The promenade begins to fill as more passengers enter, drawn by the disturbance. Among them are Herr and Frau Doehner, looking fresh and alert. They hold hands, and Emilie suspects it was a night well spent. Hermann Doehner is a good eight inches taller than his wife, but she makes up for it with girth and force of personality. She’s solid rather than pudgy, but doesn’t carry herself like a woman who struggles to maintain her figure. Matilde Doehner practically floats across the floor. Whether from a revived sense of passion, a good night’s rest, or simple joy at seeing her children, Emilie cannot tell. Regardless, she swoops the boys into her arms, smothering their little blond heads with kisses. Whispering endearments. Irene tucks herself into the crook beneath her father’s arm and smiles at him with adoration. Emilie is struck by the joy in this private reunion. A happy family. Two miracles in one day. What are the odds?
Emilie watches the Doehners from a safe distance, reminded of her own isolation. She thinks of the note Max left in his angry scrawl and their argument this morning. Her thin veneer of composure is a sham—this pleasant smile and unperturbed demeanor. On the inside she is a gurgling mass of apprehension and nervous energy. She feels simultaneously caged and exposed. She wants to hide. She wants to run.
Once the excitement has died down, Emilie helps Matilde usher the children back into the reading room while Hermann stays behind to chat with the two Jewish businessmen, their heads bent in whispered conversation. Walter and Werner each select a pencil from a jar on the shelf. They take their time, looking for pencils with new, flat erasers. The boys stand the pencils on end, the erasers set on the smooth, polished aluminum. They squat next to the table, eyes level with its surface, and wait.
“Your legs will tip over before the pencils do,” Emilie says.
“Mother told us about this game,” Walter says. “She will give a mark to whoever’s pencil stays standing longest.”
Emilie gives Matilde a questioning glance and gets a smile in return. Clever woman. The elevator operators in the control car never let the airship drift at more than a five-degree angle. Anything more than that will send dishes sliding off the tables. Frau Doehner must know this. She has counted on it, in fact, because she settles into her chair with a satisfied grin. The boys are competitive. They will be at this for some time.
The morning ambles along pleasantly without any further disturbance. Passengers move in and out of the reading room. They scratch missives onto their postcards. Work the crossword puzzle. Read. A few chat quietly in the corner. Irene scribbles frantically at a pile of postcards. Matilde is absorbed in some novel. Emilie can’t read the title, but, given the pinking of her cheeks, she guesses that romance is involved. The boys are still at their game, but now they are trying to blow down one another’s pencil.
“No cheating,” Frau Doehner warns. “I’ll not reward cheaters.”
They settle down and she returns to her novel. Emilie can see the cover now. The Age of Innocence. She has good taste at least. Not that Emilie can judge. There’s a worn copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover, translated into Italian, hidden beneath her pillow. It’s not available in Germany yet, for obvious reasons. She picked up a copy in Rome several years ago, and, given the number of times she has read it, she has easily gotten her money’s worth. Good thing Max didn’t find that last night or they might have had an entirely different sort of evening.
Emilie looks up just as Max enters the reading room. Her cheeks burn hot and she stares at her feet for a moment. His timing is rather suspect. It’s as though she has summoned him with her thoughts. He’s wearing his cap and an amiable smile. A basket is tucked under one arm. He moves around the room in a counterclockwise direction, collecting postcards and offering stamps. He’s talkative. Cheery. And Emilie realizes that she knows him well enough now to see through the charade. The bags under his eyes and the pinched line of his mouth reveal a hidden misery. A misery that she has caused.
It’s too much for her. Emilie quietly takes leave of the Doehner family. She squeezes Matilde’s shoulder and tells her that she has a few tasks that must be tended to before lunch. And then she slips from the room when Max is at the farthest point from her.
He’s quick when he needs to be. Damn him. And he can’t resist a challenge. She knows this about him too. So she is only mildly surprised to hear his voice in the keel corridor, ringing out behind her. She rushes down the stairs.
“We need to talk, Emilie.”
She ignores him, walking faster, eyes darting to and fro in search of a place to escape. The kitchen is her only promising option, and she pushes through the door without having any real plan in mind. It’s only when she sees Xaver Maier that an idea takes shape. Max will follow her. She’s certain of this. He’s still angry and he has not yet said his peace.
“What’s wrong?” Xaver asks.