The Good Liar (38 page)

takes it out. His wallet, some small change, his mobile phone, his

handkerchief and a half- consumed pack of extra strong mints have

already been removed and placed neatly on the bedside table. He

feels around each of the pockets again. Empty. Likewise his

trousers.

Bugger.

He is all too prone to these lapses now. Once an error like this

might have proved terminal. Many of his schemes had involved pre-

cision and exquisite timing. At least with this one he has a little latitude. Just as well this is the last of these little enterprises. For the moment, at least. He allows himself a small smile. It must still be in the suitcase, where he had stored it alongside the tablet. He can

distinctly picture slipping it into the overnight bag, though. Sent to try us, these little mysteries. Strange thing, the mind. Plays tricks.

Ah well. It may be irritating but is just an inconvenience. What

do they say? Don’t sweat the small stuff. He takes a sip of his Scotch and picks up his mobile phone. Vincent can sort it. He can do the

transfer.

He can’t get a signal. He marches around the suite looking

intently at the display, but to no avail. Wearily, he pulls on shirt and trousers, ties his shoelaces and takes the lift down to the ground

floor. He will not pay the extortionate rates they charge in these

hotels.

In the lobby there is still no signal. He steps out on to Park Lane.

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Hyde Park looks magnificent in the summer evening sunshine and

he inhales the end- of- day smell of the city, heated tarmac, diesel fumes and a whiff of fresh- cut grass from the park. Still no reception. Peculiar.

Back in his suite he has little option but to reach for the telephone on the desk. He dials Vincent’s number but there is no reply. He is prompted to leave a voicemail but for the moment declines to do so.

He switches on the tablet and, following the instructions on the

card on the desk, he fires up the internet. Eventually he finds Hayes and Paulsen Private Bank. He goes to the online banking page, but

without the keypad he cannot log in. He finds the customer service

number, in the British Virgin Islands. This is going to cost an arm and a leg.

He dials the number and a bright mid- Atlantic voice answers.

‘Hi, you’re through to Hayes and Paulsen Private Bank and this is

Shayla speaking. With whom am I speaking, please?’

‘My name’s Roy Courtnay.’

‘Well, hi, Roy. How may I help you today?’

‘I’m a customer of yours. I’m trying to transfer some money

from my account. I haven’t got my keypad thingy with me. The

thing that you put the codes in.’

‘Your H&PPad?’ she prompts.

‘That’s right.’

‘All righty. Let’s see what we can do here.’

‘Is there any way I can log in here without my H&PPad?’

‘ We- ell, not really. Where are you located, Roy?’

‘London.’

‘OK. London, England?’

‘That’s right.’

‘And you’ve lost your H&PPad.’

‘Not exactly. I forgot to bring it with me. I’ve left it at home. I’m staying in a hotel.’

‘All righty. We can courier another out to you. I just need to ask

you a couple security questions and then I can cancel the old

H&PPad and issue you a new one. We can courier it to you right

away. First I need to take your details and the account details too.’

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He gives her both, and she emits a small squeal of pleasure when

she finds him on her computer. He exists.

‘OK, then, Roy. All we need to do now is to cancel the old one

and get the new one on its way.’

‘How long will it take to get to me?’

‘It should reach you in a couple days, Roy.’

‘That’s no good. I need to do the transaction now. Today or

tomorrow. Is there any way I can do this over the phone?’

‘Of course, Roy. Just so long as you’ve set up the telephone bank-

ing facility and the transaction in advance.’

‘I haven’t.’

‘I see.’ It is apparent that Shayla has run out of ideas. ‘ We- ell, you see, Roy, we do go the extra mile to protect our clients’ security. So if you haven’t set everything up, I’m sorry . . .’

‘A branch, then? You have a London office?’

‘We do. But it’s a trading office, not a branch. And I see from your records that yours is an online account, Roy.’

‘I’m going to have to go home, aren’t I?’

‘It looks that way, Roy. Unless someone can bring the H&PPad to you. I’m sorry for your inconvenience, but I really don’t see any

other way. Do you live far from London?’

‘About ninety minutes.’

‘I guess it could be worse. Is there anything else I can help you

with today, Roy?’

‘No.’

‘Well, thank you kindly for calling Hayes and Paulsen Private

Bank.’

He puts the receiver down, furious. He tries Vincent once more

but there is still no answer. He leaves a message.

There is nothing else for it. He’ll have to return there. He needs

to think. Son missed flight. Delayed two days. It’ll have to do. He’ll go back first thing tomorrow.

He rings the number at the house. The answering machine clicks

in. Betty must be out drinking tea again. Or having a nap. Impa-

tiently, he says, ‘Pick up, Betty,’ but she does not. He leaves a message telling her that his son has been delayed and he needs to pick up a 249

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couple of things. He will return the next morning. It is thin but

needs must. She’ll never suss.

3

The key scratches on the lock. They look at each other for a moment as if to confirm what they have agreed. Andrew picks up the two tea mugs and goes into the kitchen, leaving the door ajar.

It has been a tiring day and night. They paused only briefly at her home, so that she could collect some clothes and apologize to her

children for her change of mind. They climbed into Andrew’s big

car and he drove down the A1 at some miles above the speed limit.

On the way he booked hotel rooms and she spoke briefly with Ste-

phen, who retrieved the key of the house from the letting agents.

They arrived at the hotel at ten in the evening. Stephen met them

in the lobby. ‘Didn’t reckon on seeing you quite so soon,’ he said.

‘It just didn’t feel right,’ she replied.

‘There’s no guarantee he’ll come back.’

‘There are few if any guarantees in this world. But I think he

won’t be able to stop himself. The thought of all that money dan-

gling there will torture him. And of course he won’t be able to

contact Vincent. He’ll risk it just this once, with some cock- and- bull story.’

‘But won’t he be suspicious at the disappearance of the keypad?’

‘I shouldn’t think so. He’ll simply think he’s left it here by accident. He’s becoming forgetful. It won’t have occurred to him that

you might have pinched it when you fetched his bag. On one level

he’s suspicious, on another he’s so utterly credulous.’

She was exhausted, her limbs ached and her head was throbbing.

The next morning she suspected she might have been slightly irrit-

able with Stephen. She slept well, however, and woke refreshed.

And now the key is slotted hesitantly into the lock.

‘Well then,’ she says when he enters. ‘I got your message.’

He stands in the middle of the room and looks around as if

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stunned. It is a few moments before he says, ‘Good Lord, what’s

happened here?’

He sees Andrew in the kitchen and glares balefully at him.

Andrew regards him mildly in return but says nothing.

‘Who’s he?’ he asks, placing his overnight bag on the floor.

‘Robert was delayed?’ she says.

‘Yes. His flight was cancelled. He flies in tomorrow morning. I’ll

meet him then.’ He speaks the words almost in an absent chant.

‘Yes, yes,’ she says. ‘Of course you will.’

‘I’ll book into some hotel . . . But what’s happened, Betty? What

on earth is going on?’ He stares at her.

‘I was rather hoping the penny might have dropped,’ she replies

calmly. ‘Or maybe it has. Whatever, as these young people say. It

makes little difference. We’ll get there in the end.’

‘What are you talking about, Betty? And who’s he?’ He jerks his

head in the direction of the kitchen.

‘Oh, that’s Andrew. Are you all right, dear?’

‘Yes. Fine,’ calls Andrew.

‘Andrew’s here just in case.’

‘In case of what?’

‘How is Robert, by the way? He must be annoyed to have been

delayed.’

‘He’s all right. He phoned from Sydney airport.’

‘Did he really? To your mobile? That must have been expensive.’

‘Yes. Well, he had to. Otherwise I wouldn’t have known.’

‘Strange,’ she says with a tone of inattention, yet still looking

him in the eye. ‘Hasn’t your mobile phone been cut off ?’

‘How do you know? Has a letter come?’

She says nothing.

‘Well, he may have left a message at reception in the hotel,’ he

says. ‘I get a bit forgetful these days.’

‘Yes, you do, don’t you? I rather thought you were meeting him

at the airport.’

‘Oh yes. Change of plan,’ he says with greater confidence.

‘Change of plan all round, it would seem.’

‘What do you mean?’

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‘Isn’t it sinking in? Just a little? It’s very disappointing. I always thought you were on the ball. Shall we sit?’

She sits on one of the chairs and he takes the other. He looks

around the bare room again and says, ‘What is this, Betty? What’s

going on?’

‘I’ll take it slowly, shall I?’ She looks at him with an expression of concern, as if his well- being is paramount. She holds up an envelope. ‘I’d written you a note. But I thought it wasn’t really adequate.

Or fair, come to that. So I decided it was best to do this face to face.

Besides, there’s been a change of plan on my side too. I’m so glad

you decided to come back.’

‘What makes you think I wasn’t coming back? After I’d met

Robert.’

She sighs and waits briefly.

‘Never mind. Let’s persevere, shall we? Now, where exactly to

begin? At the beginning or the end?’

‘I never did pretend to understand you, Betty. But you’ve really

got me this time. What’s happened? Talk to me, Betty.’

She simply smiles at him.

‘Don’t worry about it. We can sort it out. When I get back from

London. Meanwhile, I must get on. I just have to pick up a couple of things from upstairs. Then we’ll order a taxi and I’ll check you in at one of those motorway lodges for a couple of nights. When I’m

back we can sort it all out. Been in worse scrapes than this in my life, I can tell you.’ He grins reassuringly.

‘I’m sure,’ she says.

‘So I’ll just pop upstairs and then we’ll be off.’

She reaches into her handbag as slowly he levers himself up.

‘Would it be this that you forgot?’ She holds out the Hayes and

Paulsen keypad and he is still, looking at it.

‘Now are things beginning to take shape?’

He sits back down again, heavily. His expression is unchanged.

‘My career’s taught me the benefit of careful research. I’ve an

inkling you tend to do a once- over- lightly and then leave it at that.

It’s all there, you know. My work and my life, more or less. Available to all- comers, or at least most of it, if you’d cared to look at it in 252

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depth. Gerald couldn’t credit it. But I knew you. I knew your arro-

gance. I recognized you as soon as I met you in that awful pub. The photographs were helpful. But when I met you in the flesh, it was

so clear. Even I thought it was a bit risky at that point. We all did.

But we didn’t account for your obliviousness. Your single- minded

pursuit of the mark. It had been some years, I suppose. And I was

somewhat at an advantage. But still.’

She smiles sweetly.

‘What are you trying to tell me? That you’ve been trying to con

me? If so –’

‘I think on reflection we’ll start somewhere near the beginning.

With a little boy – rather a large boy actually. Hans Taub.’

He looks up quickly. There is the minutest pause of less than a

half- beat before he says, ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Hmm. I was expecting you to say that. But you are Hans, aren’t

you?’ She looks at him questioningly.

‘No, of course not. Come on, Betty. I’m Roy. You know that. I’m

not any, what was it, Hans?’

‘So you don’t know of a Hans Taub?’

‘I never said that. As it happens a German I worked with straight

after the war was called Hans. He was my translator. Taub was his

second name, I think. When I was stationed in Hannover. He met a

tragic end, though.’

She is nodding. ‘Yes. Killed in the line of duty by a fugitive, I

believe.’

He looks astonished. ‘That’s right. I was with him at the time.’

‘You were, weren’t you? So very much so. It was a strange affair,

wasn’t it? You and he were so alike, all the contemporaneous state-

ments say. We’ve been able to track down a couple of the old staff

from the Hannover office. They’re almost as old as we are now.

They talk fondly of the Gruesome Twosome. And what I love about