“That sounds like a very bad line in one of those pictures at the cinema. What are you doing here?” She kept her voice down, her eyes scanning the room in case their conversation had attracted interest. “You of all people should be more circumspect.”
“Probably, but strange as it may sound, I am one of those guys easily forgotten by people in my midst. For some reason they don’t remember me.” He set his hat on the banquette next to Maisie and drew back the chair opposite her. “Mind if I join you?” He continued to sit down without waiting for a reply. Once seated, he reached for her book and slipped into an accentuated drawl. “Gone with the Wind? Miss Donat, if the best you can do is a bit of southern romance, why, I do declare, you aren’t the woman I estimated you to be.”
Maisie shook her head and looked away.
“Oh, come on—even at the worst of times, we must have something to smile about.”
“It’s hard to forget what the worst of times can really be like, Mr. Scott, especially in the midst of another of those times.” She pushed the newspaper toward him, with its headline in bold letters: “Hitler Announces Union with Austria.” She looked up as a waiter approached with her glass of wine. “I’m not sure you should be seen here, Mr. Scott—or with me.”
“I’ll make it quick, then.” He shook his head when the waiter asked if he would like to order a beverage. “What happened when you went along to see your friend Berger? Was he tap-dancing, trying to explain the disappearance of Leon Donat?”
Maisie shook her head. “No.” She sipped her wine, casting her gaze around the room once more. She wasn’t sure Scott was as invisible as he considered himself to be. “Let’s just say it was all very light and cordial—or as light and cordial as one would expect in that place. I’m allowed to stay here for about three days, which I will use to find Donat. They won’t like me looking—the Germans or the British in Munich. But . . . there’s something very amiss here.”
“Be careful—you have no idea how complex this situation is.”
Maisie sat back. “Oh, I think I do, Mr. Scott. I’m just surprised no one has found either Donat or the young man he was supposedly helping. Mind you, the Germans thought they had him. I cannot believe they were fooled.”
“Maybe they weren’t.”
Maisie kept her voice low, took another sip of wine, and set down her glass. “That had crossed my mind.”
“It’s a web, Miss . . . Donat.” He smiled as the waiter approached again and set a plate in front of Maisie.
She declined additional condiments, and the waiter left. Scott waited until he was out of earshot.
“Don’t be the fly who gets caught in that web, Fr?ulein D. We’re all skirting the edges—your friend Leslie too. Did you see anything interesting today? I lost you just as the tram made it to that stop close to the river.”
Maisie looked at Scott, folded the newspaper, and lifted her knife and fork. “That’s annoying—I thought I’d managed to get rid of you before that.” She sighed, at once grateful for someone to talk to beyond the stiff Leslie and officers of the SS. “I saw two German girls playing. They must have been seven or eight. Both wrapped up warm and looking for the stray cat they’d befriended, to give it some food. Then they went on their way.”
“That sounds riveting, Fr?ulein D.”
“Give it a little while, and it might be: one was Jewish, and the other wasn’t. They were playing where they might not be seen, because one set of parents had forbidden their daughter to play with her friend—perhaps for the safety of both children, who knows? Given the climate here, one must be careful before pointing the finger of blame. But that’s the great sadness of any act of discrimination, isn’t it? When children cannot play together.” Maisie reached for her book. She wanted to be alone.
“Well, ma’am, I guess I had better take my leave.” Once again Scott sounded as if he’d come straight from America’s Deep South. He stood up and was gone, passing into the shadows of the dimly lit dining room. No one looked up. No waiter paid attention to his leaving. He might never have been in the room.