There are a few different ways to lie.
There is the outlandish route. It would include hyperbole, a fun twist, perhaps a few laughs escaping the listener. An admittance by both parties that the entertaining nature of the lie was more important than telling the truth. A game of bluff, that no one would so garishly lie in such a manner.
There is with a pure earnestness. This included wide eyes and trembling lips, often with a soft girlish expression. Maybe holding hands with the listener. This tactic was dangerous, as it would bleed the truth at the first poke.
Desperation was another. Sometimes said through tears, maybe even screamed in anguish. Emotion would cloud the message, communicating more than words can. Best done with men afraid of a woman's sobs.
The omission was always a good choice. A lie without a lie. practically a truth.
But if Audrey had learnt anything in her years of being a false representation of herself, it was that lying was best done when it held hands with the truth. A lie which is so intrinsically grafted upon the truth, that its roots will eventually grow into the truth, that even the most skilled detective would have difficulties unstitching it apart.
"So how do you know him?"
The distinctive click of the golden cigarette case hit against the walls of the black staff car. She glanced to see him thrust one at her and she took it from him, leaning forward as he lit it for her. Her blonde hair curtained her face for only a moment before she sat back and took a long exhale.
"Arthur."
True.
"And why did I see him leave your home with you this morning?" Landa asked conversationally, leaning to tap the ash out of the thin gap in the window.
"Why do you think?"
The short answer caused a curl of a smile to flicker upon Landa's face.
"Company?"
No response. She stared forward, inhaling once more and blowing a thin line of smoke forward. She further wrapped her plain coat around her, sighing through her nose as she turned her pretty face to watch out the window.
"He seemed upset for me to snatch you from him," Landa said with a playful pout and a low rumble of a laugh at his observation.
She glanced across to him, her legs crossed in front of her as she mirrored him as they tapped their cigarette out of the car window. She looked very fashionable in her work uniform. Crisp clean lines on a simple black and white outfit. Trousers were certainly daring but he supposed incredibly fashion-forward. She had a tape measure about her neck, looking every part the talented seamstress he knew her to be.
Landa had had his men rip her away from Oscar so roughly the young Doctor had shouted out, eyes wide in panic. Audrey had looked unmoved as she was pressed up against his car by a particularly aggressive Private named Wolfe, who now sat in the passenger seat at the front of the car. His driver Herrman had searched Oscar without success and Wolfe had shoved Audrey into the car with such force she had tripped and fallen into Hans Landa's lap. She had looked up slowly, hands splayed on his thighs before setting herself up with a helpful if not aggressive tug of her coat performed by Private Wolfe.
Oscar didn't even have time to call her name as the car sped away. Landa had watched him stood, wide-eyed and terrified, on the pavement from the rearview mirror.
"I think he likes you more than you like him," Landa teased, a fresh grin catching his mouth.
"I'm sure that's true," she responded, a fresh stream of smoke leaving her painted mouth. "Men are often like that."
Another truth.
"He left in a hurry the first time," Landa prompted. She said nothing, eyes forward and cold.
"Are we going to the Hotel Lutetia, Oberst?" She asked lightly. Important to change the topic as naturalistically as possible when the line of questioning strayed into uncomfortable areas.
"Nein," he responded, thrilled that she was agreeing to converse in German. He liked the audience of the two soldiers in the front seats of the car. He had felt a small thrill when Wolfe's hands had come down on her already bruised collarbone. The half moment of a flinch that hit her face made him fizz with excitement. "I'm driving you to work."
She said nothing for a long moment before looking out the window once more.
"Danke."
He chuckled once more. The low, slow-moving roll of sound leaving his chest and coating her.
"Actually, I picked you up for this," he said easily, holding out his sleeve to her. She observed it for a moment with a small frown. The threading had come loose at the hem of his shirt, the cuff needed redoing entirely. Not an inch of fabric was pulled on damaged, only the thread was gone. Audrey wondered if he had painstakingly unpicked the thread himself or if he had ordered one of the young men in the front of the car to do so.
"Aren't you Nazi's trained to do your own sewing?" She asked with a small furrow of her brow. That caused a spark of laughter to leave Landa.
"Ja, ja," he said. "Appearances are important to us."
"Us?"
The accusation hung between them and she saw a nasty smile twitch his lips once more, his eyes flashing dark for a moment.
"I doubt I am as good with a needle and thread as you are, fräulein," he said easily, the darkness evaporating as soon as it had arrived.
"And you have no other shirts to wear?" She asked, still carefully considering the pristine fabric.
"I don't like to leave loose threads, pardon the expression," he said with a fresh, genial smile. She was learning quickly that Hans Landa was a man loved to create a false sense of security by being friendly. He had a fiercesome and violent reputation and she was sure that lots of his victims had been shocked to meet the affable and calm Nazi officer. She imagined their confusion, the thoughts that perhaps the whispers had overblown his reputation, or that it was all untruthful propaganda. How could this charming man be the violent sadist that they had heard of? She wondered if he gave them a lot of time to correct these thoughts when he drained the life out of them.
They arrived and Landa had once again raised a characteristic hand to stop her with his now familiar 'ah ah ah', walking around the car to open the door. She hated that he did it. As though stopping her from running, draining away the fantasy of sprinting away. She wasn't dumb enough to think that he would outright ask her why Oscar had come, then left, then been chased back into the house. Not at first at least. She knew men like Hans Landa. They were smart and sly. They knew you catch more flies with honey.
This morning, he was sickly sweet.
She had walked behind him into the atelier, agitated that he knew the way into her work and didn't have the decency to pretend that he didn't.
Monsieur Brodeur had practically fallen over himself to get to Landa, his hand shooting forward to shake the Nazi Officers with a wild grin. Audrey grimaced lightly at the display of gaucheness Brodeur presented. He had hounded them all for weeks to get the Nazi's to start using their services. He didn't see atrocity, he saw auspiciousness. An almighty franc sat above all else. Audrey had viewed him with cool fury and quietly murmured 'it's rare that the chicken's let the fox into the henhouse', to which Monsieur Brodeur had shot her a withering look and docked her pay.
"Monsieur Landa," he greeted as if they were old drinking buddy. "You have met our très magnifique Audrey Loewe."
"Oui," Landa responded. "She is going to help with my sleeve- complimentary I assume?"
"Bien sûr!" Monsieur Brodeur said, hands fluttering away any imaginary offer to pay.
"Is he always so common?" Landa asked in German.
"Ja," Audrey responded, shrugging off her coat and hanging it in the corner before shrugging on the white coat on the station in the back of the large workroom. She stood patiently, her hands clasped in front of her as she looked to the tall stool nearby. Landa walked slowly, sitting easily and holding out the hem for her.
She looked ethereal as the sunlight, the beautiful light illuminating her blonde hair about her like a halo. She had helped him from his jacket and carefully hung it over a nearby bare dress form. Audrey didn't speak to him once, instead, she focused on her work, quickly matching a thread to the boring brown of Hans Landa's shirt. She held his arm up with gentle touch, her eyes focused upon the hem with such precision he wondered if she had forgotten who it was attached to.
"Do I have to leave it on?" He asked curiously. She nodded, threading a needle with expert skill.
"Oui," she answered. "I have to check your movement to make sure it is just right."
"I knew you were good," he said calmly as she began to sew the sleeve.
She was delicate but precise with each stitch, and he noted with a smile that she was able to even keep the holes the previous thread had left. She lifted his arm once more. Audrey sat on her little stool and she looked even more petite than usual. Her hands looked dainty against him and he smiled softly. He could crush her with his bare hands if he wanted to.
"Do you have a bruise?"
She paused mid stitch, eyes fluttering upward to him.
"Excusez-moi?" she asked quietly.
"When Private Wolfe grabbed you this morning, you winced. Did I leave a bruise?" he asked casually, smiling calmly upon her. She considered what he asked for a long moment, face impassive.
"Oui," she responded, returning to her work.
"Someone less forgiving would be tempted to stab me with that needle fräulein Loewe," he asked, purposefully speaking in German. He saw her bristle at the code switch.
"Someone stupid perhaps," she responded quietly.
He laughed so loudly that she saw her colleagues jump in her peripheral vision, all swivelling terrified glances.
"Pardon!" Landa called out in French. "Forgive me!"
"S'il vous plaît Colonel Landa," Monsieur Brodeur called with a nervous smile. "Nothing to apologise for."
"She is remarkably funny, you didn't say she was funny!" He called back. Monsieur Brodeur nodded feverishly in agreement.
"Oui," he called. "She is a whimsical, non?"
"Oui," Landa agreed, turning his grin back to her.
"Someone stupid indeed," he agreed in German, turning his full attention back to her. "But you aren't stupid, are you fräulein Loewe?"
"Nein," she agreed softly as she continued her work upon his sleeve.
"So, why did Oscar leave and return last night?" he asked. She looked up slowly, hands paused in mid-air.
"I asked him to come back inside," she said.
"And why did he come in the first place?" he asked, his voice laced with pleasantness.
"He was trying to find something Arthur said he had left, in a cavity in a wall," she said. Landa lightly raised his eyebrow at her candour.
"Oh?" he asked. "What was he looking for?"
"He didn't know," she said. "He was seeing one of those girls you took, I assume she is dead?"
Landa nodded casually, as though discussing the weather.
"And she said there's this cavity, and Oscar was, curious I suppose," Audrey said calmly.
"And pray tell fräulein Loewe, what did he find?" Landa asked.
"Nothing," she said. "You can come by my home Herr Landa, I'll show you it myself."
He considered what she was saying, finding it equally highly likely and unlikely. He watched her as she continued to sew once more, eyes trained with that singular objective once more.
"And why did you chase him back in?" He asked. He smiled wolfishly when she paused again with a small sigh. She looked up slowly again, hands paused. He smiled to feel the weight of her fingers upon his wrist.
"Why do you think?" She asked.
He smiled coyly, shrugging, his other hand coming to offer his palm to the sky as if he were overcome with confusion.
"Who do I have in this world, Herr Landa?" She asked quietly.
He stared at her for a moment.
"Marion?"
"She doesn't remember me," Audrey corrected calmly. "Who do I have in this world?"
He stayed silent at her question. His silence was the answer.
"Sometimes I get very lonely," she said softly, her eyes steady to his. "It can be overwhelming. Oscar was there, and he is always very nice to me, Herr Landa."
He watched her and waited for the flicker to reach her eyes. To spot the bluff against the blue of her gaze. He was an expert at spotting a lie but the shadow of guilt or doubt or deception never reached her expression. She looked wan and tired and bored. But she didn't look like she was lying.
"Lonely," he repeated. She said nothing before returning to his sleeve. He watched her calmly finish her work, smoothing the fabric with a finishing flourish.
She sat back and looked up at him expectantly. He raised his sleeve and examined her precise and perfect work with a small, impressed smile.
"My my Audrey," he said, almost cooing at her. "You are very talented, aren't you?"
"Merci," she said, waiting calmly for his next instruction. He threw his hand back at his jacket and she stood smoothly, getting it for him and helping him put it back on. She swiftly stepped back as he stood, her lower back pressed to the ledge by the window. The morning light shined about her and she looked saintlike.
"I will be around to check this hole in the wall," he told her calmly. "Merci for your workmanship Mademoiselle Loewe."
"You are welcome Colonel Landa," she said. "Please attend at any time that is convenient for yourself."
He left after shaking the cloying hand of Monsieur Brodeur. Audrey had been praised by Broiduer, his hand on her shoulder as she attended back to her existing work. She had ignored him and instead worked in silence and isolation for the whole day. She stayed well after all others had left, sat alone in the lamplight of the dark and cold atelier. She waited till 8 o'clock to take off her white coat, hanging it on the dress form and picking up her coat. She took it to the middle of the room, making sure she couldn't be seen from the window. She carefully unstitched the collar and deftly removed the papers from its starched collar. She held the papers in her hand, heavy and important despite their delicate white paper. The young boy in the picture stared at her and she sighed softly, closing her eyes for a moment.
"Merde," she whispered to herself, swallowing carefully as she lay the papers on the table in front of her. She clasped her hands in front of her, resting her forehead on her knuckles.
She searched the floor of the atelier till she found a loose floorboard by a far window, pressed against the skirting board. She wrenched it up before carefully wrapping the papers in spare material to protect them from dust and damp. She hid them with reverent fingertips, laying the floorboard precisely, ensuring it looked as in place as possible.
She sat on the floor for a long moment, trying her best to quell the drowning panic.
She restitched her coat collar until it was perfect once more and sighed out once more. She shrugged it back on before making her way home.
Hans Landa was right. She wasn't stupid, but she didn't need to be a genius.
She just had to be smart enough to not get caught.
