Nicholas Searle - The Good Liar

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

incontrovertible proof. But we know better, don’t we? I told him not 263

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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?’

‘I think I’m pretty well placed.’

‘Have you finished?’

‘For the moment.’

‘I’m not interested in what you think. I’m not looking for your

forgiveness.’

‘That’s more like it. I’m sure you’re not. I doubt forgiveness

enters your thinking. Or understanding. But fear of the approach-

ing infinity does, I’m sure. You feel it as much as I do. The difference is that you’ve nothing to take heart from.’

‘And you can? With your irrelevant scribblings?’

She smiles. ‘It’s tempting to think you’re being deliberately

obtuse. But you’re not, are you? You really can’t see.’