'I'd like that very much.'
'Where do you want to go?'
'I don't know.'
'Come on – you choose.'
'An exhibition?'
'Which one?'
'Any one.'
'Well, what about the Secession? Would you like to see that? It's in the new building. You know, the one that the philistines are calling the golden cabbage.'
'Will it be very . . .' She paused before adding, 'Modern?'
'Of course – but you'll love it, I promise you. Klimt has produced a massive frieze. Very controversial, apparently.'
'I'm not sure father would—'
Liebermann raised a finger to his lips. Checking to see that Mendel hadn't heard anything, he whispered: 'I'll send you a note. Sometime next week.'
The Liebermann family sustained a babble of conversation through several courses, flagging only after the arrival of dessert – a fragrant pool of plum compote in a wide silver dish. The cook brought it to the table personally, and was welcomed with a chorus of compliments.
When everyone had finished eating Liebermann stood up.
'Could I have your attention, please.'
The room fell silent.
'I'm glad you're all here – because I have an important announcement to make.'
'Announcement?' said Rebecca, more anxious than curious. 'What announcement?'
Mendel rested a pacifying hand on Rebecca's arm.
'I'm about to tell you, Mother,' said Liebermann.
He looked around the table. All of his family were viewing him with questioning eyes. Only Mendel seemed fully composed.
'Last Thursday,' Liebermann began, 'I proposed to Clara Weiss.' He paused, prolonging the suspense. 'And . . . I am delighted to report that she accepted my proposal. We are engaged to be married.'
A heartbeat of silence preceded an eruption of cries and applause. Rebecca rose from her chair and, rushing to her son, threw her arms around his neck. Leah and Hannah followed – and a few moments later Liebermann found himself in the middle of an affectionate, tearful scrum, being squeezed, kissed and congratulated. The frenzy was so sudden, and so loud, that it frightened little Daniel – who subsequently added to the hubbub by bawling. When Liebermann was finally released, he found that his father had risen too and was now standing directly in front of him. The old man opened his arms.
'Congratulations, my boy.'
'Thank you, Father.'
They embraced – for the first time in more years than Liebermann could remember.
24
THE INTERROGATION ROOM was sparsely furnished: a table and some simple wooden chairs. The Spartan emptiness was softened a little by a photographic portrait of the ubiquitous Franz Josef. The old Emperor looked down, radiating benevolence. From his elevated, almost godlike vantage point, he appeared content to wait aeons for a confession. The same, however, could not be said of Rheinhardt.
Once again, the Inspector found himself feeling somewhat irritated and bemused by his friend's roundabout questioning. Even Natalie Heck was showing signs of bewilderment. She had clearly been expecting a more demanding interview, perhaps anticipating being tricked by the 'doctor' into revealing more than she intended. Instead, Liebermann had spent an inordinate amount of time discussing the craft of dressmaking and now seemed wholly fixated on the seamstress's knowledge of Fraulein Lowenstein's wardrobe. Rheinhardt had watched Fraulein Heck's expression pass from fear through relief to something that looked very much like confusion.
'There were three silk dresses?'
'Yes,' replied Natalie Heck, 'as far as I know. A red one – she bought it from Taubenrauch and Cie, the shop on Mariahilferstrasse – a green one, and a blue one – designed by Bertha Furst. She would sometimes wear a wonderful butterfly brooch with the blue one.' 'And they were well made? Of good quality?' 'Of course. The silk was very expensive – Chinese, I think. And they were beautifully cut – particularly the Furst – although not to everyone's taste.'
'Why do you say that?'
'Some would say they were immodest.'
'And what would you say?'
'I . . .' Natalie faltered before raising her chin and proudly declaring, 'I would not have been comfortable wearing such a dress.'
Rheinhardt stifled a yawn and consulted his pocket watch.
'So,' continued Liebermann, 'it was Fraulein Lowenstein's habit to wear one of these dresses every Thursday evening.'
'Yes.'
'She never wore any of the other dresses?'
'There was a black velvet ball gown – and an old satin one . . . but she stopped wearing them. Some time ago, in fact.'
'They were of inferior quality?'
'Yes. The cuff of the ball gown had frayed.'
'Tell me, did Fraulein Lowenstein exhibit an equal fondness for each of her silk dresses? Or did she like one more than the others?'
'She wore the blue one most – but that's because it was more comfortable.'
'And how do you know that?'
'Why,' said Natalie Heck, smiling, 'because she asked me to let it out. She said that it had always been too tight.'
Liebermann paused for a moment. He picked a hair off his trousers and disposed of it at arm's length. Then, returning his attention to Fraulein Heck, he asked: 'Didn't that strike you as odd?'
Natalie Heck did not understand the question. She pressed her lips together and stared blankly, her large dark eyes opened wide – two pools of Indian ink. 'Remarkable, don't you think?' continued Liebermann. 'That such a well-made dress should be too tight? Would someone like Frau Furst – someone with such a fine reputation – make such an elementary mistake?'
Natalie Heck shrugged.
'These things happen. You can measure someone one day, and the next . . .' She held her hands out in front of her body and moved them apart.
Liebermann fell silent. He removed his spectacles and began cleaning the lenses with his handkerchief. When he had finished, he placed the handkerchief back in his pocket and inspected the lenses against the light. As he was doing this, he said, in the careless manner of an incidental observation or afterthought: 'Fraulein Heck, why were you visiting Herr Braun's apartment?'
Natalie Heck looked surprised as the interview veered – quite suddenly – into less comfortable territory. Rheinhardt stopped grooming his moustache and sat up straight.
'Herr Braun,' said Fraulein Heck, 'is my friend.'
Liebermann replaced his spectacles, and looked directly into the young woman's eyes. She looked away, and her cheeks flushed a little.
'Do you often visit Herr Braun's apartment?' After the smallest of pauses, he added: 'Alone?'
Natalie Heck shook her head: 'No, no. Herr Braun is my friend. We aren't . . .'
'Please,' Liebermann interrupted. 'Forgive me. It wasn't my intention to suggest any impropriety on your part.' Then, carefully selecting his words, he added: 'Any immodesty.'
