Nicholas Searle - The Good Liar

without reading it.

Weber said, ‘London, that’s where you think your father will head?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You’d be prepared to serve the Reich while there?’

‘Of course.’

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‘There’s always a requirement to keep tabs on annoying little

communities of dissenters abroad. You may well be contacted by

one of our fellows.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I’d like to make one thing clear. I view your father as a traitor.

I’m allowing him to go because you and I have a bargain. I’m a man

of my word. If it were up to me I would personally wring your

father’s neck. But there it is. We have our deal. You’ve been a very brave and a very clever little German, and you’ve served your country. It will be noted. Goodbye and good luck.’

In the car on the way back to his school Hans replayed the con-

versation and savoured each drop of sarcasm in Weber’s words.

Well, fuck you too, he thought, and smiled.

4

His father was working on an article when the rap on the door came

that evening. Hans went quickly to the window and glanced down

to the street. He could see no cars but now fully expected Weber to have reneged on the deal. His father scrabbled at the table, struggling in his panic to pick up the papers that lay before him and

seemed to stick to the surface. Renate opened the door to the main

bedroom, where Konrad thrust everything under the bed. Hans

was sure both his parents knew this was a futile action, a gesture

and no more.

Hans watched his father compose himself and go to the door.

‘Ah, Herr Professor Wolff,’ he said, surprised.

‘Herr Taub.’

‘Do come in.’

Wolff entered, stamping his shoes clear of wet snow on the door-

mat and handing his overcoat to Hans’s mother. He peered around

the small apartment, his curiosity evident even as he attempted to

conceal it. Hans did not know what Herr Professor Wolff might

expect of the lair of two liberal intellectuals. A mire of squalor and filth denoting their depravity, a coterie of revolutionaries trading 197

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polemics, a cache of weapons and explosives? What he would have

seen was a perfectly normal apartment consisting of a bathroom,

two small bedrooms and a larger single living area comprising

lounge, dining area and small kitchen, clean and tidy, perhaps a little worn and old, as the Taubs had not prospered since Hitler became

Chancellor.

It was peculiar to see his headmaster here. Wolff seemed a fas-

tidious man, entirely at home in the familiar environs of his study, where he could find security in his carefully arranged books and the neatly aligned pen and pencils on the blotter on his desk. Here, he appeared nervous, his eyes flicking to and fro and his fingers moving swiftly, interlocking then parting, twirling and bending, to no obvious purpose.

‘Is it about school?’ asked Hans’s father. ‘Is Hans in trouble?’

‘Pardon?’ said Wolff, an expression of perplexity coming to his

face. He was not cut out for this, thought Hans. But his unease

might serve a purpose. ‘Ah, no, nothing like that at all.’

Konrad and Renate Taub waited for a moment.

‘Then?’ asked Konrad.

‘Ah yes. If it were convenient, it would be helpful, I think, to have a private word.’ Wolff glanced at Hans.

‘Without Hans?’ asked Renate.

‘Indeed.’

‘We do not keep secrets from our son,’ said Konrad. ‘Whatever

you have to say you may say in front of him.’

‘I rather think . . .’

‘It’s all right, Father,’ said Hans. ‘I’ll read in my room.’

He went to his tiny bedroom, which overlooked the snow- covered

courtyard, and left his book unopened on his bed. He listened at the door. Wolff was attempting to speak quietly but he was so accustomed to making bombastic pronouncements that it took little

effort to hear what he was saying. Hans’s parents’ responses were

more difficult to discern.

‘Herr Taub,’ said Wolff, ‘we can agree on one thing at least,

namely that we disagree wildly on almost every topic. I find your

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views anathema and I am sure you regard mine with equal distaste.

But I do acknowledge that, however misguided, you believe in your

country. I am here, therefore, on an errand of mercy. I see in your son the makings of a fine young man. But I fear that owing to

your views your son’s future will be destroyed.’

Konrad Taub replied inaudibly.

‘No no no,’ said Wolff. ‘I am not here to proselytize or try to convince you of the error of your ways. Things are much too far along

the road for that. I am here for a specific and very practical purpose.

And you should know that this is at considerable personal risk. You need to understand that we live in a very different world today from even five years ago.’

There was silence. Hans strained to hear whether his parents

spoke. But it seemed that this pause was for dramatic effect, before Wolff continued to declaim.

‘Whatever our differences, I am here to tell you that you are in

severe and immediate personal danger. As you know, I am heavily

involved in Party matters. I have it on the highest authority that a warrant has been issued for your arrest.’

Hans could well imagine his parents’ shocked expressions.

‘The reasons will be as clear to you as they are to me. I have been informed discreetly. The consequences are obvious. You will be

tried for sedition, with a predictable outcome. Hans’s future will be uncertain. If he is fortunate he will be fostered or adopted. But I rather doubt that will happen. After all, he will be the son of two traitors.’

Wolff spoke without emotion. ‘There can be no mistake. No

doubt at all,’ he was now saying dismissively, as if talking to a particularly stupid pupil. ‘I am certain of my facts. The nation at such times of crisis needs to know precisely who its enemies are.’

As he heard the bitter tone of his father muttering, Hans could

imagine Wolff looking directly at him with contempt through his

rimless spectacles.

‘I am not here to debate with you, Herr Taub. I have come here

because I wish to save your innocent son from ruin. I am here to

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give you some facts. What you do with them is for you to decide.

You can denounce me if you wish, and we will both end up before

the courts. That is a risk that I have calculated.’

Wolff cleared his throat noisily before continuing. ‘Of course you

can choose to be a hero. You can be a martyr to whatever cause it is that you support. What I find heartless is it you seem content to sacrifice your son. I suppose that is your prerogative and what I should expect from someone like you.’

Konrad Taub spoke again and while Hans could not hear his

words his tone was angry.

‘No, I cannot intervene with regard to Hans. Officially I do

not know. Once the arrests have been effected he will be taken

somewhere – I do not know where – and it will be impossible for me to do anything.’

Hans could hear Renate interrupt, her voice almost shrill, but still could not distinguish individual words.

Wolff continued, speaking through her. ‘You have an obvious

choice to make, it seems to me, and you do not have much time. I

also feel I may have made this visit in vain. I hope not.’