‘That’s a promise,’ Tayte said, looking around for street signs. ‘I hope we’re heading the right way.’
They kept walking, leaving the plaza and entering into shade along a narrow street that was lined with Baroque architecture. A moment later Jean pointed across the street to a side junction. ‘Look. There’s a street sign—Viscardigasse. Gasse means alley if I’m not mistaken. Residenzstrasse is straight ahead. I think we must be on it now.’
‘Great,’ Tayte said. ‘The restaurant shouldn’t be far.’
There were shops to their right, set back beneath the buildings, creating a covered walkway off the street. They crossed and strolled beside them, Jean window browsing while Tayte kept looking for the plaza the taxi driver had said the restaurant was opposite. He noticed the sunlight was splashing onto the front of the buildings a hundred metres or so ahead of them, and he thought that must be where Max-Joseph-Platz was. His stomach groaned when they passed a café and a wonderful scent of coffee and pastries hit him. He was about to increase the pace when Jean suddenly stopped. When he turned around to see why, she wouldn’t let him.
‘Don’t look,’ she said, reaching up and covering his eyes. ‘I’ve seen something I want to get for you.’
She pushed Tayte’s head away and he thought he heard her giggle. He wondered what she could possibly have seen.
‘Go and wait in the sun,’ she said, giving Tayte a gentle shove. ‘And no peeking.’
Tayte rather liked the cool shade, but he did as he was told and within a minute he was standing at the corner of Max-Joseph-Platz, looking across the sunlit plaza towards an impressive neo-classical portico that led into a building whose purpose he was unable to determine from so far back. He strolled towards it, pausing partway, where he leaned against a circular railing that had numerous bicycles chained to it. He put his bags down, and as he looked back he spotted the restaurant they were heading for and hoped Jean wouldn’t be too long. He checked his watch—the same old-fashioned digital throwback from the 1980s with the red LED digits that had served him so faithfully all these years. It told him it was 17.14.
Tayte waited a few minutes, and then he ambled closer to the Corinthian-columned portico that dominated the square, curious to see what the building was used for. As he drew closer to the steps that ran up to the main entrance, he saw that it was the Max-Joseph-Platz National Theatre, and having satisfied his curiosity, he turned away again and slowly headed back, thinking that Jean should be entering the plaza at any minute. He arrived back at the railings and checked his watch again. It was 17.22 and there was still no sign of her.
Maybe there was a line at the checkout, he thought. He closed his eyes and began to think about the research he wanted to do after they checked in at the hotel. Two friends, whose friendship was torn apart by a girl—Ava Bauer . . . That was the story Johann Langner was telling them about. Was it significant? Tayte didn’t know at this point. All he did know was that his mother had seemingly been interested in Volker Strobel or perhaps Johann Langner, or maybe even the building she’d been photographed outside. He made a mental note to visit Langner’s former Hitler Youth building, now a museum and education centre, while they were in Munich. Perhaps it held some further clue as to what had drawn his mother there.
Tayte opened his eyes and scanned for Jean again. Nothing. He checked his watch and realised he’d been daydreaming for several minutes because it was now 17.30, which he thought was too long. He strode back to the edge of the plaza onto Residenzstrasse and looked back along the shady street. There were plenty of people about, but he couldn’t see Jean among them. He walked over to the shops and began to stroll beside them, conscious of upsetting Jean’s surprise, but twenty minutes had passed since he’d left her and he was beginning to worry.