Nicholas Searle - The Good Liar

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appointed to the count’s staff. Breakfast dragged as Roy had to listen to the boring little man in his badly cut suit while he told his life story in good English spoken in an appalling accent.

Hoping to shake Maier off, Roy announced he was going to take

a walk in the gardens. Maier said he would accompany him.

‘Things are changing in Germany,’ said the little man, ‘as they

will all over the world. The West has capitalism today but in the

future we’ll all be together under a socialist government.’

‘Quite the speech for the servant of a count,’ said Roy.

‘I wouldn’t describe myself as a servant. And I doubt the count

would either. I’m more an executive assistant. The count knows the

necessary compromises. At home he never refers to himself as the

count. He’s plain Hessenthal, Comrade Hessenthal on occasions.

He refers here to his “estates” as if they still exist. In fact they’re being developed into cooperative farms as we speak. He’s desperately trying to secure some kind of compensation. My job is to

awaken him to the realities. And to keep him from the grasp of such as your clever Mr Wright. I’m trying to do this gently. I’m not heartless. Some of my comrades call me soft.’

Maier stopped and turned to Roy.

‘We all have to predict the future and make the necessary provi-

sions,’ said Maier. ‘Arrive at accommodations. I’m sure you’ve had

to do that.’

A most peculiar little man. Roy began walking again. He said,

‘No doubt this moment in history creates the need for some odd

arrangements. Strange bedfellows. I can understand that the count –

or Comrade Hessenthal – has needed to make adjustments.’

‘Indeed. And he must make more. We all must.’

For a while they walked in silence through the rose garden, Maier

paying no attention to Lady Dorothy’s treasured collection. They

found themselves some distance from the house, strolling through

the small copse close to the boundary of the estate.

‘As, no doubt, must you.’

It took Roy a moment to understand that Maier was continuing

the conversation where he had discontinued it.

‘Well, as you all say, we must all cope with changing circum-

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stances. I’m a pretty adaptable chap. I get on all right.’ He smiled modestly.

‘Yes. I can see that,’ said Maier, as if in doubt. ‘But you may need to be able to adapt again in the future.’

‘To a new socialist state? I hardly think so. I doubt many in Eng-

land would share your world view.’

‘I’m sure not. We could debate that at some other time. But there

could be more pressing reasons for you to consider your position.’

Roy continued to humour him. ‘Like what? I don’t understand.’

‘Perhaps I can explain.’

Coming out into a meadow as they circled back to the house,

they sat on the trunk of a felled tree. Maier took out a packet of

Russian cigarettes and offered Roy one. He declined. Shrugging his

shoulders, Maier lit his own noxious- smelling tube and wiped his

brow with the grubby sleeve of his jacket. The sun bore down on

them relentlessly but neither man removed his jacket.

‘After the war you were something of a fearless pursuer of con-

centration camp employees.’

‘Where did you hear that?’ said Roy, alert but disguising the fact

with a long and lazy stretch of the arms.

‘Isn’t it true, then? I was informed that this is what you did.’

‘I did get involved in some of the clear- up work after the war. It was completely routine. In fact very trivial.’

‘You’re too modest. Heady days, weren’t they? Confusion,

destruction and chaos, yet we were constructing something from

the horror. I can testify to that. I was conscripted to the German

army in 1940 but captured in the retreat from Stalingrad in ’42. It was the finest thing that happened to me. I was able to prove my

loyalty to socialism. I volunteered to help destroy the Nazis.’

‘Very noble,’ said Roy.

‘Not particularly. It was survival. To survive, we do what we have

to do. Don’t we?’

No answer was required or expected.

Maier continued. ‘Things happened in all the chaos. Things we didn’t want to happen. But somehow we coped with them. Though you

weren’t involved in the conflict, I believe you know a little of this.’

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‘How so?’

‘In your endeavours to track down Nazis. I believe that there was

a tragic incident where one of your comrades lost his life.’

Roy was silent.

‘A sad event,’ said Maier. ‘But one through which you came. And

I’m glad to see you’re settled now.’

‘How do you know this?’ Roy regretted the question as it left his

lips.

‘Our authorities maintain archives, of course. I have some con-

tacts in the right places. They took the trouble to search out the

particular records, which give a vivid account of the incident. It was prepared by our Russian comrades. I was fortunate to gain access to it. But this sun, it’s fierce. Shall we go to the house and have a drink of water? Perhaps we’ll talk further later.’

He stood and waved his hand in front of his face in a futile attempt to move the still, dank air.

Back at the house, Maier seemed somehow to vanish without

Roy registering it. He must speak again to the wiry little man but he must not chase him. He could not afford to be the supplicant.

After lunch Lady Dorothy sent for him at Sylvia’s prompting. He

was required to play tennis, whatever the count’s feelings. First,

there was a singles competition for the men. Von Hessenthal sat

out, claiming a leg wound he had sustained during the war, and

watched with an acerbic expression while sipping lemonade. Roy

dealt with Sir Thomas, probably twenty years his senior, in short

fashion before Oliver Wright somehow contrived to lose to short,

stout Lord Stanbrook, who beamed as he wiped sweat from his

bright red forehead.

The ladies declined to play their own singles, so the men moved

immediately to the final. Becoming bored and with the thought of

Maier nagging at him, Roy dispatched his employer in even more

abrupt fashion than was normal. After the six– love pasting, Lord

Stanbrook was gracious if slightly bemused. When they played,

Roy normally gave no quarter – nor did Stanbrook expect him to –

but this had been brutal. Roy’s mind was elsewhere and he excused

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himself, leaving the remaining men and the ladies to organize their mixed- doubles pairs. Sylvia looked disappointed.

Maier was sitting at a table on the terrace in his shirtsleeves, reading a book. Roy sat next to him. Good Lord, it was hot, and it was

good now to sit in the shade.

Maier said, ‘Did you win?’

‘Yes. What you were saying earlier.’

‘Yes?’

‘What are you driving at?’

Maier closed his book and placed it carefully on the table.

‘I’m glad we may talk frankly. I mentioned that we all have to

secure our futures. There may be a way in which you can help your-

self in this regard.’

‘How?’

‘By performing a service for our country.’

‘Our country? What do you mean, our country?’

‘I meant my country and Hessenthal’s, of course. What else?