Read Online Heart of Lies by M. L. Malcolm - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: M. L. Malcolm
Ads: Link
words he’d written must be true; otherwise the truth of the words he’d spoken to her during their night together were false.
One night . A volcano erupts and destroys an entire countryside in one night. A hurricane rushes ashore and destroys an entire island in one night. An earthquake hits and destroys an entire city in one night. Her love for Leo had the power of a volcano, a hurricane, an earthquake. She could not just go on with her life as if she had not met him. She had to believe that he’d meant what he said. She had to believe that he would find her.
She had to trust him, or her life would not be worth living.
On the morning she and Leo parted, Martha had been able to let herself into her hosts’ apartment without being discovered. This had, at least, spared her the embarrassment of a confrontation that would have eventually involved her father. After buzzing through the morning like an intoxicated bee, Martha collapsed for a long nap in the afternoon. When she awoke she explained to her puzzled hostess, Madame Bernard, that she’d come in late the previous night because she’d run into a college classmate. Martha told the skeptical Parisian matron that she planned to go out with her friend again that night, for dinner, and would probably be out late again; in fact, Martha added, she might even spend the night with her friend and her parents at their hotel in the Latin Quarter. Normally uncomfortable with deception, Martha found it easier to lie in a foreign tongue. One could blame one’s awkwardness on the language.
The friendly old couple was surprised to see their lovely guest return a scant two hours after her sunny departure. She shuffled through their front door, face puffy and eyes swollen, complaining that she did not feel well. Madame Bernard, always worried about the flu in December, hustled her off to bed, where the exhausted girl stayed the entire next day. Martha then announced that she wanted to go home.
Madame Bernard immediately sent a cable to Martha’s father, explaining that his daughter did not feel well. “No fever, no vomiting; but wants to come home. Will arrive tomorrow midmorning,” she wrote. Fortunately, it was not a difficult trip: one overnight express from Paris, and a change of trains in Stuttgart. She could sleep most of the way.
The astute little Frenchwoman thought the girl looked heartsick, but she dared not share that diagnosis with Martha’s father, or with her own husband, who’d known Martha’s father since they were in school together many years ago. The possibility was both plausible and perplexing. When could she have…? Well, this was Paris. She only hoped that Martha’s tender young heart had not been too badly damaged. And she hoped that Martha would get home before the young man showed up on their doorstep to apologize. The lady of the house did not wantto witness any romantic upheavals. She’d lost both of her sons in the war, and had faced more than enough trauma in her own life. She did not wish to share anyone else’s. She no longer had the energy for it. She would help Martha pack her bags, and keep her theories to herself.
Martha’s train arrived in Munich only slightly delayed by the copious quantities of snow that poured from the sky. As she descended the stairs to the platform, Martha was touched by the worried look she saw on her father’s normally impassive face.
David Levy’s heritage was Jewish, but his family had lived for ten generations in Frankfurt, and he was as German as any Prussian. A teaching post at the university brought him to Munich when he was in his early twenties, and he’d met and married his wife in the refreshing atmosphere of the Alpine air. Yet he’d remained essentially unaffected by the more open Bavarian way of life. David Levy had never felt comfortable with emotions of any kind. The greater the crisis, the calmer his approach. But today he was clearly relieved to see his youngest daughter, and Martha
One night . A volcano erupts and destroys an entire countryside in one night. A hurricane rushes ashore and destroys an entire island in one night. An earthquake hits and destroys an entire city in one night. Her love for Leo had the power of a volcano, a hurricane, an earthquake. She could not just go on with her life as if she had not met him. She had to believe that he’d meant what he said. She had to believe that he would find her.
She had to trust him, or her life would not be worth living.
On the morning she and Leo parted, Martha had been able to let herself into her hosts’ apartment without being discovered. This had, at least, spared her the embarrassment of a confrontation that would have eventually involved her father. After buzzing through the morning like an intoxicated bee, Martha collapsed for a long nap in the afternoon. When she awoke she explained to her puzzled hostess, Madame Bernard, that she’d come in late the previous night because she’d run into a college classmate. Martha told the skeptical Parisian matron that she planned to go out with her friend again that night, for dinner, and would probably be out late again; in fact, Martha added, she might even spend the night with her friend and her parents at their hotel in the Latin Quarter. Normally uncomfortable with deception, Martha found it easier to lie in a foreign tongue. One could blame one’s awkwardness on the language.
The friendly old couple was surprised to see their lovely guest return a scant two hours after her sunny departure. She shuffled through their front door, face puffy and eyes swollen, complaining that she did not feel well. Madame Bernard, always worried about the flu in December, hustled her off to bed, where the exhausted girl stayed the entire next day. Martha then announced that she wanted to go home.
Madame Bernard immediately sent a cable to Martha’s father, explaining that his daughter did not feel well. “No fever, no vomiting; but wants to come home. Will arrive tomorrow midmorning,” she wrote. Fortunately, it was not a difficult trip: one overnight express from Paris, and a change of trains in Stuttgart. She could sleep most of the way.
The astute little Frenchwoman thought the girl looked heartsick, but she dared not share that diagnosis with Martha’s father, or with her own husband, who’d known Martha’s father since they were in school together many years ago. The possibility was both plausible and perplexing. When could she have…? Well, this was Paris. She only hoped that Martha’s tender young heart had not been too badly damaged. And she hoped that Martha would get home before the young man showed up on their doorstep to apologize. The lady of the house did not wantto witness any romantic upheavals. She’d lost both of her sons in the war, and had faced more than enough trauma in her own life. She did not wish to share anyone else’s. She no longer had the energy for it. She would help Martha pack her bags, and keep her theories to herself.
Martha’s train arrived in Munich only slightly delayed by the copious quantities of snow that poured from the sky. As she descended the stairs to the platform, Martha was touched by the worried look she saw on her father’s normally impassive face.
David Levy’s heritage was Jewish, but his family had lived for ten generations in Frankfurt, and he was as German as any Prussian. A teaching post at the university brought him to Munich when he was in his early twenties, and he’d met and married his wife in the refreshing atmosphere of the Alpine air. Yet he’d remained essentially unaffected by the more open Bavarian way of life. David Levy had never felt comfortable with emotions of any kind. The greater the crisis, the calmer his approach. But today he was clearly relieved to see his youngest daughter, and Martha
Similar Books
