possible to get tickets.”

How should she know? All she knew was that there were two tickets on the grand piano in the living room - with greetings from Frederik. She couldn't keep her eyes off Michael and the young woman. A colleague from the lab? Those adoring looks at Michael! And the glances she cast at her. The laboratory mouse, maybe?

The professor noticed she kept looking across at the round table. He cleared his throat quietly. “Frau Palewi will be leaving us shortly.” If he thought his delicate hint was any help to her, he was wrong.

“Whether that will change anything, I very much doubt,” she said. “My husband's heard a nasty rumour that's going round the neighbourhood.” She told him a little about Jo's profit from the Deko Fund, Ilona's envy, Wolfgang's dubious research and her idea of buying a little holiday cottage as a nice surprise for Michael. Only now he saw that in a different light, she concluded, after he'd heard the neighbours' gossip.

The professor listened attentively. He quite agreed, he said, envy was an all-too-common disease and he would have had no objections to a little holiday cottage. Michael placed his hand pointedly on Frau Palewi's shoulder and bent so low he was almost touching her cheek. He was flirting unashamedly. For the moment she forgot her mother, who would doubtless be worried, she forgot her uncertainty about Nadia's
whereabouts and the fact that she was sitting at a table with a man of whom all she knew was that he was a professor and wanted tickets for the Niedenhoff concert.

With her eye on Michael's bent back, she said, “The way things are, it seems I can pack my bags anyway. It looks as if my successor's already been chosen. But he doesn't have to make it so obvious.”

The professor cleared his throat again. Regretting what she'd just said, she smiled at him. “You must excuse me, I don't want to bother you with my worries. How many tickets do you need?”

He was surprised. “Two, if possible.”

“As it happens,” she said, “I've got two. I'd be happy to let you have them.”

“But I can't take them,” the professor protested, in a tone that made it clear he'd be delighted to accept the tickets on the spot. “I'm sure you'll want to—”

“At the moment I don't know what I want,” she broke in. “If that should change in the next few days, I can always get some more from Frederik.”