Mortal Mischief

'Of course,' Brugel replied. 'Rheinhardt, perhaps you could escort Inspector von Bulow tomorrow?'

'It would be an honour,' said Rheinhardt.

Von Bulow's eyes flicked upward. He stared at Rheinhardt, attempting to decipher the other man's expression. Rheinhardt smiled, politely.

Returning to his notebook, von Bulow continued: 'I could not find a report by the medical officer . . . Doctor Liebermann?'

Rheinhardt coughed nervously.

'Doctor Liebermann is not a medical officer. That is why he hasn't filed a report.'

'Then what is he?'

'An unofficial consultant,' said Rheinhardt authoritatively.

'Even so, you might have taken the trouble to commission a report.'

'I didn't think it was necessary.'

'Well, it is. How am I to come to any conclusions concerning his findings?'

'I'm sure the good doctor would consent to an interview.'

'I'm sure he would – but that doesn't help me right now, does it, Inspector?'

For the next hour, von Bulow worked through his notes, asking questions that invariably highlighted one or other departure from 'procedure'. As he did so, Rheinhardt's head filled with a whistling emptiness. A sense that he was teetering on the edge of a deep, dark abyss. He found himself staring vacantly at the portrait of Franz Josef – and curiously fascinated by the whiteness of the general's uniform that he was wearing and the deep red sash that fell diagonally across his chest. On a table beside the Emperor was a field marshal's large black hat with a thick plume of peacock green feathers.

'Rheinhardt?'

It was Brugel's voice.

'Would you please pay attention . . .'

64

'I GOT YOUR note, mother – is everything all right?'

'Yes, yes – everything is fine. Come in.'

Liebermann entered the drawing room.

'Where's Hannah?'

'Out with her friend – she said she wanted a new hat. They've gone for a walk down Karntner Strasse.'

Liebermann handed his coat to the servant who had followed him in from the hall.

'Do you want some tea?'

'No, thank you.'

'Then sit down, Maxim.' Addressing the servant, she added: 'That will be all, Peter.'

'Mother . . .' Liebermann hesitated. He was already beginning to suspect that he had been manipulated.

Before he could continue, Rebecca said: 'I know – I know exactly what you're thinking. Why did she say it was urgent? But if I hadn't said it was urgent would you have come? No. You would have sent me a note saying that you were too busy at the hospital. Am I wrong?'

Liebermann sat down on the sofa.

'No, mother, you are not wrong. However, the fact is . . . I am very busy at the hospital. To tell the truth—' He thought of telling his mother about Gruner and his pending dismissal but quickly changed his mind: 'Oh, it doesn't matter.'

'What doesn't matter?'

Liebermann sighed. 'Why did you want to see me today?'

Rebecca sat down on the sofa beside her son and took his hand in hers. She looked at him and her eyes creased with affection. Yet her gaze was also investigative, probing. Liebermann found her close attention a little unnerving.

'Maxim, I wanted to talk to you – alone.'

'What about?'

'Clara.'

'Very well, mother. What is it that you wanted to say?'

'She's a beautiful girl. So very pretty. And the Weisses – such a good family. You know, her father and yours—'

'They go back a long way,' interrupted Liebermann. 'They went to school together in Leopoldstadt, and grandfather Weiss helped grandfather Liebermann start his first business.' He placed a hand over his mouth and enacted a theatrical yawn.

'Yes, yes,' said Rebecca. 'You've heard it all before, I know.' She rubbed his hand with her thumb.

'What is it, mother?'

'Are you—' She smiled nervously. 'Are you sure that she is the one? Are you sure that she will make you happy?'

Strangely, the sentence that Liebermann had been composing for the benefit of Professor Gruner came into his mind: Professor Gruner, much as I would like to retain my position at this hospital, I cannot act against my conscience . . .

An odd coldness seemed to spread through his chest. Liebermann dismissed the thought, irritated at its intrusion.

'Yes,' he said, rather tentatively. 'Yes – I think we shall be happy together.'

'And you love her? Really love her?'

'Of course,' he said, laughing. 'I wouldn't have proposed if I didn't love her.' Yet, as he said these words, they seemed curiously light and airy, lacking in emotional substance. He did not feel the weight of affection compressing his heart. 'Mother – I'm not absolutely certain, how can I be?' He remembered the uxorious Rheinhardt:

My dear fellow, of course I had doubts. Everyone does.

'I . . . I don't know what sort of a life we shall have together – I don't have a crystal ball. But I am very fond of Clara and when we're together she does make me happy. And she is very pretty.'

'That doesn't last, let me tell you,' said Rebecca sharply. 'They used to say that I was beautiful once.' She reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her son's ear – as though he was still an infant. Liebermann frowned and pulled away.

'You're sure, then?' asked Rebecca, smiling.

'I'm as sure as I can be, mother.'

With that, Rebecca got up and went over to the chest of drawers on the other side of the room. She came back and, sitting down, handed her son a small black box.

'Take it,' she said.

Liebermann took the box and opened it. Inside, on a bed of silk, was an engagement ring. A cluster of little diamonds flashed around a deep blue sapphire.

'It was my grandmother's – your great-grandmother's. God knows how they came by it. I suppose you've been too busy to go out and buy a new one.'

65

THE ROOM WAS lit by candles, most of which had burned down to flickering stubs of wax. A line of abandoned hookahs obscured Zaborszky's view; however, the grotesquely distorted images of two unconscious gentlemen could be seen through the glass cylinders. As Zaborszky moved his head, his oblivious companions seemed to expand and shrink.

'My dear Count.'

Zaborszky turned. A soberly dressed middle-aged woman was standing close by.

'Frau Matejka . . .' Zaborszky sneered as he said her name.

'There is a matter that I wish to discuss with you.' Zaborszky remained inert. 'In private.' Zaborszky stood