“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
And as the lights of Munich shone in the distance, she hoped that Elaine Otterburn’s journey had been a piece of cake—for by Maisie’s reckoning she, Leon Donat, and Gilbert Leslie should be safe in Zurich by now.
Following her arrival at the American embassy—her presence in the building authorized by Mark Scott—Maisie was taken to a small room to await the return of her belongings from the Hotel Vier Jahreszeiten. A woman knocked and entered, giving Maisie a broad smile as she held up the case, raising her eyebrows as if to applaud the accomplishment. She placed the case on a table set against one wall and asked Maisie if she would like to check the contents.
“Thank you so much for this,” said Maisie.
“Oh, the thanks should go to our Mr. Scott. He’s busy right now, but I’ve made a reservation for you at the small hotel along the street. It’s nothing like the accommodation you’ve been used to—the French would call it a ‘pension’—but there was a room available there, and it’s all been booked in the name of Mrs. M. Compton. Is that right?”
Maisie nodded and thanked her again.
The hotel was indeed close to the American consulate, on Lederer Strasse. Registration had been completed with speed by the American woman—who introduced herself as Dorothy Blake—so Maisie was able to retire to her room without undue delay. It was not a large quarter by any means. The bathroom was on the landing, and the furniture comprised a bed, a chest of drawers, a narrow wardrobe, and a washbasin in the corner. The towels were clean but thin and rough, and had seen better days. Above the washbasin was a mirror with brown flecks and fading at the edge. In it Maisie’s reflection was muted, as if it were a photograph posed for in a studio and then developed in a way that diminished sharp definition, bringing a softness to the subject.
After she’d opened her case on the floor and unpinned her hat, Maisie lingered in front of the mirror for a few seconds before pulling the wig from her head, scratching her scalp as if to tear every last vestige of her assumed identity from her being. She looked into the mirror again, ran her fingers through her short black hair, and said aloud, “Nice to see you again, Maisie.” And she realized that from the moment she had assumed the identity of Edwina Donat, it was as if her body had been removed from her spirit, and now the two were beginning to become joined once more.
She washed her face, running wet fingers through her hair again, then dressed in her nightclothes and climbed into bed, under crisp, clean white cotton sheets, a blanket, and eiderdown. She had pulled back the curtains before getting into bed, and now she stared out into the clear night sky. Tomorrow she would make arrangements for her journey home to England. Once there, she knew exactly what she must do.
The morning brought a cold snap, yet the sunshine was bright and the streets were busy as Maisie walked toward the nearest Reisebüro, a sign reading “Deutsche Lufthansa” bold in the window. She made her reservation with ease for that same afternoon and was assured that, upon her arrival in Rome, she’d find a room reserved for her at the Hotel d’Inghilterra, a most appropriate place for an Englishwoman to stay. Maisie returned to her room and made sure that her case was packed and ready for her to leave at noon.
The light was bright enough to warrant wearing dark glasses without attracting undue attention as she walked the streets she had come to know in Munich. She did not tempt fate by returning to stroll past the Nazi headquarters, making her way instead to the Hofgarten. She looked around as she went, wondering how it was that a day out could be enjoyed in such a serene place, when there were those who planned terror just a few streets away. Approaching steps and a low voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Don’t tell me you were thinking of leaving without saying good-bye.”
Maisie turned. “Mr. Scott.” She smiled and slowed, allowing him to walk in step. “I wasn’t trying to run out on you—but you’re a busy man. I didn’t want to interrupt you. I must thank you again for your help and your hospitality. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate it—you came along at just the right time yesterday.”
“Turning up again like a bad penny, that’s what my ex-wife always said.”
“Well, we’ve had our ups and downs, but I’m very grateful to you. I might still be walking along a country road looking for Munich.”
There was a prolonged silence before Scott spoke again.