The Stronger Sex (18 page)

“Yes. And that's not all.” I felt some disinclination to go on and tell him what had so far gone unmentioned, but of course my hesitation was pointless, because if he had in fact phoned Cilly then he knew about it anyway. Even if he hadn't, was I going to spare someone embarrassment by keeping the information from Hochkeppel? And if so, just whose sensibilities did I want to protect?

I said, “Frau Klofft didn't just look in his papers.” I cleared my throat. “She overheard something too.”

Again no reaction, just a hand going to his glasses to adjust them slightly.

I said, “If I understood it correctly, she went out in secret on the balcony outside her bedroom – the one that links her bedroom and the room where Klofft spends the day.”

He nodded. He knew the layout of the house, of course.

I went on. “That was on the day when Frau Fuchs came to see him because she was so anxious to have time off. His balcony door was open, and Cilly – Frau Klofft, I mean – overheard their conversation.” I tried to cover up for my lapse by going straight on; I told him that Frau Klofft hadn't wanted to tell me all this, but as I understood it, couldn't help but understand it, her husband had demanded a… a sexual act from Katharina Fuchs. I didn't know whether or not he had offered Katharina a kind of deal – you give me sex, I'll let you take your holiday – but anyway that part of the conversation presumably amounted to coercion.

And furthermore, I said, in her own turn Frau Fuchs had threatened her boss during their conversation. Cilly Klofft hadn't wanted to go into detail on that point either, but in answer to my question, I told him, she had clearly indicated that after Klofft had refused to give Frau Fuchs time off she had threatened to be off work sick, saying that then she couldn't turn up for work anyway.

Someone knocked on the frame of the sound-proofed door and opened it. Simone put her head in and said, “Sorry, but your order has arrived, Dr Zabel.”

“Order?” said Hochkeppel, irritated. “What do you mean? What order?”

“Macaroni with meatballs,” said Simone. “He ordered it from the Italian café downstairs. He has to have something for lunch!”

I said, “OK, OK, Simone, just coming. Thank you very much.”

Simone went away.

“Do you understand?” I said. “If it's true that, in the conversation about the time she wanted off, he was asking her for sex—”

He interrupted me. “Let's assume it is true. In that case the old…” The rest of it was lost in an indistinct muttering.

I looked at him. “But I have to be prepared for Frau Fuchs to come out with it. Either in the bill of complaint or to spring a surprise in the hearing.”

He nodded and looked down at his hands, which he had laid together on the desk in front of him. In my mind's eye I saw my polpettine swimming in rich brown sauce, with the white macaroni ready for me to pour the sauce over it.

I banished this vision and said, “On the other hand, if it's true that she threatened to take to her bed sick then we have nothing to worry about. Or anyway if she got a doctor to write her medical certificate. I've looked up a few precedents…”

He dismissed that. “Peanuts, that's just marginal if he was really trying to get into her knickers. Against her will, I mean. And in that case we need…”

The phone on his desk rang. He glanced angrily at it, but then picked up the receiver. “What is it now? Don't you understand that we don't want to be disturbed?”

It was obviously Simone, but I heard her voice only briefly. He said, “Put her through.”

Adjusting himself in his chair, he leaned forward. Another voice, one I couldn't make out, came from the phone. He began to smile, nodded, raised a hand. Then he said, “Wait a minute… first, how are you?”

I stood up and looked at him questioningly. As he listened to the other voice, smiling, he met my gaze, and pointed firmly to my chair a couple of times. On the phone he said, “Thanks, yes, I'm fine… No, no, all in order!” He nodded, and then said, “Wait a moment. He's right here with me. I'll put him on the line.”

He handed me the receiver. “For you.”

I gave my name. Cilly Klofft's voice answered. “Hello, Alex. It's me, Cilly. How are you?”

“All right, thanks. How are you?”

“Ah, well!” She laughed. Then she said, “I'm calling about Frau Fuchs. Her bill of complaint for unlawful dismissal has arrived. Well, I mean her lawyer's bill of complaint. It came from the law court.”

“Yes. Do you know who her lawyer is?”

“A joint practice, judging by the letterhead. Drs Schlösser and… and…”

I said, “Gladke.”

“That was it, yes. Gladke.”

I saw Hochkeppel raise his eyes to the ceiling.

“Do you know them?” she asked.

“Yes, I know them. Rather high-powered.”

“Oh dear. You poor thing.”

I laughed. “Oh, never mind that.”

She said nothing for a moment, probably entertaining some doubts of my confidence. Finally she said, “Well… my husband wants to know if he should have your copy brought round to you. Karl's not here at the moment, but I could call a messenger service. Or drop in at your chambers myself.”

I thought for a moment and then said, “No, that's not necessary. I'll collect it from your house myself. And then I can have a word with your husband.”

“And with me too, I hope, all right?”

I said, “Of course. Goodbye, Frau Klofft.”

She said, “Goodbye, Alex.”

Hochkeppel looked at me in silence and nodded. I was half-afraid he'd ask, “What was that all about?” But instead he just said, “You won't have much joy with Gladke.”

I laughed. “I rather think not myself.” I thought for a moment, and said, “Why did Klofft leave it until now to tell us the official bill of complaint had come? It must have arrived at his house this morning.”

“If the court wasn't using a private delivery service, post can arrive later. But you'd better assume he's been through
the charges from A to Z by now. And that if he's realized how black it looks, he's already thought something up. Thought it up and set it in motion. Some nasty little trick designed to take pressure off himself. Even if it's only at your expense.”

“We'll see.” I nodded. “OK, then I'll be on my way.” I stood up.

When I had reached the door, he said, “Oh, Alexander…”

I looked back.

He looked at me and rubbed the corners of his mouth. “Did Frau Klofft tell you that story on the phone? Yesterday morning? I mean how she overheard the conversation?”

Hadn't I told him I'd been to see her personally yesterday morning? It was ridiculous, but I felt as if I'd been caught in some guilty act. I said, “No. She told me in her studio. The big one in the backyard of the old premises. She rang on Saturday evening to ask me to go there. And I saw her there on Sunday morning.”

I could see it would be more sensible to avoid explanations. But then I found I couldn't leave it at that. I said, “I assume it seemed to her too risky to talk at home.” After a pause that went on for some time, I added, “Her husband moves about the house with that walking aid of his. And sometimes he turns up rather unexpectedly.”

After a moment he said, “Yes, of course.”

19

On the way I tried to decide whether or not I ought to apologize to Cilly for my sudden departure the previous day, and whether, if so, I should or should not add something to show her that I stood on my own two feet, and if necessary could assert myself and do as I thought right regardless
of other people's feelings. Before I could clear up those questions, however, I also found myself entangled in the problem of how I could best frame the wording of my apology if I did decide to make one.

I murmured to myself, “I'm sorry, Frau Klofft, that I left… left in such a hurry yesterday morning. I… I don't know exactly what… what I… what made me do it. Maybe it was… was the idea of Frau Leisner, I'm in a… a fairly committed relationship with…”

Oh, for Heaven's sake! Did I want to give her the impression that I'd understood her approach as an attempt to oust Frauke's place in my affections? And had it been
her
approach anyway? Hadn't both of us, as soon as we first came into physical contact, been drawn together like two ships caught in a current and unable to keep a proper distance from each other?

I tried to work out another way of putting it, but it was too late. I arrived outside the Kloffts' front door early again. I wondered whether Cilly would open it to me, Cilly in her painter's smock. Or Olga with her bare feet in slippers. But this time it was Cilly again.

As before, she opened the door very slowly and looked round it, her eyes shining in the dim light of the entrance hall. Mysterious, eh? Enticing. Access to a special kind of place. It almost looked like a calculated performance. She opened the door properly, smiled, waved me in.

She was wearing a skirt and blouse with sandals on her feet. She said, “Come along in.” Her hand was cool and smooth. I took a step toward the stairs. She raised her hand and shook her head. “No, not to his room.”

I looked at her in surprise. “What do you mean? I thought…”

“He suddenly didn't feel well. He's gone to lie down.” She smiled.

I said, “I hope it's nothing…”

“No, no, don't worry.” She slowly went ahead to the living room, and a little reluctantly I followed. She turned back to me. “I brought everything down here. He gave me the copy for you before going for a rest.”

“Was it a kind of… of attack, like I saw him have before?” I asked. “On Saturday morning, when I was here to play chess?”

“I know. Olga told me. No, it wasn't one of those.” We had reached the living room; she let me in and closed the door behind me. Then she said, “He's a coward, you know.” She took a step closer to me and smiled. “The way men are. Particularly loud-mouthed men, the strong sort who always want to set the tone, have everything under control.” After a brief pause she added, smiling, “But they're not the only ones.”

That was clear. I felt the blood rise to my cheeks. She was quite close to me, with her thick grey hair, her watchful eyes with the little folds under them. The little folds seemed to have deepened again. I thought I smelt her perfume once more, and for a moment I felt tempted to lean forward and bring my nose close to her cheek to make sure.

With difficulty I managed to subdue this crazy impulse, but I didn't know how to react to her obvious cut at me. Against my will I looked away as if in search of something.

She said, “It's over there. On the coffee table.”

Taking a couple of steps past me, she picked up a thick white envelope the size of half an A4 sheet from the table, and handed it to me. It had Klofft's address as sender written on the front, and mine beside it. I read the addresses, then turned the envelope over, more out of embarrassment than as if I expected to find any information on the back. But I did indeed find something obvious there.

The flap of the envelope looked slightly crumpled and was not perfectly sealed. Clearly it had been steamed open and then sealed again.

She had followed my eyes and looked at the seal of the envelope. But when she looked up, she seemed not at all impressed by the give-away trace that we had both seen. She was smiling.

“I can tell you why he didn't feel well.” A pause, and then she jerked her chin at the letter and went on, “That gentleman, Herr Gladke or Schadtke, made it clear to him that he'd shot himself in the foot when he fired her without notice.” She stopped, smiled, made a dismissive gesture. “I mean I
presume
that Herr Thingummy said so in that letter. And he'll have made it clear to the tribunal too in his appeal against her dismissal. Presumably.”

“That's what you assume?” I gave my question an ironic undertone, and was glad to get a little of my own back like that.

“Yes.” She smiled. “I'm no lawyer. Who knows what's recognized as evidence in such cases and what isn't? Anyway, I know that my husband became rather… active after reading the documents.”

“What did he do, then?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “He phoned a few people. And then he had another visitor.”

She fell silent. The little lines deepened again. I couldn't shake off the suspicion that she was making fun of me. I hesitated, but finally I couldn't get the better of my curiosity, never mind whether I was acting just as she expected and she had provoked me into doing so.

“What kind of visitor?” I asked. It was exactly the question that would let me in for asking her to inform on my client again, and for cooperating with her behind his back.

She said, “A Herr Manderscheidt. Leo Manderscheidt. At least, that's how he introduced himself when I opened the door to him.”

“The private detective?”

“Ah, you know him?” The question showed, unmistakably, that she was playing games with me. Of course she had come upon Manderscheidt's letterhead and his account of the Beauté du Lac hotel in the file she had read in secret, and so she already knew that the detective could not be news to me either.

I said, “I don't know him. But I know who he is.”

She was silent again. She wanted to make me take the next step confirming our complicity, so to speak, and take it unprompted.

I hesitated, but in the end I couldn't refrain from asking the question after all. “Did you by any chance happen to find out why your husband wanted to see Herr Manderscheidt? I mean, was there something he wanted him to do? And if so, what?”