The Stronger Sex (3 page)

Yes, well, that was it. She had marched out in a towering fury.

He fell silent, and then began moving his lips as if gnawing something with his front teeth.

“But that wasn't the end of the story,” I said.

“No, it was not the end of the story. God knows it wasn't.” He pulled the folder toward him, opened it as if to find something but didn't even look at the contents. “After that, I mean after that conversation I'd had with her, she went back to the works office and got on with her work as if nothing had happened. She didn't say another word about time off. Not to Pauly either. And not on the Friday, which was the next day.”

He closed the folder and began nodding again, stopped after a while and said, “But then, on the Saturday!”

Nodding, he said that on the Saturday after his conversation with her, she had dropped her bombshell. In a very underhand way. And as I would see from what followed, she had staged the whole thing, cool as a cucumber: Pauly, as was his habit, had gone to the works on the Saturday morning, which he really had off, to get a few things done. Before he went home at midday he had looked in the letterbox at the entrance of the works building, so as to keep everything in order. And there he had found a letter, obviously delivered by hand and not by the postman – at least, it had no stamp and no postmark on it.

“Yes.” He leaned forward. “And the lady said in that letter, right out of the blue, that she was off work sick.” She had
written claiming to have lumbar vertebral syndrome or LVS. “In the old days you called it plain lumbago. And you went to bed with a hot-water bottle or a heating pad and you got up and went back to work next day.” But not that lady, oh no! She had enclosed a medical certificate. And the doctor who drew it up and was her GP, as he happened to know, obviously had no scruples about saying she would have to be off work for the whole of the coming week. “The whole week! Notice anything about that?”

I asked what he meant. He meant, he replied as the red flush on his face grew conspicuously darker, he meant that the lady was going to be off work sick for the very week she had wanted to go on holiday. And if I thought by any chance – as he would point out in case I still didn't see anything odd about the coincidence – if I thought by any chance that she had spent that week in bed at home, I was mightily mistaken.

“Why?” I asked.

“Why? Why?” he stared at me. “Because she didn't take her sweet little arse, her poor dislocated behind to bed, she flew to Switzerland! To Geneva, and not economy class, you could bet. A fellow with a BMW 6 coupé met her at the airport. And the pair of them went together to a luxury hotel in the Vaud near Lake Geneva. Five stars, no less, or she'd never have gone there! I mean, you'd need a bit of luxury to make up for being so sick!”

With an abrupt movement he reached for the tumbler. A few drops of water slopped out as he raised it to his mouth. He leaned forward, lips snapping as they searched for the rim of the glass, drank half the contents with loud gulps, put it down rather too hard. Still leaning forward, he studied the drops of water he had scattered. Then he took out a handkerchief, mopped them off the table, mopped his shirt, wiped the table again and put the handkerchief away.

I said, “And then you fired Frau Fuchs without notice.”

“Well, what else?” He looked at me. “I took the liberty of doing that as soon as I found out
where
the lady was nursing her poor back. You want to know where? In the Beauté du Lac, that's what they call the place!” His mouth twisted into a nasty grin. “That's to say, before the letter firing her went out, of course I informed myself of the correct procedure. But then the letter went to her as quickly as possible. It was put through her letterbox at home on the Friday. By a messenger who had a witness with him.”

“Where did you inform yourself of the correct procedure?”

He pointed to the books. “In the statutes, where else? I wrote to her saying that… that she…”

For a moment his glance wandered back and forth, he put his hand out to the folder as if to turn to it for advice, then withdrew it again and said quickly, “…saying that she had obviously obtained a medical certificate by devious means! Yes. Of course!” He leaned back, laughing. “I mean, if she wants to deny that, she can always say her GP offered to give it to her of his own free will although she wasn't sick at all. Or he did her a favour because she promised him something nice. And I assume she won't want to proclaim that from the house tops! Or do you see the situation differently, Mr Lawyer?”

He laughed and then leaned forward. “And secondly, I wrote saying that she took time off on her own initiative after she had been told it would not be allowed! And that she had thus provided two substantial reasons, and two are needed for dismissal without notice.”

He looked at me in silence, smiling, obviously pleased with himself.

I asked, “Did you listen to what your works committee had to say?”

He looked at me. “Do you think I'm lacking in the brains department? Of course I listened to what they had to say.”
He gave another of those unpleasant grins. “And guess what, they agreed.”

I nodded. Then I asked, “You hadn't cautioned Frau Fuchs first?”

“No.” He raised his eyebrows. “In this case that wasn't necessary, as I am sure you know!”

“No, I'm sorry,” I said. “I don't know.”

He gave me a venomous look, sat up in his armchair and said, “A caution is not essential in the case of particularly severe dereliction of duty on the part of an employee!” He pointed to his papers. “Want me to look up the legal ruling?”

“No, thank you, that won't be necessary. You see… the question is whether the judge we get in a hearing before the industrial tribunal will think what Frau Fuchs did a particularly severe dereliction of duty.”

He stared at me. “There can hardly be any question of that!”

“I'm not so sure.” I smiled at him. “Give me a little time to study this case. But also I'd like to know how Frau Fuchs reacted to being fired. I suppose she's back from her trip to Switzerland?”

“That added insult to injury!” He shook his head vigorously, then suddenly stopped. I saw perspiration breaking out on his forehead within seconds. He fished the handkerchief out of his pocket, rubbed his now deep-red cheeks and brow, but a little later his skin was glistening with sweat again.

He said, “She got back last Sunday. And she turned up at the works on Monday saying she was better. And then she made a terrible scene to Pauly because… because of being fired. Typical of the woman! Pauly had to throw her out. More or less.” He took a deep breath.

I nodded. I hesitated for a moment and then asked, “Are you all right? Or should we take a break?”

He drew his eyebrows together. “What's that supposed to mean? I'm OK. Go on, go on!” And he quickly passed his handkerchief over his forehead again.

After a little while I asked, “And she told your manager she was going to take legal action against you for wrongful dismissal?”

“Of course she did!” He laughed. “I'd have been very surprised if she hadn't threatened us with that on the spot!”

I nodded, and then fell silent. I was going through his account of the incident again in my mind. He watched me, clearly suspicious.

In the end I said, “How do you know, by the way, that Frau Fuchs went to Switzerland?”

He smiled. “On that Saturday a week ago, when Pauly found her medical certificate in the letterbox, I hired a detective then and there.”

“A detective?”

“Why, yes! Anyone wanting to go one better than that woman has to think of something good!” He laughed. “Pauly told me at midday, and I hired the detective. He took up his position outside her apartment on the Saturday afternoon. He had another man take over for the night and then followed her on the Sunday morning. When she went to the airport, understand? He called me from there and told me she was flying to Geneva, and I told him to get on the same plane.” He laughed. “Next morning, when it was obvious that she was going to stay until the next Sunday, he came back.”

I nodded.

He said, “Any more questions?”

I thought for a moment and then said, “Yes, one more.”

“And that is?”

I said, “Did you have to get a stand-in for Frau Fuchs? To deal with that large order?”

He threw his head back as if remembering something unwelcome. “Ah, the order, yes.” He looked at me and shook his head. “I'm sorry to say I didn't get it. A competitor snapped it up from under my nose at the last minute. Offered the customer a rock-bottom price. These things happen in business today.” He shook his head. “But I won't go along with that kind of approach, not me!”

I sat there for a little longer and then got to my feet.

He looked at me keenly. “That's it?”

“Yes.” After a pause I said, “Unless you have anything else to tell me?”

He shook his head. “Not that I know of.”

I picked up my briefcase. “Please let me know as soon as you hear from the tribunal.”

“Yes, of course. I'll do that.”

I indicated the file folder. “Is that for me?”

“Yes, sure.” He picked it up, held it in mid-air and looked at me. “And… how will the hearing go?”

I said, “I don't know.” After a pause, in which he stared at me with obviously increasing resentment, I said, “I'm not sure that we shall win.”

“What?” He glared at me. “Then can you tell me why you've been hanging around here so long?”

Before I could answer that, he threw the folder down on the table in front of me. “Oh, devil take it! Here, take the thing and have fun with it!”

3

As I went down the stairs the bell rang in the hall again, twice. Cilly Klofft came into the living room and toward me. She said she hoped I could stay a little longer; would I please wait for her? She wouldn't be long, she added. I stood aside on the stairs to let her go by.

As she passed me I caught the scent of her perfume again.

Before I went into the living room, I suddenly heard a distant voice from above, Klofft's voice. I couldn't make out what he was saying, but he seemed to be raising his voice and speaking abusively. Then I heard a door latch. I quickly went into the living room and sat down in the same chair as before.

Cilly Klofft was smiling as she came in. She asked if I'd like a glass of fruit juice now, and I said yes, although time was getting on. She poured the fruit juice from a crystal carafe, brought it to me and sat down opposite me, crossing her legs. I drank and put the glass down. When I looked back at her, I saw that she was still smiling. The little lines on her face showed a little more distinctly.

After a moment she said, “You contradicted him, didn't you?”

I very nearly asked, “You mean your husband?” But I immediately knew that evasions would not appeal to this woman; she wasn't going to let me wriggle out of it.

I said, “I told him that in my opinion we hadn't won the case yet.”

“Ah, yes.” She nodded. “That doesn't surprise me. I knew at once that his – his temperament had run away with him. To put it kindly.” She looked out at the garden. “Or one could say he lost control of himself yet again. He always thinks he can simply steamroller anyone who doesn't do as he wants.”

She turned back to me, smiling. “I'm glad you told him what you thought! Carry on like that! People who give in to him have lost the game. He thinks he can do as he likes with them, and generally he's right.”

I was feeling uncomfortable. I liked this woman, yes, but was she trying to recruit me as an ally against her despotic husband? I didn't care for him, but he was my client, after
all. By taking the file folder that had landed in front of me I had more or less explicitly agreed to take on his case.

I stood up. “I'm sorry, but…”

“Of course. I'm sure you have other things to do than worry about… about this spot of bother my husband had at the works.” She rose, still smiling. “Just a moment, I'll tell Karl you're ready to leave.”

Karl then, not Georg. But Karl was just as outmoded. Who was called Karl these days?

When she returned from somewhere at the back of the house, maybe the kitchen, she took my arm and led me to the front door. “Please don't forget to give Herr Hochkeppel my regards.”

“Of course I won't.”

At the door she let go of my arm, turned to face me and smiled. “And when shall we see each other again?”

The little lines showed. Maybe I was just imagining it, but they didn't make her look old – they made her look alert and at the same time enigmatic, a woman of experience seeing through her interlocutor and secretly laughing at him a little.

I said, “I don't know… probably when the other party's lawyer has been in touch.”

“Of course.” She laughed. “You won't be coming here again of your own free will in a hurry.”

“Oh, please, I…”

She offered me her hand. “Goodbye for now, Dr Zabel.”

I took her hand. I wanted to finish what I'd started to say, but now I couldn't think how to do it. I said, “Goodbye, Frau Klofft.”

Karl was already standing by the car, cap in his left hand, and he opened the door to the back seat. I went over to him, heard the gravel crunch underfoot, but I hardly noticed because I was absorbed in wondering whether that goodbye
had a meaning I didn't understand. Had she expected me to contradict her remark about not coming to her house again more firmly? But why should she set store by such a feeble compliment?