The Good Liar (40 page)

pulls up her sleeve and thrusts her forearm towards him, showing

the number with the triangle. He is expressionless. ‘The point is

that your saying anything at all was wrong. It made no difference

whether or not we were Jews. Whatever excuses you may prepare

about your immaturity, you were responsible for what you said.’

He looks at her as if he cannot comprehend what she has said. ‘It

wouldn’t have made any difference if I’d said nothing.’

‘But you didn’t say nothing.’

‘Your father and my father were conspiring against the state. I

told no lies about that.’

‘They were conspiring against evil. You chose to conspire

with it.’

‘I was fourteen years old, for God’s sake. How was I to calculate

all these things?’

Just for a few moments neither of them speaks. It seems that

Elisabeth is spent. But she finds her voice again.

‘I’m curious. You don’t feel guilt?’

‘About what?’

‘Any of it. Me, my family. Your parents. Roy Courtnay. Bob

Mannion.’

‘Guilt. That’s a very difficult emotion. No.’

‘No. You don’t, do you?’

‘It was . . .’

‘Expedient?’

‘That’s rather harsh. It was what I had to do. I had no options. Or I thought I didn’t. I had to do it to survive. You know all about that.’

‘And afterwards?’

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‘Afterwards. Then it was in the past. It couldn’t be undone. I

hadn’t made any of it happen. I had just . . . I had just . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘Taken the opportunities that presented themselves. That’s not

so terrible, is it?’

‘And now?’

‘I’m an old man. What’s done is done. I can’t put things right.

What point would there have been in torturing myself with guilt?’

‘I didn’t realize that to feel guilt was an elective decision.’

‘What is it you want from me? Money? I don’t understand.’

She is calmer now, calibrating her voice to a lower pitch and speaking with deliberation. ‘I know. You fail to understand a great deal.

You fail to understand that I may not want anything at all from you.

That there may be no bargain to be struck. There may be no price to pay. I’ve had a change of plan too. Let me tell you something.’

He looks at her but does not speak.

‘When my husband died, I was lost. I’ve no way of judging

whether I was more desolate than any other widow who’s just lost

her husband, but in my mind I went straight back to the end of the

war. You might imagine that liberation was a happy moment, but it

gave me a sense of my fragility and impermanence. An empty vista

of fear. When Alasdair died I had the same fear. I had to discover

meaning. I wasn’t about to find it in religion – I think we can both agree on that. So it had to be something else. Finally I thought I’d found it. The search for the truth, and a reckoning of sorts.’

‘Which is why we’re here,’ he says quietly.

‘Yes. Quite comical in a way,’ she says, ‘two ancient turkeys, their necks creased and wobbling, jabbering away about things that are

all but forgotten. The lessons at least. Scratching for meaning. It rather underlines our irrelevance, wouldn’t you say?’

His eyes flare. ‘I suppose so.’

‘Where were we? Yes, what do I want? It rather evolved, I should

say, as we began to make headway. First of all I simply wanted to

know, then we discovered more or less the truth of that. We knew

it had been you, Hans, and no one else. The challenge then was to

follow your trail. You’re an elusive man.’

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He musters a wry smile and says, ‘Story of my life.’

‘Indeed,’ she says sardonically. ‘It wasn’t so difficult. I won’t take you through it all. But I think we managed to cover most of your

escapades and scrapes. Do you have any mock modesty to dis-

play now?’

He shakes his head.

‘I thought not. Our little search obtained a life of its own as it

gathered momentum. Gerald in particular was like a dog with a

bone. He can be a vindictive man. Most surprising for such a mild

person. Not one to cross. And finally there you were, clear as day.

Roy Courtnay. Vincent was most helpful filling in the details we’d

missed.’

‘Vincent?’ he says in surprise.

‘Yes. Our private detective chappy tracked him down quite easily

once we’d met him. We wondered whether it was worth trying to

have a quiet word with him. Certainly, once we’d established his

antecedents. Did you know his grandfather was a Jewish émigré

from Poland just before the Second World War? Probably not. Ste-

phen did an excellent job of chatting him up and he was more than

happy to oblige. It’s been a bit of a redemption for him. He filled in several of the gaps.’

Hans slumps but looks defiantly at her.

‘We’d found you and we were stuck as mere historians. So we

employed our private detective, a nice young man from Chingford.

He managed to root out all kinds of stuff. Quite remarkable. You

hardly left your flat, but you were heavily involved in internet dating. You can see the direction in which we’re heading. There was a

big, how shall we put it, throughput. Our chap diligently located

many of the prospective partners you’d met and later discarded, and interviewed them. Did you know you once got through five in a single month? I’m actually quite surprised there’s such a large supply line of lonely old women.’

Roy grimaces as Elisabeth continues cheerily.

‘You’ll be familiar with the picture that emerged. Most ladies you

rejected after the first meeting. The ones you met for a second time were of interest. You wanted to advance the relationship very

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rapidly and were fascinated by their financial positions. Nicely

dressed up as due diligence before you committed yourself. Each

time it seemed that either the lady didn’t meet your criteria or she somehow felt uneasy about you. That was the basis of the plan we

formulated. I was keen to come into direct contact with you again,

but at that point lacked that total certainty, despite all the evidence, that you were Hans Taub. So the solution was quite simple.’

‘Meet me through internet dating.’

‘Exactly. Quite neat, don’t you agree? We mapped out a basic

plan. I rented this little cottage on a long- term lease and moved in, ready to see how it went. And I think hook, line and sinker is the

right expression, don’t you? Gerald later came up with the idea of

playing what I think is known as the three- card trick. I would allow you seemingly to fleece me when all the time that was what was

happening to you. We had all the equipment. Stephen is a whizz on

the IT, though we did leave some things to chance. The beauty of it was that I didn’t actually need your money, so we could just abandon the idea if it all became too difficult. But we were rather good, weren’t we?’

He does not respond to her eager look.

‘Gerald played my son, Michael, in the little piece of theatre that we thought necessary for credibility. His wife was his real wife, his daughter was one of the earlier researchers who returned for a

guest appearance and Stephen of course was Stephen. Who’s clearly

not my grandson at all. Didn’t we all do splendidly? Stephen in particular? We all breathed a sigh of relief when you turned down the

invitation for us to spend Christmas with them. I knew you would.

And of course I didn’t get the tests done.’

‘Tests?’

‘I’m rather all over the place, aren’t I?’ she says gaily. ‘The DNA tests. I didn’t go to the house, though it was lovely to picture myself doing so. It was a nice story, wasn’t it? You’d have been proud of it.

I didn’t get the locket. I doubt it’s still there. Even if it were, could we have tested the hair? Would that have proved anything? Gerald’s

very keen on all this technology. Thought it the only way to find

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to be so literal and that we’d find a way somehow. And we have,

haven’t we?’

‘And your point?’

‘Point?’

‘Where are we going with this? Apart from demonstrating how

stupid I am? Am I to understand that you’ve taken all my money?’

‘Ah yes. The money. That really is the important thing for you,

isn’t it? Or is it the sense of victory versus defeat? It doesn’t really matter. To take your money was the plan. It satisfied Gerald’s rather atavistic revenge instincts. Stephen seemed rather keen on the

notion too, particularly once he’d met you. But really it was my

decision. I thought that this might be the way to put you behind me.

And we all rather enjoyed the journey.’

He stares at her.

‘Don’t look so scared. Change of plan, remember? It’d been nag-

ging for some time, but it was only on the way home yesterday that

I really thought better of it. I decided it wasn’t right. I didn’t want to be like you. The note too. Not good form. I rather owed it to you to say what I had to say directly to you.’

‘Owed it to yourself, you mean.’

‘How so?’

‘So you could get the satisfaction of seeing me squirm.’

‘Hans, you do judge everyone as if they think the same way as

you. I was dreading this conversation in fact. Besides, you don’t

exactly strike me as the squirming type. I simply thought it was

fairer to see you once more.’

He looks at her and laughs caustically. To her, he is that bitter,

contemptuous fourteen- year- old boy again, standing over her.

Momentarily, she teeters and swoons, then regains her balance.

‘So far as your money goes, you may have it back. I’ve prepared a

cheque.’

She reaches into her handbag and produces a piece of paper,

which she proffers to him. With trembling hand, he reaches out and

snatches it from her. He makes to tear the cheque.

‘No,’ she says briskly, and he stops, having made only a nick in the paper. ‘Think before you make a grand theatrical gesture in a fit of 264

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pique. You always were so impetuous and moody. I won’t trouble

myself to write out another cheque if you change your mind.’

His arms are still outstretched, holding the cheque between his

fingers. He gives himself time to think as his arms shake with

infirmity. Finally he lowers them and places the cheque neatly in his wallet, glaring steadily at her all the while. Those eyes, she thinks.

But everything passes, in time.

5

They are eating the sandwiches that Andrew had been sent to buy.

Elisabeth had whispered to him to be quick. She hadn’t felt afraid

exactly, more uneasy. She watches Hans, his attention fully on his

food and the cardboard beaker of coffee he has before him.

‘So,’ she says. ‘That’s it, I suppose.’

He seems calmer now, placid even, possibly resigned to it all. The

physical fear she felt while Andrew was out of the house now seems

faintly ridiculous. She hopes she did not betray her feelings. It would have been a kind of victory for him.

‘It’s beyond me,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘Your little stunt, I

can’t pretend it’s not all been rather upsetting. And unnecessary.

Why couldn’t you have simply spoken to me?’

‘I’d have thought you of all people might understand that. Once

things were under way it was rather exciting. I didn’t think I had it in me. But of course it all comes naturally to you.’

‘Hmm. Touché, I suppose. It’s rather late in one’s life to learn

one’s lesson, but I think I may have.’

‘Really? That would be something of a surprise.’

His expression turns to hurt. ‘That’s a bit below the belt.’

‘Below the belt. Interesting choice of words.’

‘I’ve made mistakes, I’ll admit. Some with consequences I never

intended. I’m no saint . . .’

‘No.’

‘But I hope it’s all behind me.’

‘Wonderful,’ she says, ‘but somehow implausible.’

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‘Lying’s part of me, I suppose,’ he admits meekly. ‘It’s who I am.

I wish I was clever and could claim some psychological reason for it.

It’s been like that for as long as I can remember. Ever since the

Gestapo man, at least. But I’m right, aren’t I? Lying is how we lead our lives. It’s the way we get on in the world. Whether you’re selling second- hand cars, whether you’re the prime minister, whether

you’re a climate change scientist. It’s just how things are. The truth is secondary.’

He looks at her and smiles, gently beseeching.

‘Hmm,’ she says. ‘I don’t think so, Hans. I don’t mean to be rude.

Or perhaps I do. Do you really think we can talk about the way of

the world? That we can sweep it all under the carpet by your telling me that dishonesty is just the way we lead our lives? That with one bound you can be free?’

‘Elisabeth, that’s very ungenerous.’

‘Yes. But accurate, I think.’

He looks away.

‘Hans,’ she says, ‘this isn’t an act of vengeance, or even justice. You know what your life has amounted to. It must be disappointing.’

‘So says you.’

‘Yes. So say I. And a little self- exculpatory hustle won’t help you in my eyes.’

‘Who are you to judge me?’