by Alan Furst
lighter. This she needed--took a deep draw, exhaled two long plumes
of smoke from her nose, and sat back in the seat. "Marie didn't tell me
much," she said, referring to Madame Dupin.
"It's very kind of you, to do this on short notice."
"For Saint Marie, anything. She does favors for everybody, so . . ."
"It's a dinner given by the Polish General Staff for a delegation
from the Renault company; they've come in from Paris. Then, after
that, a nightclub."
"A nightclub?"
"Yes, the Adria."
"Very fancy. I've never been there."
Mercier's expression said that it was what it was. "A floor show,
likely dancing."
Her nod was grim, but determined--she would handle anything
that came her way. "So, you're at the embassy."
"I am. The military attache."
"Yes, that's what Marie said." She knew what military attaches
did--at least some secret intelligence work--but apparently took it
for an inevitable part of life in foreign service.
"A lot of paperwork is what it amounts to. Sometimes attendance
at field maneuvers. And, as you would imagine, endless meetings." She
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H OT E L E U RO P E J S K I * 4 9
didn't comment, so he said, "Have you always lived here, in Warsaw?"
Marek was driving fast, the Buick's big engine a heavy purr. They
came up close to a trolley and swung boldly around it, skidding on the
track.
"No, I've been based here for, oh, maybe a year and a half, and I
spend a lot of time traveling, mostly down south, and up to Gdansk.
I'm a lawyer with the League of Nations, so sometimes I'm in Geneva.
Talk about endless meetings."
"Where's home, then?"
"I'm Parisian by birth, Polish by heritage."
"An emigre family."
"Yes, I grew up speaking Polish at home, French everywhere else."
"What do you do for the League?"
"Report on legal claims, mostly, a form of arbitration. When the
League redrew the Silesian border in 1921, after the third uprising,
tens of thousands of Poles and Germans were in a new country, and
private citizens continued to submit claims to the League, seeking
satisfaction they couldn't get from local courts. It's the same up in
Danzig, declared by the League a Free City, but what you have is a German population governed by Poles. All this led to local disputes--
land ownership, unfair administration, tax problems. We don't have
legal standing, but we try to arbitrate, and sometimes the local courts
are responsive. Anyhow it's a last resort, for Poles and Germans, even
though Germany left the League when Hitler came to power. The
League is, if nothing else, persistent: war doesn't work, try the courts."
"Try anything," Mercier said.
That caught her attention, and she looked at him. "Not the usual
sentiment," she said, "from someone in uniform."
"You'd be surprised," Mercier said. "Once you've been in the middle of it . . ."
She turned away and stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray on
the arm of the backseat. "Well, now you'll be in it again. Spain is just
the beginning, it'll spread from there."
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"Inevitable, you believe?"
"From the people I talk to, yes. Eaten up with grievance, especially
the Germans. Getting even is what they think about."
"You have a difficult job, Madame Szarbek."
"Anna, please. And it's mademoiselle, for a while anyhow. Is your
job easier than mine?"
"No, not really."
At the Europejski, they were led up a marble stairway to a private dining room, all wood-paneled walls and polished floor. Beneath crystal
chandeliers, a long table was set for thirty; the sheen of the damask
tablecloth, the heavy silver, and the gold-rimmed china glowed in the
light of a dozen candelabra. They were greeted at the door by an officer of the Polish General Staff and his splendidly bejeweled wife. "We
are so very pleased you could join us," she said, her smile gracious and
warm. The room hummed with conversation; officers in uniform,
most of the other men in evening wear, most of the women in formal
gowns. Anna, perhaps momentarily taken aback by all the glitter,
took Mercier's arm. He was instantly aware of the touch of her hand,
resting lightly on his sleeve.
From some distant century, an ancient waiter in a swallowtail coat
moved toward them, parchment face lit by a beatific smile, parchment
hands holding a silver tray, which trembled slightly, bearing two
glasses of champagne. Drinks in hand, they watched him shuffle back
toward the kitchen. Anna started to say something, but another officer
wife descended on them, leading a small fellow in a dark suit, one of
the men from Renault. After the introductions, she swept away, in
search of other strays.
"So, Monsieur Blanc," Mercier said, "a worthwhile visit, so far?"
"Yes, I would say it is; we are making our case. The R-Thirty-five
tank is a magnificent machine."
"And what do you do for the Renault company?"
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H OT E L E U RO P E J S K I * 5 1
"I am one of the senior engineers--I concern myself mostly with
treads."
From Anna, an appreciative, encouraging nod. Treads!
"Yes, that's me. And you, colonel?"
"I'm the military attache, at the embassy."
"Ah, then you must support us--these Poles can be stubborn.
Don't you think, Madame Mercier?"
"Oh yes, indeed, terribly stubborn."
"Tell me, Major Kulski," Anna said, "do you favor the Renault
machine?"
"Mmm, well . . ."
"Oh, perhaps you are unpersuaded."
"Mm. And how do you come to be here tonight, Pana Szarbek?"
"I'm accompanying Colonel Mercier. He's over there, by the
pillar."
"Then you must live in the city."
"Yes, I do, major."
"I wondered. You see, when I'm done with the army for the day,
I'm something of an artist; that's my real passion in life. So, allow me
to say that you would make a superb model, for a life drawing. Truly,
superb."
Mercier shook hands with Colonel Vyborg and said, "How goes the
visit?"
"Not too badly. This afternoon I had a talk with Habich's
assistant--you know Habich?"
"I've met him."
"The best armaments designer in Europe. Anyhow, his assistant
believes that if we buy this worm of an R-Thirty-five, the engineers
can do something to improve it."
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"That's encouraging. Are they thinking about numbers?"
"No, not yet. We need to get our hands on one of them and
Habich's people will tear it to pieces, then we'll see what can be done,
and then we'll talk about numbers."
"So, you're with the League of Nations." The woman was in her seventies, Anna thought; her husband, with grand white cavalry mustaches, at least in his eig
hties. "Such a hopeful notion, my dear, really.
A league, of nations! How far we've come, in this dreadful world. My
husband here, the general, was the late-life son of a colonel in the
Hussars. In 1852, that was. A great hero, my husband's father, he
fought in the Battle of Leipzig and was decorated for bravery--we still
have the medal."
"At Leipzig, really."
"That's right, my dear, with Napoleon."
"At last," Mercier said, appearing at Anna's side. "It's time for dinner.
Are you hungry?"
"Yes. I had a little caviar."
"You seem to have found people to talk to, I kept an eye on you."
"All sorts of people. I met a major who asked me to pose for a life
drawing."
"The hound. And will you?"
"Oh certainly, wouldn't miss it. I think I'll need a feather boa. Or
maybe not."
From the table, a woman called out, "Colonel Mercier? You're
over here."
"Thank you." Mercier drew back a gilded chair and Anna seated
herself, brushing her dress forward as she sat. "Here's the menu," he
said.
Anna hunted around in her evening bag and came up with a pair
of gold-rimmed spectacles. "At last, I can see."
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H OT E L E U RO P E J S K I * 5 3
The grand menu--both hands required--was printed in spidery
italic, with gold cord and tassel down the middle, and simply named
the courses to be served. As he watched her reading, it occurred to
Mercier that Anna's long, searching glances were precisely that--not
personality, myopia. "There's sole meuniere," he said. "I've had that
here, and it's good. Then a roast. Abundant, the roast."
"Abundant is the word," she said. "Six courses."
"That's the Europejski. And you should at least taste the wines,
the cellar is famous."
From Anna, a wry smile. Champagne, three wines--imagine.
"Yes," Mercier said, falling in with her mood, "all of it rich and
elaborate. And be sure to leave room for the tangerine flan."
On Mercier's right, the placement card said Madame de Michaux: a
formidable woman, with low-cut neckline and a circle of rubies at her
heavy throat. Evidently, she'd also read his card. "Mercier de Boutillon," she mused. "And your home, where is that?"
"Down in the Drome, about an hour from Montelimar."
"I believe there's an Albertine, Mercier de Boutillon, in Paris. Is
that the same family?"
"My cousin. A friend of yours?"
"Well, we've met. My husband is on the Renault board of directors, also the opera. I believe that's how I know her. A very engaging
woman, a collector of certain antiquities--is that so?"
"It is. Objets, in onyx. Mostly cameos, I believe."
"You must tell her we sat together, at a dinner in Warsaw. Amusing, no?"
"Certainly I will, the next time I'm in Paris."
"Do you come often, colonel?"
After the duck pate, the consomme, and the sole, as plates were
brought with great red slices of roasted beef, the rules of the formal
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dinner dictated a turn to the other partner. For Mercier, a welcome
turn, Anna Szarbek seemed easy and comfortable after the determined Madame de Michaux--one of those upper-class women who,
polite as could be, worked like a beaver at discovering one's personal
life. Anna reported that the man on her left, Julien Travas, the manager of the Pathe newsreel agency in Warsaw, had been extremely
entertaining. Something of an adventurer, he'd traveled, as a young
man, from Shanghai to Siam by foot and oxcart, and told a good story.
Mercier and Anna worked their way through the roast, then the
macedoine of vegetables, left the quivering tangerine flan on their
plates, drank the coffee, and tasted the cognac. Then it was time for
the nightclub. The Adria was not far from the Europejski, but one had
to arrive in one's automobile. As they drove away from the hotel, Anna
said, "Is this something you do often?"
"Now and then, it's part of the job."
"Good lord."
"Sip the wine, taste the food, find everyone fascinating--a good
motto for diplomacy."
She shook her head. "I guess that's one way to save the world."
"Yes, one way," he said. "After the fish."
There were tables reserved for them at the Adria, and more place
cards, which led to a lighthearted interval of confusion and commentary in the dark, smoky nightclub. Mercier found that Colonel Vyborg
had had them seated at his own table, with the director of Renault's
armaments division and a major in the purchasing section of the Polish General Staff, an owlish, balding fellow, and their wives.
After they were settled, Vyborg ordered champagne, three bottles
of Veuve Clicquot, and, as the waiter opened the first, a blue spotlight
pierced the darkness to reveal, on the small platform that served as a
stage, Marko the Magician--so said a card on an easel--in top hat
and tails, his face stark white with makeup. And his assistant, a girl in
a very brief spangled costume, who opened her mouth, from which
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H OT E L E U RO P E J S K I * 5 5
Marko began to extract, with immaculate white gloves, a series of red
balls. Another, then another, each one producing horrified glances at
the audience as she discovered yet one more red ball inside her. The
major's wife, on Mercier's left, began to giggle, and Mercier guessed
she'd more than sampled the dinner wines. The wife of the Renault
director whispered, "Next time, darling, don't eat so many balls."
"How was your dinner?" Vyborg asked Anna.
"Very good."
"And the wine?"
"That too, very good."
Leaning across his wife, the Renault director said to the major,
"What did you think of our presentation, in Paris? You were with the
purchasing delegation, as I recall."
"Yes, I was," said the major. "A strong field trial, I thought. Of
course, the ground was dry."
"Yes, one's always at the mercy of the weather."
"As are we," the major said. "Our infamous roads, you know."
"It's very difficult for us," the major's wife said. "In this country,
we stay home in the bad seasons."
"That's changing, is it not?" the director said.
"True," Vyborg said. "We're paving some of the roads, but it's a
long process."
"Better roads in Germany," the director said, a tease in his voice.
"So I'm told," the major said. "We hope we don't have to find that
out for ourselves."
"It's something they've been making bets on," Vyborg said, "our
young tank captains and lieutenants. How many hours to Berlin."
"To be encouraged, I guess, that sort of spirit," said the major.
"But much better if everyone stays on their side of the frontier."
"Quite a number of people think the Germans might not," the
director said. "What then?"
On stage, Marko had finished with the red balls, but then, to his
surprise, he discovered that his assistant had swallowed a canary,
> greedy girl. This produced a scattering of applause from the audience
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and a chirp from the canary. Marko, with a flourish, then wheeled a
coffinlike box into the spotlight. The assistant's eyes widened: oh no,
not this.
"I believe she's to be sawn in half," Mercier said.
"She does seem pretty frightened," Anna said. "Acting, I hope."
Vyborg's wife laughed. "A new assistant for every performance."
The director's wife said, "I've heard they do that with birds, sacrifice one for each trick."
"No, really?" Mercier said.
"It's true, I've heard the same thing," the major's wife said.
"As I was saying"--the director's voice was quiet but firm--"what
then? You'll need all the armoured forces you can deploy."
"Of course you're right, monsieur," the major said, "but our
resources are limited. Germany's industry recovered from the war
faster than ours, and they outnumber us in tanks by thirty to one."
Mercier recalled Jourdain's meeting at the embassy. "Twenty-five
to one," he'd said, unless Mercier's memory was failing him, but he
didn't think it was.
"We know Poland isn't a rich country," the director said, "but
that's what banks are for."
The major's assent was a grim nod. Rather gently he said, "They
do expect to be paid back."
"Of course. But I'll tell you something, they won't be so finicky
about it if German divisions come across your border."
"They'll regret it if they do," Vyborg's wife said. "They may overwhelm us, at first, but in time they'll be sorry. And, while we're working on that here, they'll have the French army coming across their
other border."
"That could," the director said, "take a few weeks, you know. In
all fairness. Apologies to Colonel Mercier."
"You needn't," Mercier said. "It took us time to organize ourselves in 1914, and it will again." No, we're not coming, we're going to
sit on the Maginot Line.
"I suspect Hitler knows that," the director said.
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Marko's assistant had now climbed into the coffin, bare feet protruding from one end, head from the other. With a lethal-looking saw
in hand, Marko bent over the box and, on the side away from the audience, began to cut. The blade was obviously set between two metal
bands that circled the coffin, but the progress of the saw was loud and
