“Show this new girl upstairs. Quickly! We have a lot to do before the dinner crowd arrives.” Frau Gunnel looked at Marta again and shook her head. “I hope you’re as good as all your fine papers claim.” She held a bowl locked in one arm as she stirred fiercely with the other.
Hedda led Marta upstairs. Glancing back, she raised her brows. “I’m surprised you came here with all your qualifications, Fraulein.”
She looked at the drab stairwell walls. “Unfortunately, I don’t speak French or English.”
“Neither do I.” Hedda opened a door and stepped aside. “This is where we sleep. It’s small, but comfortable. I hope you aren’t afraid of mice. We have a nest of them somewhere in the wall. You can hear them scratching at night. Take that bed over there.”
Marta saw a row of plank platforms with uninviting graying feather beds rolled at the end. The room was cold. The small, narrow windows faced east, leaving the room dimly lit in the afternoon. No curtains to keep out the dawn. When Marta peered out, she could see only empty window boxes and the street below.
“I’m leaving soon,” Hedda announced from the doorway. “I’m marrying Arnalt Falken. Have you heard of him?”
“I’m new to Montreux.”
“His father is very rich. They live in a mansion up the road from here. Arnalt came one evening by himself and ordered beer and sausage. He says he took one look at me and fell in love.”
Marta thought of Elise. Hedda had periwinkle eyes and long blonde hair, too. She hoped the girl had good sense.
Hedda nodded toward the window. “Frau Gunnel will expect you to plant flowers soon. She made me pay for them last year.”
“Why should either one of us pay for them?”
She shrugged. “Frau Gunnel says we’re the ones who get to enjoy them.”
Marta dumped her knapsack on the bed. “If Frau Gunnel wants to dress up the outside of this place, she’ll have to pay, or there’ll be no flowers.”
“I wouldn’t argue with her, Fraulein, not if you want to keep your job. Flowers don’t cost too much, and the patrons give good tips.” She laughed. “Analt droppped a ten franc coin down my bodice the first time he came.”
Marta turned away from the window. “No one is going to drop anything down my bodice.”
“They will if you’re friendly.” The gleam in Hedda’s eyes told Marta the girl valued money more than reputation.
By the end of the first week, Marta saw ways to improve the eatery. When she overheard Frau Gunnel complaining about poor business, Marta shared her thoughts.
“With a few changes, your business would improve.”
Frau Gunnel turned. “Changes? What changes?”
“It wouldn’t cost much if you repainted the front window boxes with bright colors and filled them with flowers that would attract the eye. The menus you have now are greasy. You could reprint them and put them in sturdy folders. Vary your menu occasionally.”
Plump face reddening, Frau Gunnel put her hands on her ample hips. She looked Marta up and down in contempt. “You’re sixteen and you think you know so much with your fancy certificate and recommendations. You know nothing!” She jerked her head. “Go back to the kitchen!”
Marta went. She hadn’t meant to insult the woman.
Frau Gunnel came in a few minutes later and went back to work on a hunk of beef, using a mallet as though attempting to kill a live animal. “I know why customers don’t come. I have one pretty waitress who used to attract customers before she decided to marry one of them. And I have little Fraulein Marta as plain as bread and as friendly as
No one in the kitchen looked up. Marta felt the heat rush into her face. “No one wants to eat in a dirty restaurant.” Marta barely managed to dodge the flying mallet. Stripping off her apron, she tossed it like a shroud over the embattled beef and headed for the stairs. She threw her few things into a bag, marched downstairs and out onto the street. People up and down the block turned when Frau Gunnel stood in the doorway cursing her.
By the time the woman slammed the door, Marta’s body felt so hot, she was sure steam came off her. She walked uphill rather than down. She pounded on one door after another, making inquiries. The first few opened the door, took one look out, and ducked back inside their houses, closing the door quickly in her face. Still fuming, Marta realized what a sight she must be and tried to calm down.
Now what? No job. No place to live. Her prospects were dimmer than when she had arrived in Montreux a month ago. She didn’t want to go back to Luisa von Olman’s and be a burden. She didn’t want to go home and admit defeat. Bending over, she covered her face with her hands. “God, I know I’m impossible, but I work hard!” She fought back tears. “What do I do now?”
Someone spoke to her. “Mademoiselle?”
She burst into frustrated tears. “I came here to learn French!”
The man switched to German as easily as someone might strip off a glove and toss it aside. “Are you unwell, Fraulein?”
“No. I’m unemployed. I’m looking for work.” She apologized and wiped her face. The man standing in front of her looked to be in his eighties. He wore an expensive suit and leaned heavily on a cane.
“I’ve been out walking. Do you mind if I sit, Fraulein?”
“No, of course not.” She moved to give him room, wondering if he expected her to leave.
“I passed a house with a sign in the window in German, French, and Italian.” He sank gratefully onto the bench. Lifting his cane, he pointed. “If you go up that way three or four streets, I think you will find the house.”
Thanking him, she began a search that took her the rest of the afternoon. Just as she was about to give up, she saw the sign in the window of a three-story house. No chipped paint here, and the eaves had been painted red. She heard muted laughter when she approached the front door. Brushing down her skirt and pushing the straggling damp tendrils of hair back from her face, she said a quick and desperate prayer before rapping the doorknocker. Clasping her hands in front of her, she forced a smile as she waited, hoping she looked presentable and not like some worn-down, bedraggled waif who had been walking up and down the mountain all afternoon.
Someone spoke French behind her. Marta jumped as a man reached past her and opened the door. “Excuse me?”
He spoke German this time. “Just go in. They won’t hear you out here. They’re already serving.”
Marta entered behind him. “Would you please tell the proprietor I’m here to answer the sign in the window?”
He walked quickly down the hall and disappeared into another room.
Smells inside the house made Marta’s stomach growl with hunger. She hadn’t eaten since early morning, and then, only a small bowl of
A young and attractive dark-haired woman came into the hallway. She wore a high-necked, long-sleeved blue dress covered with a white apron that accentuated her advanced pregnancy. Cheeks flushed, she dabbed her forehead with the back of her hand as she came toward Marta. “Mademoiselle?”
“Fraulein Marta Schneider, madame.” She dipped in a curtsy. “I’ve come to apply for a position.” She scrambled for her documents.
“I’m serving dinner now.” She spoke fluent German, glancing back over her shoulder as someone called out.
“I can help you now, if you’ll allow. I worked in the kitchen of
“
The dining room had a long table, its straight-backed chairs filled with men on both sides, most young and professional by the look of their clothing. The room reverberated with loud talk, laughter, the clink of wineglasses,
