For just over half a mile of pavement I played my wicked
tricks. Sometimes I walked in front of her, sometimes behind. The longer I looked at her the better I liked her. Forgive me, dearest Lulu, forgive me! You know I love only you!
The lady, naturally, noticed what I was up to. Once she smiled briefly. She was not annoyed. Nice ladies are never annoyed. She only walked rather faster. So did I.
Then I saw the restaurant my friend had recommended to me. And then something unexpected happened. That interesting lady did not pass the restaurant. On the contrary, she entered it.
Well, all I can do is the same, I thought. I followed her. I had no idea what was in store for me on the other side of the door.
In the little check room I caught up with that beautiful lady. She was standing in front of the mirror fixing her hair.
"Hello," I said in English.
She smiled into the mirror and also said "Hallo!"
I bowed and mentioned my name. Then I said: "Madame, I must tell you that from birth I have suffered from pathological shyness. I have never in my life even dreamed of speaking to someone I did not know."
"Is that so?" she said, turning around.
"That is so. But today, when I saw you, I just couldn't help it. Madame, you have helped me to conquer my inferiority complex. I thank you. That calls for a celebration. I believe they serve a wonderfully good breast of pheasant with vegetables here."
She looked at me gravely.
"Yes, the breast of pheasant here is excellent."
"In that case may I precede you?" I stepped forward. She followed me.
The restaurant was of only medium size. It was furnished in an uncommonly ageeeable antique style and absolutely crammed. There was only one table free, in a corner. But a small card on it bore the word reserved.
A waiter hurried up to us. I gave him five dollars and said: "How nice of you to have kept that table so long for us."
I helped the charming lady to take her seat. Said she: "We'll have breast of pheasant with vegetables for two, Henry. Crayfish soup first. But before that an aperitif. What would you say to a dry martini, Mr. Simmel?"
Lucky I have such a generous publisher, I thought. My word, this will have to be another item on the expense account!
"I should prefer a small whisky if that's all right with you," I replied.
"So should I," said the lady. "Two doubles then, Henry."
"Right, boss," said the waiter and hurried away.
'What was that?" I asked. "Did he call you boss?"
"He did."
"But why?"
"Because I'm the boss here." She laughed. "You might have saved yourself those five dollars."
"Oh, my publisher pays that, you know."
"Your publisher? Are you an author?"
"Some people consider me one, others don't, Miss—er—" "Thompson, Pamela Thompson," said she, suddenly glancing at me with real interest. I wondered why.
"You are suddenly looking at me with real interest, Miss Thompson," I said. "Why?"
"Because you are an author, Mr. Simmel. I have a special liking for authors."
"How wonderful, Miss Thompson!"
To cut a long story short, ladies and gentlemen, the crayfish soup was excellent, the breast of pheasant enchanting. I talked without stopping. And with prodigious brilliance, that goes without saying. By the coffee stage she had consented to visit a cinema with me. "Okay, Mr. Simmel. Ill arrange for our tickets. I know the manager. The show begins at half-past eight. Perhaps you could call for me?"
"Most willingly, Miss Thompson."
"Shall we say half-past seven, then? That will give us time for a drink at my place before leaving."
"Half-past seven will be fine."
Heavens, I thought, my influence over women is positively uncanny! Damn it all, I should have been a movie star!
[2]
That afternoon I visited a barber. Then I bought a couple of fine orchids. I put on my best suit, the dark blue one. Punctually at half-past seven, a cellophane carton in my hand, I rang the bell of an apartment with a brass plate on the door bearing the name Thompson.
I didn't have to wait long. The door opened. A man stood on the threshold. He seemed about fifty and was tall and slender, with a narrow face, shrewd eyes, a high forehead and
graying temples. He had an aristocratic Greek nose and a small mustache of the kind ladies are so fond of.
"I take it you're Mr. Simmel," said he. "Come along in. I'm very glad to know you. My wife has been telling me about you."
"Your .. . ahem ... your wife?"
"Yes, my wife. My name's Thompson. Roger Thompson."
There was a movement behind him. Pamela, my charming Pamela, entered the little hall. She wore a green cocktail dress adorned with gold arabesques and cut very low. She was smiling radiantly, with a great air of innocence. "So there you are! Oh, what wonderful orchids! Isn't he charming, Roger? I hope you won't mind, by the way, if my husband comes with us to the movies?"
My beloved Lulu, who knows me inside out, went into fits of laughter when I told her this story later on. "Splendid!" she cried. "You deserved that!"
I felt very sorry for myself that evening at the movies. My seat was uncomfortably hard. And it was hot. I also had a bit of a headache. And when I saw that Mr. and Mrs. Thompson were holding hands, once the newsreel was over, I said to myself, There's a typical case of a wasted evening!
But I was making another mistake, quite a huge one, in saying that.
For that evening, after we came out of the theater, proved to be the pleasantest I had ever spent in America. We had supper, naturally, in the Thompsons' restaurant. And what a supper that was. My goodness! Mr. Thompson did the ordering. He went into the kitchen himself, leaving me alone for a while with Pamela.
"Are you angry with me?" she asked.
"Oh, no."
"I liked you so much earlier today, you know ... you were so nice ... I enjoyed everything you said ..."
"What in particular?"
"That you were fond of good meals and the company of good-looking women, that you didn't ever want to wear a uniform again, that you felt at home anywhere in the world where you had friends . .."
"There's something else I should like to say, dear lady."
"Yes?"
"I ... I ... I think your husband's also very nice ... I like him very much . . ."
She beamed. "Yes, he is nice, isn't he? But you don't really
know him. You don't know what I've been through with him. You don't know his ideas. In my case the head always ruled the heart. Men whom I couldn't admire for what they said and thought I could never really love. In Roger's case I loved him at first sight and he became the great love of my life . . ."
"But ... but why, then, did you invite me to call on you, Mrs. Thompson?"
"Pamela."
"Why did you, Pamela?"
"Because you are an author ... perhaps you'll understand what I mean later. Or perhaps you won't. It all depends on him."
"Do you do everything he tells you?"
"Yes." She gave me a radiant smile. "And he does everything I tell him. Always. He's always asking my advice. Sometimes, of course, he seems a bit queer, like all men. But he always comes back to me. I know I'm the only woman he would ever care to live with. That gives a woman a lot of strength, don't you think so?"
Life's funny.
What I expected didn't happen. I didn't get what I wanted from Pamela. I got something better. Her friendship and that of her husband.
We met almost daily during the next three weeks. We got on like a house on fire. It seemed as though we really agreed about everything.
It often struck me that Thompson was watching me in a thoughtful, intent sort of way. Then it struck me that he was asking me a lot of questions. About my past, my views and my experiences. Especially about my views. He himself gave me no personal information at all.
I collected materials for the new nov
el, as I had been instructed. For that purpose I occasionally had to leave the city. I was always glad to come back, for the Thompsons met me every time, at the railway station or the airfield. As soon as I considered I had collected enough material I booked my flight to Frankfurt-am-Main. My aircraft was due to start on October 29, 1958, at 8:45 p.m.
On the twenty-eighth Roger Thompson called me up at my hotel. "I hear you're leaving us," he said. "And I should like to invite you to a last little meal."
"That would be marvelous, Roger."
"Shall we say this evening at half-past seven, then?"
"Half-past seven is okay by me."
"One more thing. Call up your airline and cancel your reservation for tomorrow evening."
"Why?"
"Well, because I think you might want to stay a bit longer."
"J don't understand."
I heard him laugh. "Tomorrow evening," he said, "you'll understand everything. And for goodness' sake don't bring another couple of orchids with you!"
So I brought three. And Pamela was more enchantingly beautiful than ever, Roger more charming than ever and the meal, which he had cooked himself, better than ever. The first course consisted of boiled turbot served with fried oysters in a fine Dutch sauce containing caviar.
MENU
burbot and Oysters in (Dutch Sauce with Caviar Wellington Steak with QL^Iadeira Sauce Salzburg ^Dumplings
SOMEWHERE IN THE UNITED STATES, 28 OCTOBER 1958
At this meal this book was born.
Turbot
A lightly poached turbot is laid, white side up, on a previously warmed dish and surrounded with fried oysters.
Fried Oysters
The oysters should be opened by the fishmonger and kept on ice till needed. The shells are then removed. Next the oysters are dried with a cloth and turned in flour, beaten egg and bread crumbs. The mixture is fried in brown butter and served immediately.
Dutch Sauce with Caviar
Beat two egg yolks in a bowl with a dash of vinegar and a dessertspoonful of hot water. Place the bowl in a saucepan of hot water over a low flame and add half a cup of butter. Whip continuously, without boiling, until the sauce thickens. Season with salt and lemon juice. In the last minute before serving add four tablespoons of caviar to the hot sauce.
Wellington Steak with Q^Iadeira Sauce
The central portion of a fillet of beef is fried lightly, cooled and placed on puff pastry over a layer of braised shallots, mushrooms, parsley and tarragon. Place on top of the fillet some goose liver cooked in madeira and some slices of truffles. Fold the other half of the puff pastry over these ingredients, fastening the edges with egg yolk, and bake to a golden color. Prepare sauce in the frying pan used for cooking the fillet and braising the shallots, adding plenty of madeira.
Salzburg Dumplings
Whip six egg whites in a large bowl till stiff, stir in six yolks, with two tablespoonfuls each of flour and sugar, a quarter of a cup of melted butter and a quarter of a cup of warm sweetened milk, flavored with vanilla. Heat a quarter of a cup of butter in a deep iron frying pan, add the mixture from the bowl, cover and bake till bottom is browned. Cut into large dumplings with a slicer, cover, and cook again till bottom is browned. Add another quarter of a cup of the above mentioned vanilla-flavored milk and leave for a short time to stand off heat. The dumplings will absorb the milk and become loose. They must be served, Sprinkled with castor sugar, before they disintegrate.
"I've never eaten anything so good as this," I admitted. "I must jot down the recipe for my wife ..."
"There might be a lot more to jot down than my recipes," murmured the master of the house dreamily.
I glanced at him, then at his beautiful wife. Both were smiling benevolently and affectionately.
Said Roger Thompson: "My dear fellow, I have unlimited confidence in Pamela's judgment. She considered you reliable
as soon as she laid eyes on you. I am the sort of man who has to be very careful . . ."
"Indeed? Why so?"
"You may well ask!" Thompson poked at his fish. Then he smiled. "Mario, I didn't always run a restaurant for gourmets. My name wasn't always Roger Thompson. I've lived a very wild life. A little more caviar?"
"Let's be serious," said Pamela. She glanced at me. "My husband has really been through a good deal. Some of it was funny. Some of it was sad. Much was exciting. I've always said someone ought to write it down one day. A lot of people should know what happened to him. They might find it very useful."
"Useful?"
"My husband is a convicted pacifist."
"The only question is," said the man who called himself Roger Thompson, "whether you can promise me that no one will ever know my real name and address if I tell you my story."
"I can promise you that," I said.
[3]
28 October 1958 stop 2348 hours stop schweizer druck and verlagshaus Zurich stop return flight canceled stop on track of new story stop air express letter with details follows stop request earliest possible reaction and immediate remittance 1000 dollars stop cordially simmel
[4]
1 november 1958 0945 hours stop schweizer druck and verlagshaus authorises you having read letter with information to arrange option for acquisition of copyright and investigate possibility of soundtrack recording stop stay as long as necessary stop I960 dollars allotted stop meyer schweizer druck and verlagshaus
I remained in the United States until January 2, 1959. When I left I had in my luggage sixteen double-sized sound recordings. I was taking the story of an exemplary life back to Europe, viz., the adventures and recipes of the secret agent, Thomas Lieven.
I shall now be understood and forgiven if I say that the
man who told me the story of his life was not named Roger Thompson or Thomas Lieven. I shall be understood if I do not mention the name of the city in which he lives and works today with his beautiful wife. Incidentally, he bought his restaurant with the money he earned by his dealings with the German Steel Union share certificates, as reported at the outset of this narrative. The loan advanced to him by the Swiss broker Pierre Muerrli had brought Thomas luck. He had speculated with it successfully and become a wealthy man. As early as the summer of 1958 Pamela flew to Zurich on his instructions and with full powers from him. She handed back Hen* Muerrli his 717,850 francs, retrieved the forged certificates from the numbered safe at the bank, tore them up and washed them down the drain of the bath in her hotel suite. So everyone had now made a profit and no one was any the worse, just as Thomas Lieven had foreseen. Moreover, no one had even noticed the kind of fraud he had perpetrated.
Roger Thompson and his wife stood on the balcony of the airport building as my plane taxied faster and faster along the runway on to far horizons, the Atlantic and the Old World. My heart suddenly felt very heavy. Farewell, Pamela. Farewell, Roger. Farewell, you two. I have written down what you told me between you. I hope you'll approve of it. The last yards of the last tape are on the recorder. Thomas Lieven is speaking. I end my story with his words.
"All my life I have distrusted grand phrases and grand heroes. Nor did I ever care for national anthems, uniforms and so-called strong men.
"My old friend Bastian is back in Marseilles. He's getting on well. He works as a cargo superintendent in the harbor. He has to deal with all sorts of people, Chinese and Germans, Frenchmen, Corsicans and Arabs. He likes them all and they all like him. They say: Tirst-rate fellow, that. You can talk sense to him.'
"I, too, in my little restaurant, have to deal with all sorts of people. Of the white, the yellow and the black races. Many of my customers are Jews, many Christians. A few Mohammedans also come, and a few Buddhists.
"I like to think that a time will come in which all mankind will live together on this earth as amicably as Bastian's friends and my customers. If a few hundred people get on so splendidly together, why shouldn't two milliards?
"My friend Bastian is called Sensible' by his fellow workers. I believe that
with common sense we can all get by. We
are all endowed by nature with the ability to think. If only we could believe less and think more for just a little while! The consequences would be marvelous. There wouldn't even be any wars then. For since it is only human beings who make war, only human beings can have it in their power to prevent it.
"I raise my glass, then, to human reason. May it protect us all, black, yellow and white. May it lead us out of the shadowy valley of fear and into a paradise of peace and good cheer."
Buy them at your local bookstore or use this handy coupon for ordering:
r—— _ — — — _—— —. _ _ — _ — _. —- _^_ Popular Library, P.O. Box 5755, Terra Haute, Indiana 47805
Please send me the books I have checked above. I am enclosing $_
(please add 50c to cover postage and handling). Send check or money order —no cash or C.OD.'s please. Orders of 5 books or more postage free.
Mr/Mrc/Migg
C'rty State/Zip
Please allow three weeks for delivery. This offer expires 5/77.
Yours Free
(Just send 25$ for postage and handling)
Our exciting new catalog of
POPULAR LIBRARY titles you can order direct-by-mail
Expand your choice! Stock up on good reading. Round out your collection of books in your special area of interest.
There isn't room on most paperback book racks and shelves to keep and display a supply of all the titles in print.
So we have established a Reader Service Department where we stock all our titles in print and ship them directly to you upon request..
Mail coupon with 25c and we'll send you our latest catalog of Popular Library paperbacks of all kinds: Astrology, Humor, Science Fiction, Sports, Supernatural, Western, Games and Puzzles, Gardening, Gothic Novels, Mystery and Suspense, and much more.
BOB-4 POPUMR UBMRYpUBUSHERS
Reader Service Department
P.O. Box 6755
Terra Haute,Indiana 47805
Please send me a free copy of your Popular Library catalog of paperback books. I enclose 25c for postage and handling.
Name — Address Citv
State.
The Monte Cristo Cover-Up Page 51
