‘By all means,’ Orlova said. Her voice was dismissive, and faintly irritated.
The waiter took their plates, moving from Orlova’s right to Stahl’s. ‘It is a pleasure to serve such glamorous people,’ he said. The insinuation in his voice was now plainly evident. ‘My name is Rudi, by the way.’
‘Thank you, Rudi,’ Stahl said, turning back to face Orlova.
The waiter bowed politely and said, ‘Some people are known to reward good service.’
‘We’ll remember that,’ Stahl said. ‘Now go away.’
After another bow, the waiter, a slight redness to his cheeks, went off towards the kitchen.
‘Rude little bastard, isn’t he. How much of that do you think he overheard?’ Stahl said. He had a bad feeling in his chest.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Orlova said. ‘I do what I want. My private life is my own affair, and certain people know that very well.’
‘Then I’ll see you later.’
‘After I go upstairs, give me a half-hour.’
Stahl looked to his left, meaning to resume conversation with Princess von Somebody, but Orlova put a hand on his arm. ‘By the way, a silly thing but I want to leave a little something for the maid. Do you happen to have a ten-reichsmark note?’
‘I do,’ Stahl said. ‘I’ll bring it with me.’
When Stahl saw the waiters clearing space in the middle of the ballroom, and a small orchestra began to set up, he realized it was time to go. He took Princess von Somebody’s hand, bent towards it, touched her skin with his lips and said good evening. The princess made a disappointed little mouth and said, ‘Will you not stay for the dancing?’
‘Forgive me, your grace, but I’m very tired, and I must rise early and watch the movies.’
‘I see,’ she said. ‘Then good night, Herr Stahl, it was a pleasure to meet you.’
Stahl realized she’d expected to spend the night with him, so wished her the most gracious good-evening he could manage. Next he looked for Orlova, who was nowhere to be seen, and then, needing a breath of fresh air, he walked through the lobby to the door of the hotel, stepped outside, and took a cigarette and a lighter from his side pocket. He was about to light his cigarette when he smelled smoke. Not woodsmoke from a fireplace, the other kind, where something is burning that shouldn’t be burning. He looked over at the doorman, a giant in a coat with epaulettes, who stood nearby, rubbing his hands to keep them warm — it was a chilly night, with a cutting little wind from the north. ‘Is something on fire?’ Stahl said.
‘No, sir,’ the doorman said.
Stahl looked up the front of the hotel but saw nothing. The smell was getting stronger. For a few moments he waited, listening for sirens, but the night was quiet. Curiously quiet, there was no traffic on what was usually, even late at night, a busy street. ‘You’re sure?’ Stahl said to the doorman.
‘Yes, sir. I am quite sure. But when you have finished your cigarette, it would be better to remain in the hotel for the evening.’
Why? But Stahl said his thank you and lit his cigarette.
12.30 a.m. Stahl walked down the hallway, couldn’t find the Hitler suite, then went back the other way and found a door at the end which faced the corridor, a gold plate inscribed 100 screwed to the polished oak surface. And yes, it was slightly ajar. He knocked lightly, then entered. He was in a foyer, through an open door he could see a bedroom, and a pair of legs with bare feet. Olga Orlova was stretched out on the bed, her gown hiked up above her knees. She rose to a sitting position and smiled at him. ‘My lover at last,’ she said, eyes amused.
‘I’m here, my darling.’
‘Yes, I heard your carriage arrive. Do you have my reichsmark note?’
Stahl handed it to her. She opened a small address book on the night table and spoke the bill’s serial number aloud, consulting her book to make sure the numbers matched. ‘Really,’ she said, ‘I don’t see why we have to do this. I’ve surely seen you enough to know who you are.’ She handed the note back to him and said, ‘For next time.’
Stahl began to fish the Swiss francs out of his tuxedo pockets, then unbuckled his cummerbund, retrieved the rest, and set the stacks on the satin coverlet. ‘A lot of paper,’ he said.
‘How much?’
‘Two hundred thousand francs.’
‘That’s the right number, I’ll count it later. The telephones are turned off by the way, so we don’t have to play the love scene.’
‘They listen to Hitler’s phones?’
She shrugged. ‘Who knows what they do. I’m sure they’re watching your room, so you’d better stay for an hour while we make passionate love.’
Stahl found a chair in the corner and sat down.
Orlova gathered up the money and put it in a large handbag with a shoulder strap. ‘My spy bag,’ she said. She poked around inside, then drew out a sheaf of very thin paper with tiny, spidery writing from top to bottom and edge to edge and walked it over to Stahl. ‘Here’s what your friends are expecting. There’s quite a lot of it this time, Orlova has been terribly social these last few weeks.’
‘Thank you,’ Stahl said.
‘If I knew how to do it properly, I would spit,’ she said. ‘But they didn’t teach girls to do that, not in Czarist Russia. Maybe they do now, in their USSR.’
‘Why spit?’
‘If you read what I brought you, and I don’t think you’re supposed to, you’d know why. These monsters are bad enough in public, but you ought to get a taste of them in private. You’d spit too.’ She lay back down on the bed and put her hands over her eyes. ‘I am tired, Herr Stahl, Fredric. For years.’ She was quiet for a time, Stahl thought she might be going to sleep, but she sat up suddenly and said, ‘Christ! The goddamn hotel’s on fire!’
‘No, I made sure it isn’t, but something is.’
Orlova’s eyes were wide. ‘I know that smell, I know that smell from 1917, that’s a burning building.’
‘Yes, I think it is.’
After a moment she lay back on the bed again.
‘I wonder,’ Stahl said, ‘will there be talk, about our being together up here? If they’re watching my room they know I’m not in there.’
Orlova turned on her side to face him. ‘Talk? Not from the hotel people. For one thing, you could be anywhere in the hotel — the staircase in the Adlon is famous for night-time visits, you don’t have to use the elevator. And even if they suspected something, when it comes to Adolf and his circle they keep their traps well shut. As for the morons who are running the festival, all they know is that I arranged to sit next to you. So what? Maybe I want to go to Hollywood.’
‘Do you?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve thought about it.’
‘They like foreign stars out there — you could be the next Marlene Dietrich. Anyhow, in time you may decide to try it.’
Orlova rolled onto her back and rubbed her eyes. ‘Not much time left, Fredric, based on what’s in your pocket.’
‘Do they speak openly, in front of you?’
‘No, but they like to talk to each other in what they think is a sort of code; winks, and pokes in the ribs, and too bad we can’t let you in on the big secrets.’ She was silent for a moment, then said, ‘Now I’m going to take a nap, you should wait for an hour before you leave.’
3.40 a.m. Stahl had found it hard to go to sleep, had read a third of his Simenon novel, decided to have a brandy sent up to his suite but thought better of it, not wanting to call attention to himself. Finally, sometime after four in the morning, he drifted off.
Then, something brought him sharply awake.
What could have happened? A noise? A nightmare? A noise, for now he heard it again: shattering glass. Something of considerable size, plate glass, like a shop window. And there it was again, somewhere down in the
