Nicholas Searle - The Good Liar

venient fool. He may buy Britain a few months, but he’s also giving us more time to sharpen our tools. Hitler won’t let Chamberlain

affect his plans. The British are a busted flush. The point is, though, Konrad, what can we do? We can expect atrocities against Jews to

increase. Ravenstein says plans to develop the concentration camp

programme are well in hand. And they’re considering mass forced

emigration of Jews to the east. With militarization as well, we’re on an unstoppable path to hell. Now’s the time for you and your associates to act.’

‘The question remains the same as ever, Albert. Precisely how?

We have no military structures, we have no money, no weapons, no

expertise. We’d be slaughtered. I’m a journalist. I’m not a political figure, let alone a leader. I have no idea what to do. It’s too late to sow unrest in the factories. They’re too full of patriotic fervour.’

‘Your friends outside the country?’

‘I’m a liberal, Albert. And I have my contacts. But Britain and her 178

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allies? They will contemplate and consider and be reasonable until

it’s too late altogether for reason. It’s too late already, but they don’t know it. They simply think that the Sudetenland is a distant country. They’ll think the same of Poland or Czechoslovakia. Or France

and the Netherlands if it comes to it. They think of us all as far

away, so long as we don’t interfere in their interests. And by the time we do interfere, it’ll be too late.’

‘Then we must do what we can.’

‘I agree. What do you have in mind?’

‘The Jews will suffer most in the next few years. They’ll be vic-

timized, even more than today. I shudder to think what will happen.

It would be the same for us if we were Jewish. Just an accident of

birth or religion.’

‘So?’

‘So we need to establish means of saving them from us,’ said

Schröder. ‘A means of enabling them to escape, as many as can. I’m

prepared to find money. Large amounts of it. But you will have

to work on the practical details, with your friends outside the

country.’

Konrad paused, and looked over to Hans.

‘Hans,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry. We forgot you were there. We’ve been

boring you with our political talk. Please, you’re excused.’

‘Hans,’ said Schröder, ‘why don’t you go and find the girls? I’m

sure they’re around the house somewhere.’ Schröder stood, and

Hans felt him watching his progress down the corridor before he

closed the door of the study.

He padded along the corridor, jumping experimentally to feel his

feet sink into the plush pile carpet with a deadened impact. Despite the distant noise of servants scurrying and furniture being moved

and cutlery and crockery being laid on tables, up here it was quiet.

He opened one door and then another, but there was no one. He

looked in the formal drawing room and then in the cosy little snug

on the opposite side of the wide corridor. Outside, it was snowing

heavily.

Eventually he heard excited voices behind a bedroom door. He

opened it slowly. There they were, the three elder sisters.

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Charlotte giggled with delight. ‘Oh, it’s little Hansi. Come in,

come in.’

Once, he had been glad to be their little Hansi. Anything that

brought him access to their fragrant presence had been bearable.

Now he resented being called little. He was taller than any of them and much more powerful. The sense that they were making fun of

him made things worse.

Nonetheless he went in. Charlotte was the middle of the three,

aged eighteen, and the most skittish in Hans’s view. She was also the one he found prettiest, the one he wanted most to kiss. Her lips

were red, ripe and full. But any of the three would have done. Han-

nelore was the eldest, marginally more serious than the other two.

She had already started working in her father’s factory. Anneliese

was simply too young for him, though three years his senior. She

was just so immature.

None of these girls had ambition or intellect. They were all frivo-

lous and he was not familiar with frivolity. His own father and

mother were serious and thoughtful, and encouraged him to be so

too. In this family Lili, the youngest sister, would be the studi-

ous one.

‘We’re trying on our dresses for the party tonight, Hansi,’ said

Anneliese with fake coyness. ‘Would you like to see them?’

‘Er, yes,’ he said, blushing. ‘I suppose so.’

They laughed. ‘Oh, dear Hansi,’ said Charlotte, ‘are you coming

to the ball tonight? Will you be our prince?’

‘Er, no. I’m not coming.’

‘Stop teasing, Charlotte,’ said Hannelore. ‘Are you here with your

father, Hansi?’

‘Yes.’

‘I do hope Daddy will stop work soon,’ said Anneliese. ‘He needs

to get ready too.

The room smelt of cleanness and soap, and of them. He was

embarrassed almost to the point of squirming, yet he was glad to be here. The brightness of it all was dazzling. He longed to reach out and touch one of them. Even better if one of them touched him.

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‘Aren’t you warm, Hansi?’ said Charlotte. ‘Isn’t it warm in here,

Anneliese?’

‘Yes,’ answered her sister. ‘It’s so exciting.’

‘Are you hoping your lieutenant will be here tonight, Hannelore?’

‘Well, he’s accepted the invitation.’

Her two sisters giggled in unison.

‘I hope he brings some of his friends,’ said Anneliese.

They chattered as if he were not there. He did not mind. He

wished he could be invisible but remain there always. To watch.

This was Charlotte’s room. He wished he could watch her as she

prepared for this evening and be there on her return to see her

remove her make- up carefully in front of the mirror, before shaking her dark hair and removing her dress. He wanted to see her remove

her underwear and to see her plump breasts freed from their bounds, to watch her step out of her knickers and to savour the sight and the smell and the taste and feel of what lay beneath.

He felt an aching, yearning hardness and dared not move for fear

they would notice. They laughed and shouted, moving around him

as he sat primly on the edge of the bed.

‘Sorry,’ he said when he found himself looking into Hannelore’s

inquiring eyes. ‘What did you say?’

‘Hansi’s daydreaming again,’ she said, laughing. ‘I said, would

you like to see us in our gowns?’

‘Er, yes,’ he replied.

‘Well then. You’ll have to stand outside for a few minutes while

we get ready. Off with you. Out.’

She marched him outside the door, where he waited obediently.

He did not dare a glance through the keyhole but stood, stiff and

still.

Eventually the door opened again and Anneliese peered around it.

‘Fashion show,’ she announced, and opened the door wide.

He went in and each of the girls sashayed in front of him in turn,

grinning, posing, blowing kisses towards him. He was bedazzled

but expressionless, gulping inwardly on the seat at the dressing table that they had turned to face the room. Anneliese touched him

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gently on the leg and he looked intently at the spot where her hand had brushed him. He was beginning to feel heady with the fragrance of perfume and girl. Hannelore tousled his hair and he