The Other Side of Silence

“Now that your friends in MI6 have returned to London, there’s only you and Alan and Robin who know who and what I am. Or at least what I was. I want your word that you’ll be silent about me and all that’s transpired involving me, here, on the Riviera.”

“Most assuredly I do understand. You have my sympathy. And you want my silence? Very well. You have it.”

“All that has transpired and all that has yet to transpire.”

“You intrigue me. I had hoped that this whole sorry affair was now concluded. Robin was assured it was. Pray what has yet to transpire?”

“The fact is I murdered Harold Hebel a couple of hours ago.”

“Good God.”

“He was shot and killed at the house of Anne French in Villefranche-sur-Mer. The bitch has gone back to London, I think-I’m not sure. But I’m sort of hoping the police will find the body and think it was Anne who murdered him.”

“Two for the price of one. The revenger’s bargain, as it were. Yes, I do like that symmetry. Very Jacobean.”

“I’ve certainly made sure that all of the evidence points her way.”

“So. You killed Hebel, after all. Fascinating. Might one ask, what changed your mind?”

“He did, actually. The bastard kept talking about how he wanted to get even with Anne and he had so many reasons to do it, I guess he just persuaded me.”

“Well, that’s a first, I must say.”

“You notice I said ‘murdered’ because I won’t try to justify what I’ve done. Not to you. And certainly not to myself. It’s true there were more than nine thousand good reasons to kill him. All those people on the Wilhelm Gustloff. But when it came right down to it there were only two that made me pull the trigger.” I shrugged. “And you know who they were. By the way, there’s nothing at all that connects the dead man with you. So you can relax. Enjoy your house in peace. I doubt the police will come asking questions about him up here at the Villa Mauresque.”

“I’m pleased to hear it. We like to discourage visitors.”

“That’s just one of the secrets I want you to keep for as long as I try to stay working at the Grand Hotel.”

“It seems to me that your secrets are inextricably bound up with mine.” He sighed. “And I can hardly talk about Harold Hebel without talking about the photograph, and the tape, and the British secret service, can I? The leisure moments of an ill-spent life have made me every bit as vulnerable as you are. But is this course of action wise, my friend? Given what I’ve been told you are. Sir John said he thought there might be some men who would come looking for you. More spies. Guests at the hotel who might turn out to be assassins. He told Robin he thought you and Hennig would probably make yourselves scarce as quickly as possible. I must say, this shrimp pool we call Cap Ferrat has never been so exciting.”

“Perhaps they will come. Perhaps they’ll shoot me. I don’t know. People have tried to kill me before and I didn’t cooperate. I’m still here. Or at least some of me is. But I’m tired of running. This particular Flying Dutchman needs to put into port and make substantial repairs. None of what your friends in MI6 said about me was true anyway-well, perhaps some of it was-so, maybe the Stasi will leave me alone. But down here on the Cap, I’ll leave you alone and perhaps you can do me the same courtesy. On the subject of each other we will be silent.”

Maugham nodded. “I understand. After this rather unwelcome period of tumult in your life you wish to subside, gently into cheerful peace. With a real future as opposed to an imaginary one. Am I correct?”

I nodded. “Something like that, I suppose. I can’t be more particular than that right now.”

“That’s not unusual. And I can certainly be silent regarding you, Herr Wolf. Yes, let us return to using your nom de plume. But I can’t guarantee that my nephew Robin can do the same. He is what is descriptively called a blabbermouth.”

“But I do think you can control him. Especially since his whole financial future is largely dependent on you.”

“Yes. That’s true.” The old man smiled his inscrutable smile. At least I think that’s what it was. There were too many creases and wrinkles on his face to be sure. He gave a great throaty chuckle.

“All right. It’s a deal.”

I got up and walked to the door of his elegant bedroom, helping myself to a cigarette from the box on the sideboard. It was made of amber and rather hateful.

“I like you, Herr Wolf,” he said. “For what it’s worth, I would dislike it very much if some m-men did come from East Germany to try to kill you. But I think you’re a very dangerous man to know. In fact, I’m sure of it. So, please, be kind to an old man, and don’t ever come here again. I don’t think my nerves could stand it. Besides, you’re a terrible bridge player.”