Tadek doubted that he would but made his way up the stairs and into the sanctuary of a white-marble hall, feeling himself to be a veritable intruder. A chorus of voices resonated along the walls, different American accents mixing together into their usual loud, cheerful banter. Morris headed straight in that direction and Tadek had nothing else to do but follow him. He still threw cautious glances around him. He still couldn’t shake off the feeling of being constantly watched, of being in constant danger. The fear in him still transcended all logic and even in the presence of allied troops, he couldn’t rid himself of it.
“Nice going, starting the lunch without your CO.” Morris stopped suddenly and Tadek nearly bumped into his wide back.
The clattering of the spoons stopped at once. Legs of several chairs scraped along the hardwood floor at the same time. Cautiously, Tadek peered into a spacious dining room, in the center of which a long table stood, which could easily seat forty people – according to Tadek’s quick calculations.
Several voices broke the silence at once and once again, Tadek couldn’t help but marvel at the more-than-lax discipline, for which the SS loved mocking American troops to no end.
“We thought you would return in the evening only, sir…”
“We assumed they’d feed you at the school…”
“You’re back earlier than we expected…”
“We’ll fetch you something from the kitchen, right this instant—”
“I’ll fetch it myself.” Morris waved at his men to be seated, turned to take his leave but then suddenly turned on his heel and quickly counted the men present. “Why are you all here? Who’s watching the girl?”
“Frau Hanke is with her in the kitchen.”
“Frau Hanke is their former employee!” Morris retorted back, clearly annoyed.
“Well, she ain’t gonna run, even if the maid helps her,” one of the Americans drawled, in a broad accent. “I mean, where to? There are Reds all over the city. Hardly she’ll prefer their company to ours, no matter what she says.”
“Why take chances?” Morris was already heading to the door at the other end of the room. In front of it, he suddenly stopped as if remembering something and pointed at Tadek. “Tadeusz – my men. Men, this is Tadeusz. He’ll be living with us now. He’ll be helping with Neumann.”
Curious glances quickly turned into compliant nods. It seemed the OSS agents held their commander in high esteem if only his word, without any explanations, was enough to satisfy them.
In the kitchen, at the small island which was ordinarily reserved for the additional cook to prepare the food whenever a big dinner was being given, a young girl sat with a steaming plate in front of her, her back unnaturally straight. She ignored both men entirely and only when Morris stopped next to her and bowed his head theatrically – “How do you do today, Miss Neumann?” – did she deign to throw him an ice-laced glare.
“I’m doing just fine, thank you for asking. How do you do, Mr. Morris? A fine day outside, is it not?”
Tadek couldn’t help but note her cut-glass, refined British accent. He wondered if some impoverished English aristocrat taught her how to speak so well, on Neumann’s orders.
“Indeed, it is, Miss Neumann.” Morris cocked his head to one side; it appeared to Tadek that he was surprised to get a reply at all.
“It is unfortunate that I can’t enjoy it because you lot lock me in here, like some rat in a cellar.”
Morris laughed, as though such a response was something more like it.
“We have discussed your privileges already, Miss Neumann. You tell us what we want to know – we let you outside, with an escort of course. We’ll allow you back into the library, into the dining room and we’ll even allow you to resume your studies when the time comes. Until then, I’m afraid, you’ll have to make do with being confined to your bedroom.”
“And what am I supposed to do there without books or even a notepad to write or draw anything? Bore myself into consumption?”
“How you choose to entertain yourself, Miss Neumann is not my problem,” Morris countered calmly before turning his back to the girl altogether. “What’s for lunch, Frau Hanke?” he asked the severe-looking woman in her late forties, this time in German.
Much like her young mistress, the housekeeper didn’t even look at the American, choosing to stir some brew in a tremendous aluminum pot. “Cabbage soup. Spam and mashed potatoes for the main course. Ersatz coffee and apple strudel for dessert.”
“Spam?”
“Do you have chickens for me to cook?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then Spam it is.”
The logic was irrefutable. Morris turned to Tadek; the latter saw the American’s barely concealed grin and caught himself smiling too. One couldn’t successfully argue with it, American secret service or not.
“Then fix us two plates, if you please, Frau Hanke.”
“You’re late for lunch, so you’ll have to wait for me to finish with this first. Then I’ll fix your lunch, separately. I can’t just drop everything to serve you two.”
“By all means, take your time.” Morris raised both hands in the air in mock surrender.
The housekeeper still wasn’t satisfied. “This is not America. We don’t eat here just when the mood takes us. There are certain times for taking food and that is how it’s going to be in this house, while I’m in charge of it.”
“You’ve made your point, Greta. Drop it already.”
Tadek didn’t expect such a severe, commanding tone from the Neumann girl. Even more surprising, he found, the effect it had produced. The housekeeper bowed her head humbly and apologized at once, her arrogant attitude gone as though by magic.
“Tough luck you weren’t born a boy, Miss Neumann,” Morris remarked with a grin. “You would have made a fine officer.”
“Tough luck indeed,” she conceded easily. “I would have joined my brothers on the battlefield and in death, along with the other fallen heroes.”
“Would you really
