Heart of Lies (18 page)

“And what about Mrs. Leo?”

“I’d rather not talk about her.”

“Suits me.”

They danced without talking for a while, and Leo could feel that silent communication beginning, the conversation that occurs between bodies, not hearts.

I can’t do this
, he thought.

Amelia felt him slipping away from her. “It’s okay,” she said. “I don’t really do this kind of thing, anyway. Maybe we should leave. I’ll just pour my poor little cousin into a taxi and go home. I don’t want to interfere with your life.”

It’s too late for that. I’m about to interfere with yours.
“I don’t want you to go, Amelia. Maybe we should just seize the moment.”

“Is that something you do often? Seize the moment?”

“I don’t have many moments like this.”

“Neither do I,” Amelia answered, knowing at that instant she’d said exactly the right thing.

It was easy to find a room. Most of the hotels in the area were designed to facilitate this sort of assignation. Amelia walked in ahead of Leo and lay down on the bed, stretching seductively, like a lazy lioness reigning over a kingdom of cheap satin and worn velvet.

Leo looked at her and felt nothing except intense apprehension.
Leave. Don’t do this. You can’t do this.
Then, suddenly, he thought about the war, and what it had been like to slip into the role of a soldier: to kill other men to keep from being killed himself, while trying to keep a piece of who he was separate from the bloody anarchy surrounding him. He’d been able to play that role and survive.

Amelia lifted one of her elegant legs and pointed her toe at him. “I’ve heard that the way a man undresses a woman says a lot about his…talent. Why don’t you start with my shoes?”

He didn’t move. “Don’t you have a husband who’ll be worrying about you?”

She let her leg fall back to the bed and sat up. “The only thing Reggie worries about is how to make enough money to keep me from leaving him.”

“And he does that well, I suppose.”

“Well enough.” She gave him another inviting smile. “Are we going to talk all night?”

Martha was asleep when he got home. He immediately went into a guest bedroom and took a shower, to rid himself of the sickening odor of another woman.

His wife reached for him as he got into bed. “Why is your hair wet?” Martha mumbled sleepily as he kissed her. “Did it rain tonight? I didn’t hear anything, but I’ve been asleep for a while. Madeleine and I went for a long walk today. She’s so proud of her new shoes.”

“It only rained a little, but one of the clients we were entertaining got so drunk he slipped in the mud and then pulled me down with him when I tried to help him up. I had to shower.”

“Oh, dear. Leave your suit on the chair. I’ll have it cleaned tomorrow.”

“I’ll get the boy at the bank to take it in. They should pay for it anyway. Damaged in the line of duty, you might say.”

“Hmm.” Martha was soon asleep again.

Damaged in the line of duty
, thought Leo. He did not fall asleep until sunrise.

SHANGHAI, 1937

“Your mother and I have a surprise for you, little love, but you’ll have to come downstairs to see it,” Leo sang out as he entered the playroom. Without hesitation Maddy dropped the book she was reading and stretched out her arms. She loved to be picked up by her father. She especially loved it when, with a sudden cry of “
Allez
,” he lifted her high above his head and then lowered her onto his shoulders, as he did now.

“And, mademoiselle, how is the view from the top of the world?” he asked, knowing what the reply would be.

“Comme c’est beau
,” the little voice answered. “Papa, it’s beautiful here on top of the world.”

“Ah,” he always replied, “then that is where you shall stay.” Martha abandoned her own perch on the window seat and followed them as they headed into the hall. “Leo, please. A seven-year-old is too big for such behavior,” she said, but her smile belied her words.

Maddy clasped her hands under her father’s chin to keep from falling off his shoulders as they bounded down the stairs. “Is it a big surprise, or a little one?” she asked.

“It’s bigger than you are,
ma princesse
.” Leo trotted across the foyer, then pulled up in front of the closed parlor doors, waiting for Martha to catch up. When she reached them he slipped Maddy back down to the floor and gave his daughter a slow, exaggerated wink.

“Go in and see what it is.”

Giggling with anticipation, Maddy opened one of the double doors and peeked inside. Her eyes swept the familiar room, searching for something new. In the corner, gleaming in the midmorning sun, stood a baby grand piano.

“Mama, Papa, I can’t believe it!” Maddy rushed in to admire her new possession, her parents close behind.

“Gaston, one of the musicians at the club, said you were very interested in his piano, and that you even tried to play it; your father and I thought your interest in music should be encouraged, my darling. You’ll have lessons now, and play as often as you like.”

“It’s so beautiful.” Maddy climbed up onto the ebony bench, and then brushed her fingertips across the keys without making a sound.

“I’ll have to learn a song to play for Grandpa. Does he have a piano?”

She looked up to see the light fade from her father’s face. Her mother turned away and said something sharply in German.

German. That other language, the one she did not understand. Maddy used to think of it as the language of happy surprises; German preceded Christmas presents, picnics, and birthday parties. Now it meant something different. German meant bad secrets. German meant something was wrong.

She hung her head. She must have asked the wrong question. Again.

Maddy heard her mother leave the room. Her father let out a deep sigh. Then he was sitting beside her. They both stared down at the keyboard.

“Maddy, listen to Papa,” Leo said at last. “I know that Mama told you that you were going to visit Grandpa in Germany, but I’m afraid that’s not going to happen just yet.”

“We’re not going?”

“Not yet. I don’t think it’s safe to travel right now.”

“Oh.” More silence. She was still afraid to speak. What if she asked another wrong question? But she had to know.

“We will go to Germany
someday
, won’t we?”

“Someday, I’m sure you will go, my darling. Now, can you play a song for Papa?”

“I don’t know any songs yet. But I’ll learn some soon. I listen very well. May I go see Mama now?”

Leo nodded, his thoughts already elsewhere. Maddy slipped off the bench and tiptoed to the door. She hated the thundercloud of tension that could burst into a room without warning. She was not capable of predicting it, but she did know how to react to it. Do not ask what is wrong. Just be quiet.

Pausing in the doorway, Maddy peered back over her shoulder. Her father was standing now, staring out the window, hands thrust deeply into his front pockets. He looked worried. Still unnerved by the thought that she was to blame, Maddy dashed out of the room.

Where could Mama have gone? Maybe to their bedroom? Normally, Maddy relished any opportunity to go into her parents’
bedroom. It was a fantastic place, an oasis of interesting and beautiful things. She loved to sit at her mother’s dressing table and pretend the beautiful crystal perfume bottles were elegantly dressed courtiers, dancing at an imperial ball. Her favorite was the porcelain swan, who presided over the entire menagerie, an enchanted prince greeting his guests. The swan occupied a position of honor in front of a photograph of Leo and Martha taken on their wedding day. Martha was looking straight at the camera, her face full of joy. Leo was looking down at Martha, his complete devotion visible even to the camera’s detail-blurring eye.

There were other pictures in the room, mostly of her parents at fancy grown-up parties. Maddy loved helping her mother get ready for a party. First, her mother would flood her room with music; she kept both a radio and a Victrola in the bedroom. Then Maddy helped her mother decide what to wear. Together they would carefully evaluate the selection of appropriate garments laid out earlier by the maid. Her mother always made Maddy feel that her opinion was a critically important factor in making the final choice.

After choosing a dress, there came the cosmetic ceremony. Maddy, fascinated by the whole elaborate procedure, handed pencils and pots to her mother on command, like a sous-chef assisting the master.

Once her mother had finished dressing and applying her makeup, she would put on her jewelry. What would it be tonight? The pearls? Or the emeralds that were the same color as Maddy’s eyes? Maddy’s last duty was to hold a hand mirror behind her mother’s reflection at the dressing table, so that Martha could assess the final result. Then Martha would reward her daughter with a big, loving hug. “How could I get dressed without you? You have the eye of an artist.”

“But this is not a party day,” sighed Maddy to herself as she trudged down the hall. Wait—wasn’t that the radio playing in her parents’ room? Heartened, she closed her eyes and wished that her mother would sing along: but when Maddy reached the doorway she saw her sitting motionless on the bed. She, too, wore a fretful expression.

“Mama,” began Maddy as she crept into the room, “I don’t mind about not going to Germany—” She stopped in midsentence. Her mother was holding a gray velvet box. It was the home of her mother’s golden songbird.

From the time Maddy was old enough to sit still, the appearance of the slim gray box signaled the beginning of her very favorite game. “Should we see if Mr. Songbird is home? Would you like for him to sing?” her mother would ask, then rap sharply on the top of the box.

“Bonjour, Monsieur. Êtes-vous là?
Are you home? Little Maddy would like to hear you sing.” Next Martha would whisper, “
Oui
, I think he is home today,” and carefully remove a necklace from the box. Out would come a nightingale, carved onto a gold medallion, hanging on a thick golden chain. Maddy would watch and listen, entranced, as Martha swung the medallion from her fingertips, and sang, and sang, and sang, with a voice every bit as captivating as a real nightingale’s.

She’d not seen Mr. Songbird for nearly a year. More than a year. It had been just before her sixth birthday. She and her mother were upstairs, sitting on the floor in the master bedroom, and Mr. Songbird was in the middle of a wonderful concert.

Over her mother’s shoulder Maddy saw her father appear in the doorway. She was about to greet him when she saw the look in his eyes. At first warm and tender, they shifted with mercurial speed into icy blue pools of wrath. Speaking in rapid German, he stormed into the
room, snatched the necklace from Martha’s fingers, and flung it savagely against the wall.

Stunned, Maddy burst into tears. Without a word, her mother scooped her up and carried her out of the room, down the stairs, into the living room. She settled into a large chair by the fireplace.

“Hush, hush,
ma chérie, mon enfant
, it’s all right, he didn’t mean to scare you, he didn’t mean to scare you,” she crooned, rocking Maddy until she fell asleep, exhausted by her tears.

No mention was made of the incident the next day, and no apologies were given. Maddy dared not broach the subject, so frightened was she of her father’s inexplicable rage. But after that day, the game stopped. Martha still sang to Maddy, but the necklace never reappeared.

Once or twice, when Maddy was feeling particularly brave, she asked if Mr. Songbird could come out to play. Her mother would only shake her head sadly. “No,
chérie
, Mr. Songbird is not home today.”

Excited at the sight of the box, and hopeful that her mother might remember their game and sing for her, Maddy was about to ask if Mr. Songbird was home when her mother used her free hand to cover her eyes.

“Mama, do you have a headache?”

“No, Maddy. Please,
ma petite
, run to the kitchen and ask Wei Lin to give you some lunch. I think she has a cake for you to taste.”

“But I’m not hungry, Mama. Could you—”

“Go now,
chérie
, Wei Lin will want you to taste it while it is still warm.”

Her voice sounded so strange, like she was about to cry. Maddy sometimes heard voices raised in anger in the middle of the night. But she had never, ever seen her mother in tears. Petrified of doing
something to make the situation worse, she turned and fled the room.

Unaware of his daughter’s distress, Leo stared out the front window of his home and tried to empty his mind. He gazed at but did not see the curiously European houses lining the street, each one built in homage to a country on the other side of the world. He saw but did not notice the elegant gardens, all carefully tended by Chinese servants. He saw but did not see the family’s new Cadillac, basking on the driveway in the blistering August heat like a huge black beetle. He saw nothing.

He paged through the dictionary in his head. “
Nem
,” in Hungarian. Then French: “
non.
” German: “
nein
.” English: “
no
.” Russian: “
nyet.
” In Mandarin: “
bu.
” He often found that the simplest words worked best to clear his mind, as he leafed through the catalogue of nouns, verbs, conjugations, and cognates he’d committed to memory.
Hideg,
he continued in silence.
Cold. Froid. Kalt. Lerng.

But today the technique did not work. He repeatedly lost his place in his drill. Words eluded him. He thought only of the journey his wife wanted to undertake: back to Germany, to see her father.

The violence of the changes he’d experienced in his own life left no room for nostalgia. He had no intention of going back to Europe. Ever.

Silently he cursed Bernice, the sister-in-law he’d never met. He didn’t know her, but Martha’s descriptions made him feel as if he did. The telegram she sent last week was just what he would have expected. No sentimentality. Just the facts:

Leo winced as he recalled the argument that had followed Martha’s receipt of the telegram.

“Leo, I want to go and see them before they leave. Before he dies. To let him meet Maddy. He’s my father. I owe him that much.”

“It’s too dangerous. Don’t you listen to what people are saying? People of Jewish decent aren’t wanted in Germany. It’s insane for you to go back now. We’ve invited them to visit time after time. I’ve offered to pay for their passage. Now they have refused, again, to come join us. Why should you have to go all that way to apologize for falling in love?”

“He’s my father. He’s dying. My sister and her husband are leaving their home soon, to start over, just as we did. Who knows what will happen? This may be my last chance.”

“Last year your father was removed from the university faculty because Hitler made it illegal for Jews to teach. Do you think the Nazis will have a ‘welcome home’ banner waiting for you? How could you even consider going back to Germany with those lunatics in charge?”

“The danger is exaggerated. You make it seem like our lives would be in jeopardy. The Nazis are throwing Jews out, not locking them up.”

“They may lock me up.”

Martha let out an exasperated gust of air. “It’s been over eleven years. They couldn’t still be looking for you.”

Leo could not tell her that Liu Tue-Sheng would make sure he never even made it out of the city. He came back with a credible rejoinder.

“And what if my name is on some list somewhere when I apply for a visa? Is this trip worth that much to you?”

Her aggravation deepened. “It may be just as unsafe to stay here. The Japanese are going to invade any day now. How do we know that this time the Settlements won’t be involved?”

“Because the Japanese have picked a fight with Chiang Kai-shek, not the rest of the world. There’s no reason to think the Japanese won’t respect the treaty rights of the European countries, even if they do grab the Chinese sectors of the city away from Chiang. Troops are already in place to protect the Concessions, just like last time. We’ll be safe. Nothing has changed.”

“I’m going, Leo, with you or without you. I am going to Germany.”

“I forbid it. I won’t pay for your passage.”

“I’ll find a way to go without your help.”

“You stubborn little fool, how can you even consider doing this? Traveling alone, just you and Maddy? To a country run by Nazis? I won’t permit it.”

“I must. I have to go. I just have to.”

In a burst of clarity, Leo understood the source of his fear. Maybe she wasn’t just going to her father. Maybe she was leaving him.

There had not been many women. The affairs were brief, and the women discreet, at least about their sexual adventures; they’d all been very willing to complain about their husbands, and Leo learned everything he needed to know, quickly. He had no choice, he told himself. Those women meant nothing. But his guilt ate away at him, like a sour leprosy of shame.