Double Deceit

by Julienne Brouwers

  I made my eyes sparkle with enthusiasm, trying to pull the wool over his eyes. “Roderick, how lovely to finally meet Sandra’s beloved husband.”

  He nodded, a big grin on his face. “Sandra told me a lot about you,” he said, looking deep into my eyes. But this time I knew it was a lie.

  I flashed him a smile.

  He laid a hand on my back and gently ushered me towards the door. “Let’s head to the drawing room.”

  We walked into the next room, which, in contrast to the one I’d been waiting in, was bright and airy with white walls flooded with light coming from the full length windows. The space was sleekly decorated in a mixture of white and black furniture with various glass side tables – clearly the work of an interior designer – and must have cost an arm and a leg. I surveyed the collection of modern art on the wall and pulled an expression to feign appreciation. “Those are some fine pieces of art.”

  “That’s entirely Sandra’s merit. She managed to lay her hands on a lot of these works at a snip,” Roderick said and waved his hand in a grandiose gesture. “She took immense pleasure in scouting out young artists with a great talent and helping them move forward in their development – you know, making sure they’d be noticed. My wife always seemed to, one way or another, come up with a dilly of an idea to get their careers off the ground.” Roderick’s eyes were glowing as he spoke. “Well, I don’t have to tell you all that, of course you already know this.”

  I nodded vehemently. “Sandra had many talents.”

  I walked up towards the windows, which offered a magnificent view over the entire city, unequalled by anything I’d seen before, and in the distance I thought I recognised the Rembrandt Tower.

  “What a fantastic panorama,” I said, while my gaze remained fixed outside. “Sandra never told me you have such a phenomenal place.”

  “Ah, she was modest,” I heard Roderick say from behind me.

  I swivelled and saw Roderick walk up to a pristine, glass table with a number of carafes on it. “Care for a glass?” he asked, indicating something that looked like vodka.

  “Sounds good,” I lied, assuming an expression of rapt interest.

  He poured the transparent liquid into a hand-crafted, heavy crystal glass and handed it to me.

  We made a toast. “To Sandra,” I declared. I took a sip and tried to ignore the burning sensation in my throat.

  “Good stuff,” I managed to utter as casually as possible, venturing a guess that this wasn’t a cheap bottle from a random off-licence store.

  It worked like a charm. “You’re a woman with fine taste, I notice.” Roderick held his glass up in the air and looked at it with a sense of pride. “I had my assistant import it from Poland. Made with hand-picked bison grass, with a dash of almond and vanilla,” he crowed.

  Demonstratively, I took another sip and nodded, suppressing a grimace.

  “Why don’t we sit outside?” Roderick walked up to the windows and with just one click opened them along the entire width of the room, folding them like a harmonica.

  Holding the crystal glass in my hand, I followed Roderick out onto the tiled roof terrace, the size of which was at least double that of my garden. The wind was howling like a wounded dog at this height and I pulled my jumper tightly around me with one hand. Aside from a lounge set in one corner, the terrace was sparsely decorated with only a few perfectly trimmed bonsai trees in ceramic pots. The whole space was enclosed by a glass fence about a metre high. Imagine one would lean too far over it, I thought, and shuddered.

  “Shall we sit over there?” I asked and pointed towards the couch.

  Roderick nodded and led the way.

  I took a seat next to him and looked him in the eye. “So how have you been, Roderick?”

  His gaze strayed as he ran a hand over his chin. “I’m all right.”

  His eyes were so profoundly sad that I suddenly experienced this almost irresistible urge to hold him, comfort him and tell him I knew exactly how he felt. The emptiness during the day, the loneliness at night. The grief that hits you in the face early in the morning, when you wake up from a long and restless night. But I stifled my empathy – it was too early to acquit him. “You are a strong man. I can tell,” I said.

  He jerked his head towards me. “How did you meet Sandra?”

  His question caught me off guard and I felt nervous, in spite of the vodka. Fragments of the one-on-ones Sandra and I’d had flashed through my mind. “We got chatting in the gym and it turned out we had the same personal trainer,” I made up. “We really clicked and since then we saw each other several times a week.” I wondered where, for heaven’s sake, with my demanding work at the practice and Tim, that I would find the time for this indulgence and hoped he wouldn’t start asking questions.

  He stared into the distance again. “Oh yes, that personal trainer,” he echoed in a heartbroken way that made me wonder if Sandra had ever had an affair with that man. She’d made it seem as if her husband cared little for her, but I began to question how much of it had actually been true.

  I gave a sad smile. “I miss her terribly,” I said and was immediately ashamed of this lie. But I saw no other option – I had to find out if this guy, this grieving husband sitting next to me, knew anything.

  Roderick shook his head. “The loss is unbearable. We were so close, Sandra and I, in spite of me working ridiculous hours. I know she had a problem with it and I couldn’t blame her.” His thoughts seemed to jump around all over the place, something I recognised from myself in the weeks after Oliver’s death. “Maybe I shouldn’t have been so focused on my work and instead spent more time at home. We’d just planned a weekend getaway to Tuscany, to rekindle our love. She was really looking forward to that.”

  I was puzzled. The last time I’d spoken to Sandra, she told me she intended to leave her husband – it had seemed like a fait accompli. On the other hand, she sometimes appeared to have a somewhat volatile and impulsive personality. I couldn’t rule out that she’d changed her mind after our conversation.

  “She never complained, but suggested to spend more time with each other,” Roderick continued. “If only I’d listened to her more. Maybe she would still …” His words trailed off in the wind.

  I laid my hand on his arm. It felt too intimate and rather unnatural, like a rehearsed gesture. “You mustn’t say that. Sandra was the victim of an accident. You played no part in that.”

  I carried on sipping my glass in a demonstrative way, but made sure to swallow only modest amounts. I couldn’t afford a slip.

  He looked me in the eye. “You’re right. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He shook his head again in despair. “And yet, if only I’d put a bit more effort in, listened to her requests for date nights every now and then, treated her more like my darling wife. Instead, I made the choice to be working like a Trojan all the time, which seems so incredibly futile now.” He looked at me. “Do you know I’m a partner at a large law firm called Mason & Mc Gant?”

  I nodded. “I believe Sandra once told me.”

  “I practically lived at the firm. What have I been doing there all this time?” Roderick whimpered. “I should have tried to find a better balance between work and home.”

  I patted his arm amicably. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. We would all make other choices in life with twenty-twenty hindsight.”

  I swallowed before making my next move. This was the clincher. I thought for a moment about the precise formulation of words to use. “You’ve had tons of things on your mind. I understood from Sandra there’d been some challenging cases at Mason & McGant lately,” I said ever so carefully.

  He looked at me mystified. “Challenging cases?”

  “Well, of course I’m not familiar with all the ins and outs,” I said, waving my hand casually, but inside I felt my heart beating so violently I was afraid Roderick would hear it. “I believe I remember Sandra mention something about a file with a pseudonym. A minor problem that needed to be in
vestigated internally, all rather hush-hush.” I was taking a huge risk by revealing this detail, but I knew I needed to give him a proper prod to find out if he knew something.

  Roderick looked me directly in the eye. “I think you’re mistaken. I did share with Sandra how hectic things were at work lately – she may have just misunderstood me. You know what she was like.” His gaze softened and he gave me a wink. “Legal matters weren’t exactly her cup of tea. In any case, there are no secretive investigations or issues at Mason & McGant, fortunately.” He laughed. “I’m in no state to deal with any drama at the firm right now.”

  I took a moment to let it sink in and smiled. “You’re right. It must have been a misunderstanding on my part.”

  I relaxed my shoulders, stretched my legs and took a swig of my drink. Roderick clearly knew nothing about the Van Santen file or any criminal wrongdoing going on within Mason & McGant. The man here beside me on the couch was a grieving husband – everything in his demeanour evoked a sense of recognition and understanding in me. How could I have questioned that?

  I decided to open up to him. “By the way, there’s something I didn’t share with you yet,” I said as lightly as possible.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Something about Sandra?”

  “Oh, no,” I hurried to say. “It’s about my husband. He was suddenly ripped from my life too – he died half a year ago as a result of a terrible fall. So I think I know exactly how you feel.”

  He gently touched my shoulder. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  “Thank you.” I lowered my gaze. “It gets better with time, really,” I said, but to be fair I sometimes had doubts about that.

  We chatted for a while until I glanced at my watch. “I’m afraid I need to leave.” I placed my glass, which was half full, on the table. I leaped up and spread my arms. “Roderick.”

  He stood up and held me tightly, only this time I’d lowered my guard and felt the warmth of his embrace. The fact that we’d endured a similar tragedy forged a bond between us.

  He released me and said with heartfelt compassion, “You’re a kind woman, Jennifer.”

  I nodded. “It was wonderful to meet you, Roderick.” I swung my handbag over my shoulder. “I’ll see myself out.”

  With firm steps I walked over the windy terrace, into the reception room towards the corridor where the housekeeper was awaiting me with my coat, which seemed to have been brushed clean.

  “That’s very kind of you to brush my coat,” I said, sliding my arms through the sleeves.

  The woman looked at me with an expression I couldn’t quite interpret. “Mr DelaHaye requested it.”

  I froze and peered quizzically at her. This was odd.

  The woman remained silent and folded her hands in front of her.

  With an indefinable feeling I said goodbye, opened the door and left the penthouse.

  28

  “Good morning, you little monkey,” I said gleefully, lifting Tim out of his bed. He wrapped his arms tightly around me.

  “Did you sleep well?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “You slept through the night,” I gushed and poked my finger in his chest. “Timmy deserves another sticker on his sheet, don’t you sweetie?”

  With Tim on my arm, I opened the curtains and looked out onto our street where life was slowly resuming for another day. The sun was peeking over the four-storey, hundred-year-old houses across from us, shining into my face and providing a lavish warmth. Directly opposite was a building screened by scaffolding, the decorative ornaments and patterned brickwork of the gables restored to their full glory by craftsmen. Down the street at my favourite cafe, the first cups of coffee were being served to early-bird commuters.

  Tim had enough of my reverie – he wriggled out of my arms, jumped nimbly to the ground and starting scampering off in the direction of his wardrobe. Together we selected an outfit for the day – a blue and white polo over a pair of jeans. Oliver would have been pleased to see his son dressed so smartly, I thought to myself. After sliding into my favourite jeans and a clean shirt with the scent of lavender, I headed downstairs with a spring in my step. I let Tim watch some television while I prepared breakfast. I slotted two slices of bread into the toaster and turned it on, set the table and made myself a cup of coffee. I’d resolved that, no matter how incredibly sad it was that Oliver was gone, I had to go on with my life.

  I suddenly realised that I hadn’t yet responded to Lindsey’s message from the other day, so I grabbed my phone.

  ‘Thx for your message, sweetie. Really sorry for my outburst. I was just a bit overwhelmed with everything the other day,’ I typed generously. ‘Feeling much better now. Sounds perfect to go for drinks. Xxx,’ I ended my message.

  About an hour later I parked my bike in front of the practice and after a brief chat with Simone and Hans, entered my consultation room. My phone buzzed with a text message from Lindsey.

  ‘So happy to hear from you, Jen. I’ll see you soon! X.’

  I smiled and slid my phone into my handbag.

  The morning went by in the blink of an eye and when I entered our lunchroom at midday, I noticed a brown paper bag on the table – Simone had apparently already picked up our order. I peeked inside the bag and took out my tuna sandwich with a bottle of sparkling water, while Hans and Simone joined me.

  Hans sat down opposite me. “Hey Jennifer, did you enjoy your day off yesterday?” he asked, while Simone absent-mindedly scrolled through her phone.

  My mind went back to my visit to Roderick and I smiled. “I met up with someone who recently became a widower,” I answered and took a bite of my crusty, French baguette, causing crumbs to fall on the floor.

  Hans looked awfully serious. “Did you join a support group?”

  I laughed. “I wouldn’t exactly call it that. It was more or less a coincidence that I bumped into him,” I said, immediately realising it was yet another lie, though this time an innocent one.

  “That’s great,” Hans continued kindly. “I hope it helped?”

  “Very much,” I said sincerely. “It has brought me more than I could have imagined.”

  Hans had a puzzled expression on his face, but before he could ask any questions, my phone rang.

  I picked it up and stared at the display in incredulity.

  “I have to take this one,” I mumbled, leaping up, and dashed out towards my consultation room.

  Never in a million years had I expected to hear from this man again. Memories of our last encounter flooded back into my mind, crushing my sunny mood.

  I closed the door behind me, locked it and answered the call. “Jennifer Smits.”

  “It’s Dan. Daniel Bernstein.”

  “Dan,” I echoed coolly. Surely he wasn’t going to act like it was all water under the bridge now? He’d kicked me to the curb like I was some kind of dirty hook-up. I may have behaved rather oddly, but that didn’t give him a free pass to treat me like that.

  There was a hint of diffidence in his voice. “Do you remember who I am?”

  “Of course I do,” I retorted. “I don’t make a habit of hooking up with strangers and staying over at their place. Do you?”

  He ignored my question. “You were right,” he said.

  I felt the blood drain out of my face. “What are you talking about?”

  “After our chat that morning, I started having doubts about what you’d shared with me. I told myself it was inconceivable, but I somehow couldn’t shake it off. Later that night, I sneaked into your husband’s former office, found those DVDs and watched them all at home one by one. On each labelled disk, I recognised all the paralegals who were hired at Mason & McGant in that particular year – exactly as you’d described.”

  I was in shock. Just when I thought I had put this ordeal behind me, Daniel popped up in my life and turned it upside down again. I stumbled to my chair and collapsed into it.

  Dan’s voice sounded far away. “Since the footages corroborated your stor
y, I decided to run a search for the Van Santen file in our system at Mason & McGant,” he continued. “It was blocked and only accessible via an additional security password, which is highly unusual.”

  I recovered from the blow, leaped up and began pacing up and down the room, hanging off his every word.

  “The next day I tried to access the file on my computer again only to find it had suddenly been deleted. There was nothing left of it in the system. Vanished. Totally disappeared into thin air,” Dan said, sounding worked up.

  “I just can’t believe it,” I stammered.

  “I don’t know what the hell is going on, but it’s crystal clear that something’s up.”

  I clenched my fists. “So I wasn’t going loopy then,” I couldn’t refrain from saying, although perhaps this was directed to me rather than to Dan. “I knew all along something was wrong.”

  Dan sounded remorseful as he spoke. “You were right. I should have listened to you.”

  I felt like bursting into tears with relief at the knowledge there was finally someone out there who believed me.

  “I need your help, Jennifer. If we work together, we may be able to find some answers.”

  I chewed on my finger. “I don’t know, Dan. I had just convinced myself I needed to let it go. Everyone around me claimed I was imagining things, my girlfriends, the police, you. Yesterday I went to visit Sandra’s husband …”

  Dan interrupted me. “They’re all wrong,” he blurted. And then with a tad more uncertainty, “At least, I think so. I’ve racked my brain over it, but there’s no plausible explanation for those DVDs and the file that was first blocked and then covertly erased. As a firm, we are required by law to store all documentation related to our cases for at least seven years.”

  I thought of how Hans moved all the data in our practice to the archive disk once in a while, whenever the system started to fill up. “Couldn’t the file have been archived?” I suggested.

  “We keep everything both digitally and as a hard copy, but there’s nothing to be found about Van Santen in the archive,” he responded.