steam laundry in Shaftsbury Avenue and accustomed, as he frequently observed, to hot air. A bulky, middle-aged man with gold-rimmed glasses, a notable nose and longish black hair, Russells agent seemed unchanged by the last three years.
This is my son, Solly, Russell said.
My, hes bigger than I imagined. Welcome to England, young man.
Thank you, Paul said in English.
Ah, a linguist. I have just the book for him. He searched through the piles on the floor and extracted a large picture book of world aeroplanes. Have a look at that and tell me what you think, he said, handing it over. Throw those books on the floor, he added, indicating a loaded seat in the corner.
He turned back to Russells grinning face. Its good to see you in the flesh. Three years, isnt it? A long time in todays world.
Something like that, Russell agreed, taking a seat.
You havent come to tell me youve found a better agent?
Good God, no.
Well then, I can tell you weve sold the Germanys Neighbours series in both Canada and Australia. And herehe rummaged in a draweris a check to prove it.
Russell took it, and passed a sheaf of papers in the opposite direction. One for each series, he said. I thought Id save the postage.
An expensive way to do it. You came by train, I take it?
Nope. We flew.
Bernsteins eyebrows rose. Even more expensive. My percentage is obviously too low.
I came for another reason. Two, actually. And one was to ask you a favor. Russell outlined the Wiesners circumstances, his hope that at least some members of the family would be given exit visas before a war broke out. Paul, he noticed, was listening with great interest to his recital. Ive just put the family wealth in a safety deposit box, he told the unusually sober Bernstein. There are two keys, and I was hoping youd hang on to one of them. Theyll have the other, but theres a good chance it would be confiscated at the border.
Why, in heavens name?
Simple spite. If Jews are caught carrying a key out, the Nazis will guess its for something like this.
Id be happy to keep one of them.
Thanks, Russell said, handing the key over. Thats a weight off my mind. He stole a glance at Paul, who looked more confused than anything else.
How long are you here for? Bernstein asked.
Oh, only till Sunday. I came with my girlfriends sisterthat was the other reason. She wanted to have her son examined by an English doctor. A long story. But if theres a war, well, I guess Ill be back for the duration.
Without him? Bernstein asked, nodding in Pauls direction.
Without him.
Bernstein made a sympathetic face. Anyway, at least youve got a lot of work at the moment. No other ideas you want to talk about?
Not at the moment. He looked at his watch. Wed better go. Paul?
His son closed the book and brought it over. You can keep it, Bernstein said. Practice your English on the captions.
Thank you, Paul said. Very much, he added carefully.
Its working already. He offered Paul his hand, then did the same to Russell.
He was a nice man, Paul said, as they made their way down through the steamy stairwell.
He is, Russell agreed, as they reached the pavement. And hes Jewish, he added, hoping that Paul was not going to wipe the handshake off on his coat.
He didn't, but he did look upset.
Theyre wrong about the Jews, Russell said firmly. They may be right about many things, but theyre wrong about the Jews.
But everyone says. . . .
Not everyone. I dont. Your mother doesnt. Your Uncle Thomas doesnt. Effi doesnt.
But the government says. . . .
Governments can be wrong. Theyre just people. Like you and me. Look what foreign governments did to Germany in 1918. They were wrong. It happens, Paul. They get things wrong.
Paul looked torn between anger and tears.
Look. Lets not spoil the trip arguing about politics. Were in Londonlets enjoy it. They were walking down Charing Cross Road by this time. I know where we can get a cup of tea and a cake, he said, steering Paul off to the left. A few minutes later they were on the edge of Covent Garden market, dodging trucks piled high with crates of fruit and vegetables. Russell led them into one of the cafes.
It was full of men sawing at rashers of bacon and dribbling egg down their chins. Fried grease in its gaseous, liquid, and solid forms filled the air, lay congealing on the tables and covered the walls. England, Russell thought. He had a sudden memory of a similar cafe just outside Victoria Station, where hed eaten his last meal before service in France. Twenty-one years ago.
Russell bought two large cups of tea and two aptly named rock cakes. Paul nibbled at the edges of his, rightfully fearing for his teeth, but liked the tea once hed added four teaspoons of sugar. The cake is terrible, he told his father in German, causing several sets of less-than-friendly eyes to swivel their way.
Do you know anything about football? Russell asked the nearest man in English.
Maybe.
Are there any games on in London tomorrow?
Arsenal are playing Chelsea, another man volunteered.
At Highbury?
Of course.
And the games still kick off at three? Ive been working abroad for a while, he added in explanation.
So we see, the first man said with a leer. Yeah, they still kick off at three.
Thanks. Would you like to see a game tomorrow? he asked Paul. Arsenal are playing Chelsea.
His sons eyes lit up. Arsenal are the best!
They finished their teas, abandoned the half-excavated rock cakes, and picked their way through the vegetable market, taking particular care outside the peel-strewn frontage of a banana wholesaler. It was getting dark now, and Russell wasnt sure where he was. Looking for a street sign they found one for Bow Street.
Bow Street, Paul echoed. This is where Chief Inspector Teal brings the men hes arrested.
Away to their left a blue light was shining. They walked up the street and stood across from the forbidding- looking police station, half-expecting the fictional inspector to emerge through the double doors, busily chewing on a wad of Wrigleys as he adjusted his bowler hat.
Back on the Strand they found the Stanley Gibbons stamp shop was still open, and Paul spent a happy twenty minutes deciding which packets of cheap assorted stamps he most wanted. Russell looked in the catalogue for the ones Wiesner had given him in payment and was surprised to find how valuable they were. He wondered how many pounds-worth were nestling behind the stickers in their safety deposit box.
Zarah was more talkative at dinner than he ever remembered, and seemed newly determined to encourage the idea of his marrying her sister. She and Lothar accompanied them on their after-dinner walk this time, and Lothar, like Paul, seemed enthralled by the huge glittering river and its never-ending procession of barges and other boats. Russell and Zarah agreed upon their plans for Saturday: shopping in the morning, football for him and Paul in the afternoon, dinner with Jenss embassy friend for her and Lothar in the evening. When they said goodnight outside her and Lothars room, she thanked him warmly for his help. Theyd almost become friends, Russell thought. Effi would be amazed.
Paul was yawning, but Russell felt far too restless for sleep. Bedtime for you, he told his son. Im going back downstairs for a drink. I wont be long.
Youre just going downstairs?
