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  Wallmann cleared his throat. “Yes, for a couple of weeks. I need a few days’ relaxation.”

  “Are you taking the boat?”

  “No, no. It gets boring on the lake for that long. And it’s too cold now. No, I’m flying to the Bahamas.”

  “Good heavens.”

  Wallmann shifted position in the chair at his desk. “At least I can sail properly there.”

  “Sure.”

  Wallmann cleared his throat again. “What I wanted to ask is, could you go up again while I’m away and see to the boat? It’s time to put it to bed for the winter. I won’t be able to do the job myself. All this came up quite suddenly – going away, I mean. If you’d get the boat ready then I can take it into the yachting basin as soon as I get back.”

  Scholten realized that he was crushing the cigar. He placed it carefully on Wallmann’s desk, put both hands in his overall pockets. “Well, I’ll have to talk to my wife. What exactly would you like me to do?”

  “I looked out last year’s checklist.” Wallmann took a piece of paper off his desk and handed it to Scholten.

  Scholten looked at the list. “I don’t know that I can do all that in one day. And if I’m up there anyway, I might as well get the weeds out.”

  “I don’t mind if it takes you two days. I’ll pay you.”

  “Yes, but we have a lot to do here at the moment. All the balance sheets.”

  “I know, so why not go at the weekend and take your wife? If you leave here a little early on Friday you’ll be through with the work by Saturday evening, and then you can relax on Sunday. I think the weather will hold, and it’s beautiful up there at this time of year. It will do your wife good.”

  “Yes, I’ll make sure I can manage it.”

  Wallmann took two hundred-mark notes from his wallet then added another two. “That’s for the materials. You can tell me what they came to when I’m back.”

  “Yes, right.” Scholten took the money. “Thanks very much,” he said.

  Hilde concealed her pleasure by asking how much longer he was going to let Herr Wallmann impose on him. She said she didn’t know if she could take the strain of it all, she’d been feeling very unwell all day.

  When Scholten came home on Tuesday evening she had already packed. She said the packing had left her very stressed; it was just amazing what Herr Wallmann expected of him.

  Scholten said he’d go to the DIY store after work on Thursday and buy the materials; drive them straight over to the house and get everything ready so that it wouldn’t take him so long on Friday and Saturday. Then they could fit in a walk on Saturday as well.

  Hilde was against this idea. She said he could buy the materials during office hours on Friday; it was Herr Wallmann’s boat, after all. And then she said he only wanted to go over on Thursday so that he’d have at least one evening alone up there, and he wouldn’t be getting anything ready because he’d be sitting around in Grandmontagne’s bar half the night.

  Scholten said Grandmontagne didn’t open on Thursdays, he’d told her so hundreds of times. And he hadn’t said he was planning to spend the night at the house either; he could be back around nine or ten in the evening. But if she didn’t like it, and as usual he was sure she knew best, then he’d give up the idea of the whole trip, he’d only agreed for her sake anyway, he could well do without it, and Herr Wallmann would have to see about putting his boat to bed for the winter himself.

  On Thursday at midday Scholten called the Meteorological Office in Essen. During the lunch break, when Rosa had disappeared into Büttgenbach’s little room, he went into Inge Faust’s office, dialled Directory Enquiries with trembling fingers and asked for the number. He wrote it on a scrap of paper, put it in his overall pocket, looked out into the corridor again and listened for anyone who might be coming before he called the Met Office. A man with an impressive bass voice told him that unless something unforeseen happened, the weather would hold over the weekend. Scholten asked: “Could there be frost?”

  The man said: “It’s possible. Near water, you understand.”

  Scholten was bathed in sweat by the time he was back at his desk. He tore the note into tiny scraps and threw them in the wastepaper basket. He looked out of the window. He began to count on his fingers, silently moving his lips. After a while he nodded. He nodded several times. When he heard Rosa coming he picked up his papers and began hastily looking through them.

  At three he went to see Büttgenbach and said Herr Wallmann had told him to deal with the boat. He was just off to buy the materials and take them straight up to the house, there were a few things he had to get ready there, or he wouldn’t get it all done at the weekend.

  Büttgenbach said: “Herr Wallmann never said anything about today. He just said you might be leaving a little early on Friday.”

  Scholten asked when, in that case, he was supposed to buy the materials? Had Herr Büttgenbach any idea of the crowds at the DIY store on a Friday afternoon? And he didn’t want to spend the whole weekend working on the boat. He supposed he had a right to a little time off. However, if Herr Büttgenbach had anything against it he’d stay here, and if he wasn’t finished with the boat by Sunday evening that was just Herr Wallmann’s bad luck.

  Büttgenbach said: “I never said I had anything against it.” He opened a file and immersed himself in reading it.

  Scholten drove to the DIY store and looked out the materials for Wallmann’s boat. Then he bought a roll of insulating tape, twelve yards. Before he started along the motorway he stopped off at a supermarket. He put three bottles of beer in his shopping trolley, thought about it and added a fourth. In the meat section he chose a fillet steak. Then he looked at the salads and decided on a medium head of lettuce.

  Just before six he drove up to the garage. It was almost dark already. The vault of the sky was blue, turning to a pale green towards the west. The first stars were twinkling on the eastern side of the great dome of the heavens, above the black crest of the woods. A cold breeze blew in off the lake.

  Scholten carried his provisions into the house and put the beer in the fridge, taking one bottle with him; it was cold enough. He left the materials for the boat in the garage.

  Then he chose five of the remaining wooden strips. Using the circular saw, he cut ten lengths of twenty-eight inches and ten of twelve inches each. He put the remnants on the hearth and lit the fire.

  When he came out the sky was dark blue in the west as well. Scholten went around the house once, stopped, listened. Nothing to be heard. The starlight cast a faint glow on the roof of the house, on the treetops, filling the air.

  Scholten shivered. He took out his handkerchief, mopped his brow and the back of his neck with it. He put the handkerchief away. He stood there for a moment longer, listening again. Then he quickly went into the garage.

  He took the bolts out of their tin and put them in his pocket. He found a long-armed spanner, tested it to see if it fitted tightly enough on the nuts for the bolts. Then he took three of the old planks out to the steps.

  About fifty minutes later he had changed over the three planks of the landing and the two steps above it, had taken the planks he had removed into the garage, put insulating tape on the edges of the planks, nailed the strips over it. His back and belly were dripping with sweat. His back was trembling too as he bent to check the slope of the little basins he had made.

  He cleared the contents of the freezer into the two coolbags, filled his basins with water and put them carefully in the freezer, one by one. He propped the lowest on two pieces of wood and stacked the other four on top, pointing in different directions, so that there would be room for the shanks of the bolts below the planks.

  He closed the freezer and looked around the garage. All in order. His lettuce was washed and dressed at a quarter to eight, when Scholten put the fillet steak in the pan.

  When he had eaten and drunk he sat down in the living room with the last bottle of beer. He planned to switch the TV on. He sat there for
a while.

  Suddenly he felt his heart beating, beating hard in his throat. He cleared his throat to break the silence. His own ears heard the hard fast beating of his heart.

  21

  He finished his beer, locked up the house, glanced round the garage again and drove away. At eight-thirty he rang the doorbell of Grandmontagne’s house. Marlene opened the door. “Hey, what are you doing here?” she asked. Grandmontagne came out of the living room in his slippers.

  Scholten said he’d be back tomorrow evening, he had to get the boat ready for winter over the weekend. He was bringing his wife with him.

  “Good God!” said Grandmontagne. “Well, have a nice weekend. See you some other time.”

  Scholten laughed. He asked if Grandmontagne could get him some meat for goulash, a pound of best braising steak would be about right, and three-quarters of a pound of ground beef for steak tartare, four pork and beef sausages, and half a pound of sliced cooked meats. And a piece of fine liver sausage, not too small.

  “Sure, Jupp,” said Grandmontagne, “you can collect it when you drive up tomorrow evening. Write it down, Marlene.”

  Scholten asked if the boy couldn’t bring it over to the house when the shop closed. His wife, he said, always had problems after a drive, she didn’t take car journeys well, she always had to go and lie down when she arrived, and if he stopped off at Grandmontagne’s there was bound to be a great fuss.

  Grandmontagne said: “Oh, you don’t need to say no more, that’s okay, Jupp, the lad will bring it up around quarter to seven.”

  Marlene said: “Why don’t you drive slower, then? Show a bit of consideration for your wife!”

  Scholten was home soon after ten. Hilde was in bed, with the bedroom door open and the bedside lamp switched on. She said she didn’t know if she’d be able to stand up to the drive. She’d been feeling very ill all day.

  On Friday afternoon Scholten left the office at a quarter to three. Herr Büttgenbach looked at him askance but said nothing. Kurowski called: “Mind how you go, Herr Scholten, know what I mean? Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

  “You must be joking,” said Scholten. “I’m taking my wife with me.”

  “Have fun, then,” said Rothgerber.

  Rosa shook her head. “Do mind out, Herr Scholten.”

  “Mind out for what?”

  “Mind you don’t fall in the water.”

  “Not me.”

  When he got home Hilde was waiting in the corridor with her hat and coat already on. He carried the suitcase and travelling bag downstairs. Then he came up again, put the cat in the cat basket and took it to the car. He put the basket on the back seat, between the travelling bag and the back of Hilde’s seat. Hilde said: “That’s too much of a crush. Can’t you put the basket behind your seat?” He put the basket behind his seat.

  He drove very fast. Hilde said he ought to drive more slowly; it was making her feel all hot. He went not very much more slowly. Once off the motorway he drove jerkily, letting the car skid on bends. He said it was because of the road. “The whole surface needs renewing, it’s dangerous. But they just come with a bucket of tar in spring and paint it over the holes. Another botched job.”

  They reached the house at a quarter past five. He unlocked, and Hilde lay down on the living-room sofa at once. He emptied the car and unpacked the case and the bag.

  He was going to light the fire on the hearth, but Hilde said: “Don’t. We’re not having that fire lit.”

  He stood there, matchbox in hand. “Why not?”

  “It makes such a stink. My eyes won’t stand the smoke. You know they won’t.”

  “The fire doesn’t smoke. It’ll warm the place up and do you good.”

  “The central heating’s warm enough. It’s far too hot in here anyway.” She threw off the rug she had spread over her feet. “If it’s too cold for you, you can put your cardigan on.”

  He stood there undecided for a moment, then put the matches away. “Well, I’ll go to the garage now and down to the boat after that,” he said. “The boy’s bringing up the meat from Grandmontagne’s at quarter to seven. I ordered beef for steak tartare for this evening.”

  “Are you going to stay on the boat that long? It’s getting dark, you won’t be able to see a thing.”

  “There’s electric light on the boat.”

  “That’s right, let Herr Wallmann impose on you! Not that that’s anything new. You’re nothing but Herr Wallmann’s odd-job man.”

  He stopped, stood in the doorway, looked at her. Then he turned and went out.

  He looked in the freezer. The ice on the planks was hard and smooth as glass. He took the long-armed spanner off the workbench and went down to the steps. Leaving the spanner on the landing, he went on down to the boat. He opened up the cabin and switched on the interior light.

  The battery would be run down when he came back, but there was nothing to be done about that. Herr Wallmann wouldn’t say a thing. He’d keep his mouth shut all right.

  Scholten had the icy steps in place just before six-thirty. The strips of wood he had knocked away from the planks were underneath the other spare strips. He had hidden the lengths of insulating tape in a cardboard carton among other small items. He had put the substitute planks back in their corner in the garage, had taken the frozen food out of the coolbags and put it back in the freezer.

  Every time he made another journey to or from the steps, hurrying, stumbling, gasping under the weight he carried, he had stolen up to the corner of the living-room window and looked in, his heart beating fast. Hilde was lying on the sofa with her eyes closed. She had wrapped the rug firmly round her legs and pulled it up to her chin.

  Scholten looked round the garage. All in order. He brushed the dust off his pullover and trousers, looked at his hands. They were so cold they hurt. He had scratched the skin in a couple of places. He licked the scratches. He looked at his watch. High time.

  He went into the living room. Hilde opened her eyes. “I’m going to put the car away in the garage now and then go down to the boat,” he said.

  “You told me so already. Haven’t you finished yet?”

  “Another half an hour. I’ll be back when you have the steak tartare ready.”

  He put the cat in the cat basket. It stuck its paw out of the top before he closed the lid.

  “What are you putting the cat in the basket for?”

  “Taking it down to the boat. It’ll be a bit of company.”

  “Are you mad? You can’t take the cat on the boat with you! It won’t like the rocking. It’ll be sick.”

  “Oh, come off it!” He stood in the doorway with the basket in his hand. He looked at her.

  She said: “Oh, yes, of course you know best as usual. The fact is you don’t know anything.” She closed her eyes. “A know-all, that’s you, nothing but a know-all.”

  He turned away and closed the door.

  Carefully, he opened the fridge and took out a carton of milk. He took one of the old cups out of the kitchen cupboard. Without a sound, he removed his jacket and coat from the coat-rack and put them over his arm. He closed the front door and looked through the living-room window once more. Hilde was lying on the sofa with her eyes closed.

  His hands began to shake. He stood there for ten or twenty seconds. Suddenly he looked at his watch. Damn it, time to get moving. He threw his coat and jacket into the car, stowed the cat basket in front of the passenger seat. He put the carton of milk and the cup in the glove compartment. He looked round once again. A strip of reddish light fell from the living-room window on the ground in front of the garage.

  He started the engine and drove not into the garage but down the track leading to the road. A little way from the house he stopped, ran back, pushed the garage door down and made sure that it engaged in the lock with a loud slam. He stole back to the living-room window once more. Hilde was still lying there motionless. He passed both hands over his face then went back to his car.

  He t
ook off the handbrake and let the car coast down the path. The bodywork shook and creaked. Only just before reaching the road did he start the engine. He drove towards the village, turned into the dark square by the little transformer station, switched off the engine and the lights. He wound down the window and breathed deeply to calm his thudding heart.

  He didn’t have to wait long. Headlights were approaching from the village. Scholten saw Grandmontagne’s delivery van drive past. He started the car again at once and drove into the village, parking outside Grandmontagne’s long, low house. He took the basket out of the car and went into the pub.

  Two men were sitting at the corner table. Grandmontagne was behind the bar. He wiped his hands down and said: “Hey, what’s up? I thought you was here with your wife. The boy’s just gone over with your meat.”

  “I know.” Scholten put the basket down on the bar. “He passed me on the way. Let’s have a beer, Sheng.”

  Grandmontagne drew the beer. He looked up from the glass, glanced at Scholten. “This means trouble, mate.”

  Scholten made a dismissive gesture. “Who cares? I can’t be in more trouble than I’m in already. I can tell you, Sheng, it’s sheer hell with that woman. The fuss she’s just been kicking up again – you wouldn’t believe it. She makes my life hell, she really does. I’ve had it, Sheng, I’ve had it up to here!”

  Grandmontagne nodded.

  Scholten said: “I’d like to drop it all and just walk out. Get in the car and go anywhere. Somewhere peaceful. To Holland. Somewhere by the sea, where I wouldn’t see or hear any more of her.”

  Grandmontagne put the beer down in front of Scholten. He said: “Well, you just do that. Why not, eh? Your old lady will be okay. Got everything up there she could need. Even the meat and the sausage now. You take off – that won’t half shake her up!”

  Scholten emptied his glass. He put it down violently on the bar. “You carry on like that much longer and I swear I really will do it.”