The Lie (28 page)

She could hardly understand anything at all of what Nadia was saying while Frau Schädlich was speaking. “…won't get back until…” The time was swallowed up in loud crackling. “…stay… your best… I'll make sure… punctual.” Then the line went dead. She said, “Hello?” several times, then put the receiver down and waited to see if Nadia would try again, but the telephone didn't ring. Probably the battery in her mobile had run out.

Frau Schädlich asked if she wanted to ring back. She said, no, it was just a friend who was offering to lend her her car so she could pay her mother a quick visit in the evening.

As she had told Nadia she would, she left the shop a few minutes after seven. In the multi-storey she discovered that her ten euros were not enough to pay for the Alfa. She offered the young man at the exit one of Nadia's credit cards, but he wouldn't accept it, directing her instead to a nearby cash dispenser, which she could have used - if she'd known Nadia's PIN number.

There was nothing for it but to take the bus to her flat, praying the Jasmin Toppler would be at home. She was relieved to see her neighbour's
motorbike parked outside. Jasmin accepted her story of a friend's car that had been left an hour too long in the car park and was ready to help her out with twenty euros. She even gave her a lift back to the multi-storey, but she'd still lost a lot of time and it was half past nine when she turned off on the airport approach road and headed for the agreed meeting place.

She'd counted on finding Nadia waiting by the entrance, but no one could be seen in the headlights. She drove round slowly once, twice, three times. Even after the fourth circuit no one appeared waving furiously. It wasn't surprising. It was terribly cold and drizzling, and Nadia had only been wearing her trouser suit. Her flight bag couldn't have held much more than a clean blouse, a pair of stockings, some underwear and make-up. Nadia was not the kind of woman to spend a long time standing outside in those conditions.

She headed for the airport buildings, mentally preparing herself for the reproaches that were bound to come. Though after such a mangled telephone message she didn't need an excuse. Moreover it had sounded as if Nadia was coming on a later flight. Before doing anything else, she checked one coffee bar after another and walked all round the extensive terminal before finally asking the woman at the information stand to put out a call for her friend.

Within seconds “Will Frau Nadia Trenkler please come to the Information Desk, where someone is waiting for her,” echoed round the building. It was repeated two more times. She thanked the woman, wandered away a few steps and waited. Five minutes - ten minutes - a quarter of an hour. Nadia didn't come. She went over to the Swissair desk. There was no one there, but from the display with the arrival times of the remaining flights she could see that no more planes from Geneva were expected that evening.

By this time it was already past eleven o'clock. She tried to ring Nadia on her mobile, but all she got was a polite, “At the moment the person you are calling is not available.” Had Nadia followed her suggestion and taken a taxi? Was she home by now? But what if she wasn't? What if she'd said she couldn't get back until the next day? That until then she'd have to stay in the house and make the best of it?

That meant she had to see if Nadia was at home. She dialled the number, unsure what to do if it was Michael who answered. The receiver was lifted
immediately it rang. And before she could say anything, he bellowed, “If you say you're sorry, I'll change the code.” He had clearly assumed it couldn't be anyone else ringing up apart from Nadia and without pausing he thundered on, “I've been waiting more than an hour.”

“I am sorry,” she whispered, “really sorry. I've been held up.” That did nothing to calm him.

“You don't say. And I suppose you didn't have a couple of minutes to ring and tell me?”

“There wasn't a phone nearby,” she explained, “and there's something wrong with the mobile. Didn't I tell you?”

“No.” He sounded a little calmer but by no means placated. “If I remember rightly, your mobile telephone was not one of the things we discussed this morning. I've spent the whole day under the illusion we were going to meet at Demetros's at nine. I even managed to be on time. Then I just sat there, feeling like an idiot.”

Demetros's! It sounded as if it was a restaurant. After the streamer and the shredder and the subject who'd got the TA to give him a full dose she'd assumed it was something to do with the lab.

“Oh, what's the point,” Michael went on. “I've had plenty of practice. After all, it wasn't the first time. But it's definitely going to be the last.” There was a brief pause, during which he let out a deep breath. Only then did he ask, “Where are you, anyway?”

“On my way home,” she said and quickly hung up.

 

There was no cause for concern. Presumably Zurkeulen had taken up more time than Nadia had allowed for. It was obvious that after his loss with Joko Electronics he would want a detailed explanation of which firms Nadia was proposing to invest his money in so that he didn't get caught again. Her only fear as she drove back was that Michael would launch into a lengthy diatribe and that the only answer Nadia had supplied her with would make him see red.

He was waiting in the hall. He'd presumably heard the garage door and come to be there as soon as she appeared. Hardly had she opened the door than he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to him. A fraction of a second later his mouth was pressed to hers. Taken completely by surprise, she opened her lips for him. It was an extremely violent, almost brutal kiss. He put his hands round her neck so she couldn't evade it. As
abruptly as he'd pulled her to him, he pushed her back and said, “You're in luck! And now I'd like to know where you've been.”

Her bottom lip was throbbing. She licked it with the tip of her tongue and felt a swelling. Being breathalysed by Wolfgang Blasting would surely have been less rough.

Michael went to the kitchen, stopped in the doorway and turned round. “I'm waiting, Nadia. Where have you been?”

“I had a late appointment.”

He leaned against the door frame, a derisive grin on his face. “So why didn't you order your Frau Barthel to ring me up and tell me?”

“It didn't occur to me.”

“Fortunately it did occur to me.” By now his grin was turning nasty. “And I'll give you three guesses what dear Helga told me.”

His anger was setting her nerves on edge. Hesitantly she walked past him to the fridge and took out the bottle of mineral water, not daring to look at him. He was standing there like a wild beast ready to pounce. Any moment, she felt, he might resort to violence.

“She told me you flew to Geneva yesterday,” he said. “And intended coming back today.”

The kitchen floor suddenly started to sway. The bottle of water fell out of her hands and smashed with a loud clatter. She held on to the worktop with both hands to stop herself falling into the puddle and the broken glass. “Helga misunderstood,” she said. “Philip had to go to Geneva. He asked me if I could do it, but I refused.”

“I don't think Helga misunderstood anything,” he said. “It's about time you thought up a better excuse for her. I've had just about enough of Geneva. Let's review the facts: on 18 September your mother had a heart attack. Philip was good enough to inform me because of course you'd left immediately and didn't have time to tell me personally. As it turned out, your mother was fit as a fiddle. You should have known I'd ring her.”

Despite the terrible situation, it was a relief to hear him confirm Nadia's explanation. Gradually the kitchen stopped swaying. When she remained silent, he listed further excuses Nadia must have made for her excursions with Philip Hardenberg. Repeated visits to her parents in Geneva, sometimes using her mother as a pretext, sometimes her father. It sounded as if Nadia's parents lived apart. “Does anything strike you?” Michael concluded. “It happens every two weeks. It's a well-known fact
that alcoholics need regular binges. Helga probably assumed you'd be incapable of driving yesterday evening.”

She felt able to let go of the worktop, though not to bend down and pick up the broken glass. She went to the door - it was like walking on cotton wool - and tried to get past him. He grasped her shoulder and held her there. Her fear that he might hit her had gone. “Let go of me,” she demanded. “I'm going to bed.”

“You can go to bed when I know what's going on. You're hitting the bottle again. Don't think I can't tell when you've been drinking elsewhere. You must imagine I really am stupid. Why d'you do it, for God's sake? Just because I won't dance to your tune?”

“Michael, please, I haven't been drinking. I've had an exhausting day. And I have to go out early tomorrow as well.”

“Tomorrow's Saturday,” he pointed out.

“I know, but Philip asked me—”

At the name it was as if he'd been struck by a whip. He let go, turned on his heel and went up the stairs. When she went up, a little later on, all the doors were closed. Not a sound was to be heard. He wasn't in the bedroom, nor in the bathroom. She spent minutes looking in vain for his alarm clock and checking the two guest rooms. Then she opened the door of the television room. He was stretched out on the couch, wearing a headset, his eyes closed. Apprehensively she touched his shoulder. He opened his eyes.

“I need the alarm clock,” she said.

He pointed at his ears to indicate he hadn't understood a word.

“I need the alarm clock,” she said, louder this time and slightly angry. It was a stupid situation. Nadia would be sure to know where the bloody alarm clock was kept. It would be silly if such a minor matter should arouse his suspicions. Finally he took the piece out of his left ear. Rock music blared. “Did you say something?” he shouted.

She shouted too. “I can't find the alarm clock!”

He grinned. “Set your internal clock. I'm free tomorrow and I don't want to be woken early.”

One pitfall avoided! He must have hidden the alarm clock. It seemed a futile, almost childish response and immediately mollified her. It wasn't really him she was angry with anyway. “Please, Michael, I have to get up at six. It's important for me.”

“Not for me,” he said. “Call Philip, get him to wake you. I'm sure he'll be happy to.” He popped the earpiece back in and closed his eyes again.

For a couple of seconds she stood there looking down at him with a mixture of understanding, love and frustration. In bed she pulled the covers right up and still shivered. At two she got up - the bed beside her was empty. She went to see what he was doing.

A broad strip of light from the hall fell on the couch revealing a picture of peace. The stereo was switched off, the headset was on the floor. He was lying on his side, face to the door and so fast asleep not even the light disturbed him. She closed the door quietly, tiptoed back to the bed and dialled Nadia's mobile. Again the female voice said, “The person you are calling is not available at the moment.”

In the morning she stayed in bed until half-past five, then went to have a shower, tired, almost shattered. She took some clean clothes from Nadia's wardrobe, though she couldn't change the bra. While the coffee was percolating and she was clearing up the broken glass and the puddle, she heard his footsteps on the stairs. He appeared in the hall and approached slowly.

“So it was you I heard. Your internal clock did work after all.” He pointed to the percolator. “Is there a drop for me in there?”

She just said, “Help yourself.”

He strolled over to the cupboard, took out a cup and filled it. “When do you think you'll be back?”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“Come on,” he coaxed, “surely you can give me a vague idea. About lunchtime, this evening, around midnight. I'm just asking so I'll know how to organize my day.”

“I really can't say.”

“Pity,” he said. “But then I could go to Munich for the weekend, cheer up the plebs. What d'you think? Should I go, or is there a chance we might sort one or two things out between us in the next couple of days?”

“That's hardly likely,” she said. “And I'm sure your parents will be delighted to see you. Give them my best wishes. Paul, Sophie and Ralph too.”

“I will do so,” he promised. “So we'll see each other on Monday or Tuesday or some time in the course of the next week. It isn't urgent.”

Another parting. She found it easier than the one on Friday morning. Just before seven she went to the garage, still convinced Nadia would call her at the shop in the next few hours to arrange a rendezvous for the afternoon.

The telephone in the office rang five times in the course of the morning. Frau Schädlich answered and had a personal or business conversation, but towards midday she noticed her increasing nervousness and asked if she'd like to ring the old folks' home. Taking care to use her body to hide the phone from Frau Schädlich's sharp eye, she dialled Nadia's mobile, gave her name and asked how her mother was, covering the polite monotone of the female voice.

A violent dizzy spell forced her to sit down. Frau Schädlich watched, full of sympathy, as she haltingly thanked the recorded voice. “Don't let it worry you too much,” she said, maintaining, contrary to what she'd said on Friday, that old people were tough. Then her expression became serious as she reminded her she was to see the doctor on Monday.

 

She left the shop with her colleagues shortly after closing time. The Alfa was parked some two hundred yards away among other cars at the side of the road. Frau Gathmann saw her get in, but she didn't let that bother her. She couldn't find anywhere to park in Kettlerstrasse, so she drove round the corner, parked by the telephone box and walked back.