The Girl You Left Behind

surviving ex-husbands.’ She counts them on gnarled fingers.
     ‘That would be three.’
    He waits.
    ‘It teaches you damn all about
     love.’
    Paul begins to smile, but she hasn’t
     finished. Her grip on his arm is surprisingly strong. ‘What it does teach you, Mr
     McCafferty, is that there’s a whole lot more to life than winning.’

31
    Henry meets her at the rear gate of the
     courts. He is speaking through a cloud of
pain au chocolat
crumbs. His face is
     pink, and he is almost incomprehensible. ‘She won’t give it to anyone
     else.’
    ‘What? Who won’t?’
    ‘She’s at the front entrance.
     Come.
Come.
’
    Before she can ask any more, Henry is
     propelling her through the back of the courts, through a network of corridors and
     flights of stone stairs, out to the security area at the top of the main entrance.
     Marianne Andrews is waiting by the barriers, dressed in a purple coat and a wide tartan
     hairband. She sees Liv and lets out a theatrical sigh of relief. ‘
Lord
,
     you’re a hard woman to get hold of,’ she scolds, as she holds out a
     musty-smelling satchel. ‘I’ve been calling and calling you.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ Liv says,
     blinking. ‘I don’t answer my phone any more.’
    ‘It’s in there.’ Marianne
     points to the journal. ‘Everything you need. April 1945.’
    Liv stares at the old books in her hand. And
     looks up in disbelief. ‘Everything I need?’
    ‘The painting,’ the older woman
     says, exasperated. ‘For goodness’ sakes, child. It’s not a recipe for
     prawn gumbo.’
    Events move at some speed. Henry runs to the
     judge’s chambers and requests a brief adjournment. The journalsare photocopied, highlighted, their contents sent to the Lefèvres’ lawyers
     under the rule of disclosure. Liv and Henry sit in a corner of the office, scanning the
     bookmarked pages, while Marianne talks non-stop with some pride of how she had always
     known her mom was not a thief and how that darned Mr Jenks could go boil his head.
    A junior lawyer brings coffee and
     sandwiches. Liv’s stomach is too taut to eat. They sit untouched in their
     cardboard packet. She keeps staring at the journal, unable to believe that this
     dog-eared book might hold the answer to her problems.
    ‘What do you think?’ she says,
     when Angela Silver and Henry have finished talking.
    ‘I think it could be good news,’
     he says. His smile belies his cautious words.
    ‘It seems fairly
     straightforward,’ Angela says. ‘If we can prove that the last two exchanges
     were innocent, and there is inconclusive evidence for the first exchange, then we are,
     as they say, back in the game.’
    ‘Thank you so much,’ Liv says,
     not daring to believe this turn of events. ‘Thank you, Ms Andrews.’
    ‘Oh, I could not be more
     delighted,’ Marianne says, waving a cigarette in the air. Nobody has bothered to
     tell her not to smoke. She leans forward, places a bony hand on Liv’s knee.
     ‘
And
he found my favourite handbag.’
    ‘I’m sorry?’
    The old woman’s smile falters. She
     busies herself with refixing a brooch. ‘Oh, nothing. Take no notice of
     me.’
    Liv keeps staring at her, as the faint flush
     of colour dies down. ‘Don’t you want these sandwiches?’ Marianne says
     briskly.
    The phone rings. ‘Right,’ says
     Henry, when he puts down the receiver. ‘Is everyone okay? Ms Andrews – are you
     ready to read some of this evidence to the court?’
    ‘I have my best reading glasses in my
     bag.’
    ‘Right.’ Henry takes a deep
     breath. ‘Then it’s time to go in.’
30 April 1945
    Well, today sure didn’t turn out like I expected. Four days ago, Lt Col
     Danes had told me I could go into Konzentrationslager Dachau with them.
     He’s not a bad guy, Danes. A little sniffy at first about hacks, as most
     of them are, but since I came ashore with the Screaming Eagles at Omaha Beach,
     and he’s worked out I’m not some green housewife who’s going
     to press him for cookie recipes, he’s backed off a little. The 102nd
     Airborne call me an honorary fellow now, say that when I have my armband on,
     I’m just one of them. So, the deal was, I was going to follow them into
     the camp, write my piece about the folks inside, maybe get a few interviews with
     some of the prisoners about the conditions, and then file. WRGS radio wanted a
     short piece too, so I had my tape all wound up and ready.
    Well, there I was, ready at 6 a.m., armband on and