Mortal Mischief

Everyone was looking, but I kept my nerve. I managed to appear unperturbed – even haughty – though my heart was pounding. In fact, I felt quite dizzy . . . the stays are awfully tight . . .'

'Can't you loosen them?' asked Liebermann.

'Of course I can,' Clara responded, a hint of tetchiness creeping into her voice. 'But that would ruin the effect. The tapered bodice!'

Liebermann nodded. 'I see.'

The Belvedere had turned pink in the evening light. It looked like an enormous piece of confectionery – with icing-sugar masonry and a marzipan roof.

'Well, Frau Baum introduced me to some people – the Hardy family and the Lichtenheld girls – and we talked for a while. But Flora had to find her cousin, and I found myself standing alone. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Herr Korngold appeared.'

'Korngold?'

'A business associate of my father's – and of your father's too, I think.'

'Oh . . .'

'Well, Max, you wouldn't believe his impertinence

. 'Ahh – he says – I wouldn't have recognised you, young Weiss. The caterpillar has become a butterfly.' ' Clara's impersonation of a pompous roue was rather good. 'And so I had to stand there, pinned into a corner, listening to him talk rubbish while he leered at me over his champagne glass. It was interminable – and he has false teeth, I'm sure of it.'

Liebermann smiled – amused by the way Clara shivered, her shoulder trembling against his arm with disgust.

'Then who should appear but Frau Korngold. Now, I'm quite well acquainted with Frau Korngold. Mother and I are always bumping into her in town, and we always stop to talk. But she swept past – her nose in the air – without so much as a smile. 'Whatever is the matter with Frau Korngold?' I asked. 'Jealousy,' replied Herr Korngold. 'But of whom?' I asked. 'You, of course,' he said. And then he actually winked – can you believe it?'

'How did you get out of this difficult situation?'

'Fortunately, Frau Baum came to my rescue.'

They continued walking up the path, towards the palace. Another couple, on their way down, passed them, and everyone felt obliged to exchange modest pleasantries. The young man tipped his hat, prompting Clara to exclaim: 'Do you know, Max, I don't think I've ever seen you wearing a hat.'

'No,' Liebermann replied laconically.

'Do you have one?'

'Yes – several, in fact.'

'Then why don't you ever put them on?'

'I'm not sure, really . . .' But even as Liebermann said these words the image of the absurd vernal putto came into his mind and he smiled inwardly. Clara shrugged and, losing interest in her fiance's indifference to hats, pressed on with her account.

'The following day we visited Frau Lehman. She lives in a very nice house – eleventh district. The dining room is entirely of wood. She very nearly cancelled, because her son – Johann – had fallen off his bicycle.'

'Was he badly hurt?'

'They were worried at first – he'd cut his hand and knee. But he made a remarkably quick recovery and Frau Lehman was happy to entertain us. Anyway, Mother and Frau Lehman were talking about the Kohlbergs—'

'Who are they?'

'Max, sometimes I wonder whether you and I live in the same city! Herr Kohlberg is a tea supplier – and a very wealthy one at that. He had been happily married to Frau Kohlberg for over a year when all of a sudden she ran away. Just like that – left the home, forsaking her husband and child. Well, naturally, Herr Kohlberg instructed his lawyers to proceed with a divorce – intending, of course, to retain custody of his son.'

'How old is he? The boy?'

'A baby – nine months, I think. Then, guess what happened? Frau Kohlberg returned and begged her husband – pleaded with him – to take her back. Said that she couldn't live without her child – and would end it all if he didn't let her return to the household. Which – believe it or not – he did. Mother said this showed remarkable strength of character – the ability to forgive. But Frau Lehman said it showed stupidity. She implied that Frau Kohlberg had taken a young lover who had promptly deserted her when he'd discovered that she had no money of her own.'

Ordinarily, Liebermann found Clara's tittle-tattle pleasantly diverting – but he was now finding it irritating and hurtful. Her rumour-mongering could sometimes be quite thoughtless, even spiteful.

'One shouldn't believe everything one hears, Clara.'

Their gazes met, and Clara produced an exaggerated pout in response to her fiance's gentle reprimand.

Liebermann shook his head and studied the sphinxes. They crouched in pairs, facing each other on casket-like pedestals. Each was different, showing a unique expression. One member of the Belvedere's sisterhood was particularly striking. In spite of her regal appearance and ram's-horn hair braids, she looked close to tears. The subtle downturn of her lips seemed to presage the trembling that accompanies a welling-up of emotion. Liebermann wondered, fancifully, what kind of sadness might have insinuated itself into the cold, leonine heart of a mythical beast.

Clara soon tired of pouting, and cheerfully resumed talking: 'My aunt Trudi took me out on Wednesday – fetched me in a rubber-wheeled phaeton. Let me tell you, it was simply hideous. We drove to the Graben, had high tea, then hailed the smartest fiacre we could find and went on to the Prater.'

'Did you go on the Riesenrad again?'

'Yes. I never get bored of it.'

'Many people – especially young women – find it frightening.'

'I don't. I find it—' Suddenly, Clara stopped speaking.

'What?'

'I find it . . .' Her brow furrowed with concentration. 'Dreamy.'

'Dreamy? In what sense?'

'It's such an unusual experience. You know, like when you find yourself flying in a dream. Do you ever dream of flying, Max?'

'I think everybody does.'

'And what's it supposed to mean – when you fly in a dream?'

'It doesn't mean anything – specifically. Its meaning will depend on the person's character and circumstances. However, such dreams probably derive from very early memories. Professor Freud says that there cannot be a single uncle who hasn't shown a child how to fly . . .'

'That's interesting.'

'What is?'

'I think Aunt Trudi used to do that with me. She used to pick me up and rush around the room. I used to scream with laughter.'

'Well, there you have it. Perhaps, when you ride on the Riesenrad, you are unconsciously recreating the happy experiences of childhood. Perhaps that is why the Riesenrad doesn't frighten you.'

Clara paused for a moment and then said, with naive wistfulness, 'She's fun – Aunt Trudi – and so generous. She bought me some perfume and two boxes of sugar candy.'

Before Clara could continue, Liebermann interrupted.

'That reminds me. I have something for you too.'

Clara broke away and faced him, her cheeks red with excitement.

'A gift?'

'Yes.'

'Where is it?'

She pressed her hands against Liebermann's coat.

'Not in there . . .'

'Show me!'

'Just wait a minute.'