by John Schou
relieved. As a reward, she poured her boss an extra cup of coffee and said a long sentence in Spanish, expressing her gratitude, then disappeared, out to call her family in Toledo, giving them the happy news after all had feared the coming days.
As she was gone, Mr. Smith told me, “As you heard, the replacement is rather unusual, and I am not quite happy about it. Tomorrow at 8 a.m., a German man, Kurt Meier, shall come. Juanita will have a day to show him his duties and whereabouts. I am not quite comfortable about the idea.”
“I understand. A typical female occupation …”
He interrupted me: “Did you ever hear about a butler? No, I am disturbed by something else. A German man, who does not speak any Danish and lives in Munich, as she told, how can he manage to be here tomorrow when I am still sleeping?”
I smiled. A lot of things happened while Mr. Smith was sleeping. “Let us ask him that when he comes.”
“And second, what kind of illness suddenly hit at Mrs. Petrovic? Call Sam and ask him to find out, if necessary in Poland. He should pass here; we anyhow owe him some money.”
“Okay. Then I shall call upon Fred to find out if Hans Schulz is still at Shepherd’s.”
“Who is Hans Schulz?”
“Maybe the same as Kurt Maier. The only German among the 5 James Bonds, who stayed at the hotel after the weekend. And if you don’t mind, I shall call off my holiday plans with Miss Jørgensen and stay here instead, to make sure that my boss stays alive and can pay my salary.”
“I shall appreciate that very much. You shall get your compensation later – provided I am still alive by then. Go and call Fred, I shall take care of Sam myself.”
I went to my office and started with the easy task, that of instructing Fred.
“And what if he just checked out?” he argued.
“Then check the other 75 hotels and find out where he then slept, starting in the cheap end. If I’m right in my suspicion, Hans Schulz has then changed name to Kurt Maier and claimed he arrived from Munich.”
“It is easier to check the passenger lists,” Fred argued.
“Please, if you have access to this super secret information. Call back this evening; I have something for you here.”
I looked out of the window. It had already starting getting darker, perhaps helped by dark clouds. Below these, it was strangely clear. I could see the lights turning up in the city of Malmö and smaller villages up North the coast. There were people there who looked at the lights of Copenhagen, without gathering the crisis going on here, I thought. Then I concluded that I had to get it done. I called Alice.
No need to refer her disappointment and despair. There was no way back, I had offered my assistance to Mr. Smith and he had accepted it. Even as she threatened to make up an affair with whoever turned up, dressed as Santa Claus, I remained stony hard. “I am not staying here for pleasure,” I said. “He promised to compensate us in the New Year. Search out an elegant place for a ski holiday for two weeks in February, then we shall forget this event. It is really something extraordinary.”
“Can’t buy my love,” she said. In fact, she said more but that I shall keep for myself. It did not change the situation, only made it sadder.
Fred called in the evening: “Hans Schulz is still at Shepherd’s and Lufthansa carried a certain Kurt Maier from Munich to Copenhagen, but I have no idea where he will spend the night.”
“That suffices,” Mr. Smith said as I brought him the news, “Maybe I was just too paranoiac. Did you hear anything from Sam?”
“No, but he also got the more difficult task. I don’t know if he was ever active in Poland and how to proceed with any request there.”
“Sam speaks both Russian and German, so he will find ways.”
None of them had yet received their money from Monday’s action, Fred with an extra premium for throwing a bomb. I wrote the surplus down, expecting the same in cash when my monthly wage should be paid. Then Mr. Smith suddenly wanted to speak about the strategy – in essence my tasks – for the coming weeks.
Wednesday Morning started great. I had slept at home for the last night for a while and prepared my apartment at Østerbro for my absence. I had also packed some clothes in a suitcase, so this time I took a taxi to Hellerup. When I arrived, there was already a young man waiting in front of the house. He was somewhat smaller than I, dark haired with brown eyes, with a dark-green coat, covering a black suit with a uniformly coloured red tie.”
“Mr. Gusto, I suppose?”
I looked astonished at him. “Dr. Livingstone?”
He smiled. “No, Maier, Kurt Maier is the name, with A-I. I arrived 10 minutes ago. A lady in there told me to wait for you here.”
“Please come along, I’ll take care that she does not bite. After all, she should treat you well or her Christmas holiday will be cancelled.” We both ascended the stairs, I with one and he with two suitcases. I opened the door with the key.
“Juanita, come and greet your successor,” I shouted. To him in a lower tune: “I’ll be there in a minute. I’ll just bring this suitcase up to my room.”
“Shall I help you,” he offered.
“No need to. Just go to the kitchen, your real challenge will appear in half an hour. I’ll soon be back to facilitate the first encounter with Mr. Walrus.”
“I thought Smith was his name.”
“We better check the address – oh no, you are right, I was just joking.” I suddenly came to think of my uncle, who had lived in Germany for some years. “The Germans are very accurate, therefore you have to pronounce each joke as such. In particular, when using ironical phrases, they have a problem with that, I always added, ‘Ha-ha, Sie verstehen wohl Spaß,’ and then they always claimed that they did.”
I left him in the kitchen, so that Juanita could begin with her instructions. I scanned the mail superfluously, it anyhow consisted largely of bills; then the emails – actually only one to me from Alice who regretted if she had been too strong against me yesterday. Finally the newspapers: no new wars, the rest: repetitions. Then I went back to the kitchen.
I gave Mr. Maier some warning words about Mr. Smith but soon stopped as I heard the elevator. Juanita had instructed Mr. Maier about how to prepare and serve the breakfast – he was not here to consume it in our presence.
“Hasta Mañana, Juanita, good morning Eric, guten Morgen Herrn Maier – oder darf ich Kurt sagen?“ Mr. Smith was very proud of the many languages he knew and more than grateful for an occasion to use them. And fortunately for me, the communication in the house was generally restricted to English.
„Selbstverständlich, Herrn Schmidt. Ich bin sehr geehrt, dass ich den nächsten drei Wochen bei Ihnen Aushilfe leisten kann.“
„Danke. Wo haben Sie zuletzt gearbeitet?“
„Bei Baron von Schnabel, der letzten Monat in hohem Alter verstarb. Ich war die letzten fünf Jahre bei ihm – und dann war ich plötzlich arbeitslos.“
„Hat der Baron nicht an diese Möglichkeit gedacht?“
„Doch, ich bekam einer ganz anständigen Abfindung – aber Geld ist ja nicht alles.“
They talked more about this and that, while Mr. Maier took care not to forget his duties. He was obviously not accustomed to talking with the boss in such confident matter.
“Now for the practical issues. We have reserved a room in the nearby Hellerup Hotel. Since your job is due for a limited time, I hope you can accept a longer working time – no quite working time, rather presence. From 8 in the morning until 8 in the evening. Your gastronomic charges are to prepare breakfast in the morning for 9 a.m. and a cold lunch for Mr. Gusto and me for 12:30 – in Denmark, they mostly eat cold in the middle of the day. Dinner will be brought from outside and served by Mr. Gusto – we shall need to find out if you prefer to eat here or where you live.”
Juanita gazed widely upon these words, but fortunately stayed silent. Mr. Smith continued, “The money you receive from the agency are supplied by me, but I did not decide on a certain factor. Have you any demands?�
��
“No, I shall let it depend upon your satisfaction with my work.”
I was about to mention that Mr. Smith rarely expressed satisfaction, even when there was all reason to do so, but he must have felt it and silenced me with a hateful glance.
“Another cup of coffee?” Juanita asked.
Mr. Smith nodded and I stretched my cup out against her. Mr. Maier indicated that he had finished and asked for permission to leave the table. Then he started to wash the dishes, as a Teutonic desire for cleanness.
“Please leave that for later, Mr. Maier. We Irish are even worse than the British clinging to tradition, and while we are having breakfast here and not in the Morning Room, this activity will have to be postponed. Speaking about tradition, I have a siesta between 13:15 and 15:00, and then coffee will be expected in the central office. Juanita will explain further peculiarities and what she might forget, we shall deal with when we meet it. When you are ‘on demand,’ I suggest that you spend your time either here in the kitchen or in the Music Room, where the furniture is more comfortable – provided there are no clients there, but we do not expect any in the time of your service. But since my job is to deal with the unexpected, it remains a possibility. In the upper floor, I have my retirement lodging, and there is nothing for you to do there. Mrs. Rasmussen will come each afternoon at 2 p.m. and clean the lower floor and from 3 p.m. the upper floor.”
Again, Juanita made a surprised face – it was part of her job. Mr. Smith had arranged it himself. What for was this man good?
“After breakfast, Mr. Gusto may call a taxi and join you to the hotel.”
“Mr. Maier only came with two suitcases. If we take one each, we can just walk. It is only a couple of hundred meters and the weather is fine,” I suggested.
“Do you agree, Mr. Maier?”
“Yes, but let me just take a few issues away from one suitcase, which I may need here. Is there room for them here in the kitchen?”
“This cupboard is almost empty, and now it is completely yours,” Juanita said and stowed a few pans together with similar items in another of the upper cupboards.
Mr. Maier opened the big suitcase and took some books and other items away, while Mr. Smith and I finished breakfast.
“I see you are a reader. In my office and a large store room in the cellar, I have a large collection, entirely at your disposition. How is your attitude to classical music?”
I played cello in Munich but, for this brief occupation, I left it there.”
“And how about operas, for example Richard Wagner’s?”
“Baron von Schnabel used to take me with him to Bayreuther Festspiele, and also to other places. I know all ten Wagner operas by heart.”
“Actually there are thirteen.”
“Yes, but the early three are hardly played. I only heard Rienzi once in Dresden.”
“Eric, we are entering a new era. Finally someone who appreciates my taste.”
In this moment, the telephone rang. “That’s my music,” I said and took it, a mobile apparatus we for strange reasons kept in the kitchen while the others were restricted by cables; Mr. Smith did not like the idea that the neighbouring houses and perhaps somebody else could tap the information. In the meantime, NSA can wiretap the telephone conversations worldwide and are working on automatic systems for selecting the most interesting talks. This time, Sam was calling and I didn’t care if his message was heard in Atlanta or not.
“Mrs Petrovic is well off and apparently not in need of money.”
“Would you just repeat this to Mr. Smith,” I said and immediately, after handing him the phone, led Mr. Maier out of the Kitchen, together with the suitcase, which was in the meantime closed. I longed to take a thorough view of his luggage but had no occasion. We went out, each with one suitcase, in the sunny day, which could be in October rather
