The Lie (7 page)

She was quite clear that in her last letter Nadia had talked about a job as a stand-in, not a favour. But after everything Nadia had done for her, she was keen to do something in return. “I'm not at death's door,” she said. “Come on, out with it.”

Nadia looked at her thoughtfully and said hesitantly. “No, really. It can wait. I don't want to exploit your illness. I'd feel ashamed of myself.”

She really did feel much better. Whatever it was Dr Reusch had pumped into her veins, it had completely cleared her head during the hour-and-a-half rest she'd had. And the way Nadia was stalling made her suspicious. It could hardly be a little favour or Nadia wouldn't be making such a fuss about it. One of her ex-husband's comments came to mind: “Development aid isn't pure charity. They're just investing their money in poor countries so their own industries can cream it off again.”

Her ex-husband and his views meant nothing to her any more, but the thought still left a nasty taste in her mouth. Her tone was sharper than intended and the formulation somewhat unfortunate: “We can talk now. What do I have to do for a suitcase full of hand-me-downs, two hundred euros in a jacket pocket and a free visit to the doctor?”

“Don't forget the medicine,” Nadia reminded her, clearly irritated by so much ingratitude. She stood up and put her plate down on the chair. One step took her to the doorway separating the bedroom from the rest of the shabby flat. There she turned round and breathed in and out audibly several times before going on. “I'm sorry Susanne. I can imagine that in your situation you can't be bothered with little games, but—”

“But what?” she asked when Nadia broke off abruptly. “Come on, tell me. What do you want from me?”

Nadia shrugged her shoulders and gave an innocent smile. “Nothing world-shaking. I've already told you that I… To cut a long story short, not long ago I met a man. We've had the odd hour together and I was wondering if I might manage to spend a weekend with him once or twice a month. If you can play the sulking wife for me meanwhile.”

“You're mad.” That was all she could think of to say.

Nadia laughed. “Of course. Mad enough to think it'll work. Reusch didn't notice who he was treating. With the right preparation I don't see any risk with Michael. There's plenty of time and if you're happy with it…

She wasn't happy with it. It was absurd, unworkable. However Nadia imagined it could be done, sending a stand-in to share the house - and the bed - with her husband, was impracticable. Any of a thousand details could scupper it. Starting with the sound of their voices which, to her ears, were not identical, however hard she might try to imitate Nadia's tone. A person wasn't simply a face and a figure. Even if Dr Reusch hadn't suspected anything, he'd only glanced at her briefly, placed a
thermometer against her forehead, measured her blood pressure and listened to her lungs. Nadia's husband, on the other hand…

Nadia interrupted the cascade of thoughts. “Naturally I don't expect you to do it for nothing. I'm quite prepared to pay for my weekends away.” With an look of appraisal at the worn floorboards she was standing on, Nadia said brusquely, “Five hundred?”

Susanne gulped. Her mouth was dry, she couldn't answer. Five hundred! And Nadia was talking of once or twice a month. Twice would make it a thousand. If it did work, she wouldn't have to go to the bank to steal her mother's money ever again. But her own scepticism - which was maybe nothing other than cowardice, fear of something nameless, perhaps of something that might impel her to resort to a heavy stick or stone - was making her confused.

“You wouldn't be running any risk,” Nadia insisted.

She couldn't see any risk in it for herself, either. If it all went pear-shaped, that would be Nadia's problem. The worst that could happen to her was being chucked out by Nadia's husband. And, according to Nadia, it wouldn't come to that if she made an effort - and only once a few little changes had been made to her appearance, of course. She still looked too pale and drawn, she needed a bit more padding round the ribs. And the hours on her kitchen balcony and her long walks had given her a somewhat irregular tan. It was, as Nadia insisted, only a matter of her external appearance. And to polish that up could only help improve her personal situation.

Nadia stayed until half-past eleven. How important the matter was to her could be gauged from the cigarettes. She only smoked four, and those standing at the open window. The ash and butts she threw out onto the railway track. More than ten times she automatically flipped open her cigarette case before closing it again, with a look of resignation, in order to spare Susanne's bronchial tubes and not retard her rapid recovery.

By the second cigarette it was clear that Nadia hadn't just thought this plan up on the spur of the moment. She'd gone through everything a thousand times. She listed what they needed for her external appearance: a good hairdresser to give Susanne's mop a professionally casual look and a dye that wouldn't wash out; a top-class beautician to teach her the tricks Nadia could do in her sleep; Nadia's perfume, plus deodorant and body lotion; a jeweller to pierce her ears; then a few sessions in a
solarium to give her a seamless tan. Naturally Nadia would bear all the costs.

It went without saying that they'd have to spend a few hours together to enable her to copy Nadia's gestures and vocabulary, to learn a few standard phrases, with which to counter Michael's remarks, and to absorb a few patterns of behaviour. Two or three weeks of intensive training ought to be sufficient to enable her to pull the wool over the eyes of a man who had known Nadia for ten years and been married to her for seven, as long as she didn't let him get too close.

“But I'll see to that,” Nadia promised. “I'll see to it that the atmosphere is decidedly cool before you go on stage. Then Michael'll make sure he keeps out of your way. Nothing can go wrong. Come on, say yes.”

Something inside her had switched off minutes ago. Nadia's explanations washed over her like long-awaited rainfall in the desert. At least five hundred euros a month! It wasn't a dream come true and it certainly wasn't what she really needed, but as long as Nadia's affair lasted she wouldn't have to dip into her mother's account. With a thousand she'd even be able to start paying back, if she continued to keep her expenses to a minimum. And perhaps Nadia would be able to help her find a job. Once she looked the part. She nodded hesitantly.

Nadia registered her agreement with an exhalation of relief and went on with her explanations. The way it would go would be that they'd meet in the city on a Friday afternoon, she would take Nadia's car and - Susanne had another fit of coughing, after which she wheezed, “I'll probably need a few driving lessons before I can handle a Porsche…”

Nadia broke in with an amused laugh. The Porsche wasn't hers, she only used it for business. That was why she'd had to go, to take it back and get her own car which, at the moment, was parked a couple of streets away. Its engine couldn't quite match the Porsche's, it was only an Alfa Spider. It sounded as if she felt she had to apologize for it. “But of course you can have a few driving lessons,” Nadia said, “that's no problem.”

Nadia spent the last thirty minutes showing her the photos she'd seen outside the door to the surgery but not paid any attention to. The Polaroids had presumably only been taken to show to her once she'd accepted. To help her they had descriptions written on the back. Nadia had put a note on the back of the other photos as well.

The revelation of Nadia's home surroundings reminded Susanne of a school excursion to a castle where they'd slid round the parquet floor in felt slippers, admiring carpets, the names of which no one could pronounce. Nadia explained various details, regretting that she couldn't show her round the house personally. “Too much of a risk, because of the neighbours.”

She also showed her photos of the neighbours, taken at some social gathering. Joachim, Jo for short, and Lilo Kogler, both in their fifties, pleasant and easy-going, but with an unfortunate tendency to organize parties at short notice.

“The idea usually occurs to Lilo in the morning,” Nadia said. “Then she orders a buffet and rings round for a few people. Mostly it's impossible to get out of going. And Jo's a genius, there's nothing he doesn't know about. He has two or three patents currently under consideration, technology and electronics. The things he's done with my house, fantastic, I tell you, it's absolutely secure. You'll see. Lilo works in a gallery, which has its advantages. She's got me a few pieces at special prices, even a Beckmann.”

“Really?” said Susanne, who had no idea what a Beckmann was. She looked at the second couple, who lived next door to Nadia, on the other side. Wolfgang and Ilona Blasting, both in their late thirties and not quite so nice. He was a policeman, she worked in Berlin as a member of parliament for the Green Party.

“She can be unbearable, she keeps lecturing you,” said Nadia. “But she's mostly in Berlin. Unfortunately that gives him too much time to devote to his neighbours. If you know what I mean.”

She understood only too well, she just had to think of Heller.

Then Nadia came to her husband. After the detailed descriptions of her immediate neighbours, Susanne assumed she would be given comprehensive information about Michael Trenkler. But Nadia just said vaguely that he worked at some laboratory and came home at irregular hours, often very late. Whether he was actually working or was having fun with his little laboratory mouse, she had no idea. She was no longer interested in his extramural activities.

Finally Nadia left. The door clicked shut behind her. Outside, a late Intercity express thundered past. It was stuffy in the room and, although she was tired, Susanne couldn't get to sleep. It wasn't the fever going
round and round in her head any more, it was Nadia's voice, like a wind you can hear and feel, but can't grasp. And images of a life of luxury kept floating up before her inner eye.

 

On Saturday Nadia came back about midday. She had a scarf wrapped round her head, sunglasses covering half her face and was loaded down with two huge carrier bags. Two bottles of orange juice were sticking out of one of them.

“You can take those straight back with you,” said Susanne. “I'm allergic to citrus fruits, strawberries, boiled carrots, lentils, celery, apples—”

Nadia interrupted her list: “Only to food, then?”

“No, I can't tolerate deodorants, I come out in a rash.”

Nadia then checked for any other disparities she hadn't taken into account. They discovered their blood groups were different, but Nadia didn't think that was a problem. Susanne also had a slightly raised birthmark below her navel. Nadia had noticed it the previous evening. Her own skin was without any such irregularities. She didn't see that as a problem either. Susanne wasn't to let Michael get close enough to inspect her navel. A touch of foundation cream would be sufficient for a casual glance. Other darker patches of skin that might give her away would be scarcely noticeable after a few visits to the solarium, Nadia said.

The fracture to Susanne's skull could only be seen on an X-ray, the scar on her scalp was completely covered by hair. She had no other scars. Both had regular teeth, with none missing and no fillings that might betray Susanne when she laughed. Nadia checked everything thoroughly. The only difference to their finger and toe nails was in the length - Nadia kept hers a little shorter. A nail file would soon solve that problem.

Then Nadia unpacked the bulging carrier bags. As well as the orange juice, she'd brought mineral water, then salads from the delicatessen, sliced bread, ham, eggs and cheese, grapes and bananas, various kinds of biscuits and other confectionery that would help her put on weight. Susanne had no need to worry about where her food for the next few days was going to come from. And that wasn't all.

Three times Nadia went back to the car. From her final trip she brought a cardboard box full of clothes, and not just ones she'd discarded this time. On the top was a bag with the name of a classy boutique. Her shopping spree there provided her with an alibi for the hours she was
spending with her stand-in; also she'd bought two of everything. Two sand-coloured suits with matching blouses, two pairs of identical court shoes and four sets of lingerie. Susanne couldn't believe it. Nadia was already completely taken up with her preparations and, like a little child whose dearest wish was about to be fulfilled, she was on a high. “Have you had breakfast?”

She hadn't. Nadia immediately set about making some. While she was brewing up coffee, making toast and boiling eggs, she asked about the man she'd met on the stairs who'd stared at her as if she came from another planet. From her description it had to be Heller. Naturally he'd treated Nadia to some choice obscenities. From the way he spoke she deduced Susanne was having an affair with him.

“Do I look as if I need it that badly?” she protested.

Nadia gave a brief smile. “You've been divorced three years. He's probably not that bad after a shower.”

“I'm quite happy with Richard Gere,” she said, thanking her once more for everything.

Nadia waved her thanks away. “No, no. You just can't imagine what this means for me.”

No, she couldn't. When she'd been married to Dieter she'd been well aware that when he was abroad he didn't live like a monk, but she'd never really thought about it. The idea of looking for someone herself for a bit of fun on the side had never occurred to her. She'd had neither the time, the opportunity nor the desire. An invalid mother-in-law reduced your libido to zero. - Water under the bridge. Forget it. She'd become used to doing without a man.