The Lie Read Online Free

as far as their great-grandparents. All Susanne knew of hers was that they were honest, respectable people. She had no uncles and aunts at all.
    The conversation was taking a course that was unlikely to fulfil her expectations. Bearing in mind Susanne’s declaration that she didn’t want to know who she was, Nadia told her neither with whom or how long she’d been married, nor where she lived or what her work was.
    It must have been lucrative. Everything about Nadia screamed money. The ostentatious ring, the gold lighter and the cigarette case she held out to her when they’d finished their cake. She declined.
    â€œSo you don’t smoke then,” Nadia observed, almost with a note of envy. “How do you do it? Lord knows how often I’ve tried to give it up.”
    â€œBy never starting,” she said.
    Nadia smoked three cigarettes with her second cup of coffee. Then she waved the waitress over, paid and left a generous tip. For a few seconds
the sight of her bulging wallet left Susanne floundering in a welter of contradictory emotions, a revolting mixture of greed, envy and shame.
    â€œYou’ve still got some time, I hope?” Nadia asked. “I thought we’d go for a little drive in the country. We can talk without being overheard there.” She sketched a nod in the direction of two old ladies who appeared to be holding a whispered conversation about them. Time was the one thing Susanne had plenty of. A drive in the country sounded nice. And to talk without being overheard sounded promising.
    The car for which Nadia had spent so long finding a parking place turned out to be an extremely manoeuvrable vehicle that could squeeze into small spaces: a white Porsche. Susanne settled as comfortably as she could into the passenger seat and scrutinized Nadia’s face with surreptitious sidelong glances. It was a strange feeling, as if she were sitting beside herself. She hadn’t felt it so strongly in the café. In the confines of the car it became overpowering and oppressive.
    Stuck to the dashboard was a tiny frame with the photo of a man’s face. He was laughing. A nice guy, in his mid-twenties, Susanne guessed. Blond hair blowing in the wind, a straight nose, thin lips. The photo was too small to make out any more details.
    â€œYour husband?” she asked, assuming it was an old photo.
    And Nadia said, “Who else? It was taken two months ago, since then he’s had his hair cut. He only goes round with a mop like that during the holidays. Do you like sailing?”
    Susanne shrugged her shoulders and swallowed. Two months ago, on a sailing boat! A sailing boat?! A boat wasn’t Nadia Trenkler’s style. A white yacht, that was it, with Nadia lying on the deck and the man oiling her back.
    After a good hour’s drive they stopped at a little car park where a path led off into the woods. Nadia picked up her handbag and document case from the back seat and took both on the walk with her.
    Then they strolled through green-filtered shade. Bit by bit Susanne spread out her whole life along the dry pathway, adopting Nadia’s tone of voice, though without noticing it herself. Her initial monosyllabic answers soon gave way to fluent candour. At the back of her mind she was still hoping for a job offer, but apart from that it did her good, after all the lies of the previous months, to talk to someone about the way things really were.

    She’d had a good start in life: loving parents, good marks at school, good reports during training as a bank clerk and during her first years at work. Her father was proud of her and already saw her as a branch manager. Now and then she dreamed of getting married and having children.
    She’d not been short of admirers. At twenty-four she met Dieter Lasko. He was working for the local paper and hardly earning enough to pay for more than the bare necessities. When they went out together she’d picked up the tab.