The Trap (14 page)

‘How old are you?' I ask.

‘What would you guess?'

‘I'm asking the questions here.'

Lenzen grins. ‘I'm fifty-three,' he replies.

His eyes narrow.

‘Are you in a relationship?' he asks again.

‘No.'

‘Wow,' he says.

That puzzles me.

‘Wow?'

‘You know what I mean,' says Lenzen. ‘You're young, beautiful, incredibly successful. And yet so alone. How on earth do you manage to write about relationships when you're not in one yourself?'

I do my best to forget everything he's said and not to wonder if it's true—that he thinks I'm beautiful, for example.

‘It's my turn,' is all I say.

Lenzen shrugs.

‘Where did you grow up?' I ask.

‘In Munich.'

He's leaning back in his chair and seems on the defensive. Maybe my question-and-answer game is more upsetting to him than he's prepared to admit, even though we've only just begun. But it's his move.

‘How do you manage to write about relationships when you're not in one yourself?'

‘I'm a writer,' I say. ‘I can. Besides, I haven't always lived the way I live now.'

My move.

‘Do you have brothers and sisters?' I ask.

A strike below the belt—hard not to think of my own, dead sister. Lenzen must realise that I'm homing in on the real issue. But he doesn't bat an eyelid.

‘Yes, an older brother. Do you have brothers and sisters?' he asks, returning the question.

Cold-blooded. I control my emotions and simply say, ‘Yes.'

‘Brother or sister?'

‘It's not your turn, Herr Lenzen,' I say.

‘You're very strict, Frau Conrads,' he counters, grinning.

‘A sister,' I reply, looking at him steadily.

He withstands my gaze.

‘Do you have a good relationship with your parents?' I ask.

‘Yes,' says Lenzen. ‘That is to say—my mother is no longer alive. But with my father, yes. And with my mother, too, when she was still around.'

Lenzen's hand goes to his temple; I'm watching him closely. It's not what is called a ‘tell' in poker—a minute gesture that would reveal that he was lying—because he hasn't lied yet. I know a great deal about Victor Lenzen. I hope he doesn't return my last question; I'd prefer not to think about my parents right now.

‘Do you miss being in a relationship?' he asks.

‘Sometimes,' I say, and go straight to my next question. ‘Do you have children?'

‘A daughter.'

Lenzen takes a sip of water.

‘Would you have liked a family?' he asks. ‘A husband, children?'

‘No,' I say.

‘No?' he asks.

‘No,' I say. ‘Are you married?'

‘Divorced.'

‘Why did your marriage fail?'

‘My turn,' Lenzen says. ‘Do you miss sex?'

He leans forward again.

‘Excuse me?'

‘Do you miss sex?' he repeats.

I am scared, but I don't show it.

‘Not much,' I say. Keep going. ‘Why did your marriage fail?'

‘Because I work too much, I suppose, but you'd have to ask my ex-wife.'

Once again, his hand strays to his temple. The question upsets him—all mention of his family upsets him; I must remember that. But I need a lie from him. I want to know what he looks like when he tells a lie. It is, however, his move.

‘Do you have a good relationship with your parents?'

‘Yes.'

That's the third lie I've told.

‘Have you ever had an affair?'

‘No,' he replies and ploughs straight on. ‘What were you like as a child?'

‘Wild,' I say. ‘More the way you'd imagine a little boy.'

He nods, as if he has no trouble picturing me.

‘Have you ever been to a prostitute?' I ask.

‘No.'

Impossible to tell whether or not he's lying.

‘Do you have a good relationship with your sister?' he asks.

Alarm bells.

‘Why do you ask that?'

‘Because I'm fascinated by the dynamics between the sisters in your book. You told me earlier that you had a sister, and I wonder whether that's the reason you describe the love between the sisters with such sensitivity. Well?'

‘Yes,' I say, ‘a very good relationship.'

I swallow. No emotion now—no pain. Keep going.

‘Do you consider yourself to be a good father?' I ask.

His hand goes to his temple; it's definitely a pattern.

‘Um…yes,' says Lenzen.

A weak point. Good. I hope he's wondering what I'm driving at with all these questions. I hope it's making him nervous. Nervousness is good. He needn't know that I'm not driving at anything; that my only aim is to disconcert him.

‘Do you draw inspiration from real-life events?' he asks.

‘Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't.'

‘And in your latest book?'

As if he didn't know.

‘Yes.'

Time to hit below the belt.

‘Have you ever raped a woman?' I ask.

Lenzen frowns and gives me a shocked look.

‘What's all this about?' he asks. ‘I don't know if I like your mind games, Frau Conrads.'

He looks genuinely aghast. I feel tempted to applaud.

‘Just say no,' I say.

‘No,' he says.

The angry furrow between his eyebrows is still there. Silence.

‘What's your dog called again?' Lenzen asks at last.

‘That's your question?' I ask in surprise.

‘No, it slipped my mind, that's all,' he says.

Is it supposed to be a threat? Has he started talking about my dog because he can imagine how much I love the creature and how unbearable it would be to me if anything were to happen to it?

‘Bukowski,' I say and am about to start on my next question when Charlotte appears in the door.

I jump because I had quite forgotten she was still here.

‘Sorry to bother you again,' she says, ‘but if there's nothing else I can do for you, I think I will be getting on my way now.'

‘That's fine, Charlotte,' I say. ‘You go home.'

‘By the way, there's supposed to be a storm this evening. Remember to close all the windows before you go to bed.'

‘All right,' I say. ‘Thanks.'

The thought that I am about to be left alone in the house with Lenzen is not an agreeable one. But even less agreeable is the way his dangerous eyes are turned on Charlotte. She goes up to Lenzen, her hand held out. He rises politely.

‘It was a real pleasure to meet you,' says Charlotte, brushing a non-existent strand of hair behind her ear. She blushes.

Lenzen smiles noncommittally, sits down and turns to me again. Once more I see him through Charlotte's eyes: his composure, his charisma. People like that have a talent for getting away with almost anything.

‘Maybe see you around,' Charlotte says.

Lenzen only smiles. I realise that he's not flirting with her—she's the only one flirting. He's barely taking any notice of her; all his attention is on me. Charlotte hangs around a moment longer in the dining room, like a woman who's been stood up, while Lenzen's eyes are on me again. She gives me a quick nod, then she's gone.

I draw a deep breath.

‘Your assistant and I had a little chat earlier on, and found out by chance that we live only a few streets away from one another,' Lenzen explains casually. ‘Funny that we've never met in Munich before. But you know how it is—once you know someone, you're always bumping into them.' He grins at me, gets up, grabs a wrap from the caterers' serving trolley, bites into it, chews. Advantage.

His threat is clear to me. He has realised that I am fond of Charlotte. And he has told me that it is not remotely in my power to keep him away from her.