‘My boyfriend will manage it. He seems to know someone at the court reservation office.’
‘Where will we play?’
‘At the RCW sports field. It’s over in Oggersheim, I can give you a map.’
I hurried to get into the computer centre and had Herr Tausendmilch, ‘but this remains between the two of us,’ print me out the current status of the tennis court reservations. ‘Are you still here at five o’clock?’ I asked him. He finished at four-thirty but was young and declared himself willing to make me another printout at five on the dot. ‘I’ll be glad to tell Firner how efficient you are.’ He beamed.
When I got to the main gate I bumped into Schmalz. ‘The cake proved palatable?’ he enquired. I hoped the taxi driver had eaten it.
‘Please pass on my warm thanks to your wife. It tasted quite excellent. How is little Richard?’
‘Thank you. Well enough.’
Don’t worry, poor Richard. Your father wants you to be extremely well. He just can’t risk the sibilant.
In the car I took a look at the printout of the tennis court reservations, although it was already clear to me that I wouldn’t find a reservation for Mischkey or Buchendorff. Then I sat in the car for a while, smoking. We actually didn’t have to play tennis; if Mischkey turned up at five and a court was reserved for us, I had him. Nonetheless I drove to Herzogenried School to inform Babs, who owed me a favour, that she was duty-bound to play doubles. It was the morning break and Babs was right: kids were carrying on with one another in every corner. Lots of students had their Walkmans on, whether standing alone or in groups, playing, or smooching. Wasn’t the outside world enough, or was it so unbearable for them?
I found Babs in the staffroom talking to two student teachers.
‘Anyone for tennis?’ I interrupted, and took Babs to one side. ‘Really, you must play tennis with me this afternoon. I need you urgently.’
She kissed me, reservedly, as is appropriate for a staffroom. ‘What an opportunity! Didn’t you promise me a springtime excursion to Dilsberg? You only let me clap eyes on you when you want something. It’s nice to see you, but frankly I’m annoyed.’
That’s how she was looking at me, both delighted and pouting. Babs is a lively and generous woman, small and compact, and agile. I don’t know many women of fifty who can dress and act so lightly without trying to play young. She has a flat-ish face, a deep furrow above the bridge of her nose, a full, determined, and at times severe mouth, brown eyes beneath hooded lids, and closely cropped grey hair. She lives with her two grown-up children, Röschen and Georg, who are far too comfortable at home to make the leap to independence.
‘And you really forgot we went to Edenkoben for Father’s Day? If you did, then I’m the one to be annoyed.’
‘Oh dear – when and where do I have to play tennis? And do I get to find out why?’
‘I’ll collect you from home at quarter past four, all right?’
‘And you’ll take me at seven to choir; we’re rehearsing.’
‘Gladly. We’re playing from five till six at the RCW tennis courts in Oggersheim, mixed doubles with an executive assistant and her boyfriend, the chief suspect in my current case.’
‘How thrilling,’ said Babs. Sometimes I have the impression she doesn’t take my profession seriously.
‘If you’d like to know more I can fill you in on the way. And if not, that’s all right too, you just have to behave naturally.’
The bell rang. It sounded the way it did in my day. Babs and I went out into the corridor, and I watched the students streaming into the classrooms. They didn’t just have different clothes and hairstyles, their faces were different from the faces back then. They struck me as more conflicted and more knowing. But the knowledge didn’t make them happy. The children had a challenging, violent, and yet uncertain way of moving. The air vibrated from their shouts and noise. It almost felt threatening.
‘How do you survive this, Babs?’
She didn’t understand me. Perhaps because of the noise. She looked at me questioningly.
‘Okay then, see you this afternoon.’ I gave her a kiss. A few students wolf-whistled.
I welcomed the peace of my car, drove to the Horten parking lot, bought champagne, tennis socks, and a hundred sheets of paper for the report I’d have to write that evening.
20 A lovely couple
Babs and I were at the grounds shortly before five. Neither the green nor the silver cabriolet was parked there. It was fine with me to be first. I’d changed into my tennis things at home. I asked them to put the champagne on ice. Then Babs and I perched ourselves on the uppermost step of the flight of stairs leading from the restaurant terrace of the clubhouse to the courts. The parking lot was in full view.
‘Are you nervous?’ she asked. During the drive she hadn’t wanted to know more. Now she was just asking out of concern for me.
‘Yes. Perhaps I should stop this work. I’m getting more involved in the cases than I used to. This time it’s difficult because I find the main suspect very likeable. You’ll get to know him in a moment. I think you’ll warm to Mischkey.’
‘And the executive assistant?’
Could she sense that, in my mind, Frau Buchendorff was more than just a supporting actress?
‘I like her, too.’
We had chosen an awkward place on the steps. The people who had played until five went trooping up to the terrace, and the next lot came out of the changing rooms and bustled down the stairs.
‘Does your suspect drive a green cabriolet?’
When my view was clear too I saw that Mischkey and Frau Buchendorff had just pulled up. He sprang out of the car, ran round and flung open her door with a deep bow. She got out, laughing, and gave him a kiss. A lovely, vibrant, happy couple.
Frau Buchendorff spotted us when they reached the foot of the stairs. She waved with her right hand and gave Peter an encouraging nudge with the left. He, too, raised an arm in greeting – then he recognized me, and his gesture froze, and his face turned to stone. For a moment the world stopped turning, and the tennis balls were suspended in the air, and it was absolutely still.
Then the film moved on, and the two of them were standing next to us, and we were shaking hands, and I heard Frau Buchendorff say, ‘My boyfriend, Peter Mischkey, and this is the Herr Self I was telling you about.’ I went through the necessary introduction.
Mischkey greeted me as though we were seeing each other for the first time. He played his part composedly and skilfully, with the appropriate gestures and the correct sort of smile. But it was the wrong role, and I was almost sorry that he played it with such bravado, and would have wished instead for the proper ‘Herr Self? Herr Selk? A man of many guises?’
We went over to the groundsman. Court eight was reserved under Frau Buchendorff ’s name; the groundsman pointed it out to us curtly and ungraciously, involved as he was in an argument with an older married couple who insisted they had booked a court.
‘Take a look yourselves, if you please, all the courts are taken and your name isn’t on the list.’ He tilted the screen so that they could see it.
‘I can’t allow this,’ said the man. ‘I booked the court a week in advance.’
His wife had already given up. ‘Oh, leave it, Kurt. Maybe you mixed things up again.’
Mischkey and I exchanged a quick glance. He wore a disinterested expression but his eyes told me his game was up.
The match we launched into is one I’ll never forget. It was as though Mischkey and I wanted to compensate for what had been lacking in open combat before. I played beyond my capabilities, but Babs and I were properly thrashed.
Frau Buchendorff was in high spirits. ‘I have a consolation prize for you, Herr Self. How about a bottle of champagne on the terrace?’