'You could have a nice Agatha Christie,' Jutta said, to mollify him. 'What about Hercule Poirot?' Herr Lesch went away, a satisfied customer. At the door he passed a well-dressed, youngish man, who came in and looked rather helplessly around the shop.
'Good morning, sir. Are you looking for anything in particular?'
'Yes, Hitler's Mein Kampf.' He seemed embarrassed about it.
'Cloth-bound or half-cloth?' asked Jutta in a business-like way.
'Leather-bound, please. Russian leather or morocco. Gold-stamped. India paper if possible.'
'I'm afraid we don't have a de luxe edition like that in stock, sir. Maybe if you tried one of the big bookshops in the city centre…'
'I can order what you want by phone.' Frau Gerold had come into the front of the shop. 'The book distribution people will send it with tomorrow's delivery. Meanwhile, take the half cloth edition to read. We won't charge you.'
'I don't want to read the damn thing. I need a handsome edition for the desk in my new legal offices.'
'Of course, as a good German and an upright National Comrade one likes to have the great work of our Fiihrer and Reich Chancellor always to hand.' Diana Gerold's mouth twisted in a mocking smile.
He gave Jutta his card. 'For when the order arrives.' He was Dr Rainer Jordan, a lawyer. She could tell that he liked her. As I said, I'm new around here, and a bachelor. Would you think it too forward of me to ask you to drink a glass of wine with me after work?'
'Not at all forward, Dr Jordan, I take it as a compliment. But I already have a date this evening.'
'Well, anyway, I hope you have a good day.' He raised his hat.
'Congratulations, an admirer,' said Frau Gerold from the back of the shop.
And a very nice one too,' said Jutta happily. putting Sanders of the River back in its place. She thought of Jochen.
On the dot of seven, when the shop had shut, she was up at the public clock. She could hear the hammering of the engine from a long way off. The little Hanomag, called the Loaf of Bread by the people of Berlin for its shape, turned the corner, hiccuped and stopped. Jochen's hair was untidy as usual, and his tie was crooked as usual too. 'Hello, bookworm,' he cried cheerfully.
'Good evening, teacher, sir!'
Isabel was sitting beside him. Isabel Severin, dark-blonde, grey eyes, tall, slim. She and Jochen were soon to take the state examination, Jochen as a future public-school teacher of German, English and history, while Isabel was going to teach French and geography at the Lyceum.
Never a day without Isabel, thought Jutta crossly. 'Move up a bit.' She squeezed in. 'How was the uni today?'
Jochen started up. 'My viva is going to be about the Merovingians. Isabel winkled that out of Professor Gabler's assistant.'
'I showed him a bit of knee and he turned talkative.' Isabel had legs well worth seeing. 'Will you drive me home?' She sub-let a room in Lynarstrasse. Her mother had died when Isabel was born, her father had married again and gave her an adequate allowance. Apart from that he took no notice of her, and she had no other family, and this was why she had attached herself to Jochen and Jutta. Attached herself rather too closely for Jutta's liking.
She was relieved when Isabel got out. Now she could look forward to the evening with Jochen in his unusual home in an old railway car.
'I'll look in on you two later,' said Isabel, casting a damper on her anticipation. 'I'll bring the transcript of Gabler's lecture on the new national awareness of history. You should slip a little of it into your viva, Jochen. That'll flatter him.'
'Can't we ever be on our own any more?' Jutta complained later.
'Working with her matters to me. She gives good advice.'
'Next thing we know she'll be sitting on the bed with us giving good advice.'
'She sacrifices a lot of time for me, so don't be so touchy.'
'Oh, take me to the S-Bahn, please. I'm going home. Have fun with Isabel,' she said sharply.
The de luxe edition of Mein Kampf was delivered on Friday morning, along with several cookery books and the threatened fifty copies of Beumelburg. 'Put one of them in the window,' said Frau Gerold. 'You can hide it behind French Cuisine.' The telephone rang. 'Your fiance.' She handed the receiver to Jutta.
'Hello, bookworm, how's the printed word today?'
'You read it and you wonder at all the heroic garbage that gets published.'
'That's the trend of modern times.' He sounded perfectly at ease.
She had made up her mind not to bear a grudge. 'Will you collect me at seven this evening?'
'That's why I was calling. The state library stays open late this evening.
Isabel and I can look up a lot of material there. Then we're working right through Saturday and Sunday at my place. I'll pick you up as usual on Monday.'
'Well, I do hope you have a really nice weekend.' She tried to sound superior, but succeeded only in conveying a miserable acknowledgement of her jealousy.
'Isabel is fabulous at testing me on the right questions.' It was meant to be both an explanation and an apology.
'Fabulous in other ways too?'
'Don't talk nonsense. We keep going by dosing ourselves with Pervitin.'
'They say that's a stimulant,' she said. It was a snide remark, but he had already hung up.
'Get us a bag of cherries for lunchtime, would you?' her boss asked.
'Right, then I can take Dr Jordan his order at the same time,' she said very casually, earning herself a long look from Diana.
It was only a little way, out of the back of the shop, up the alley which gave delivery vans access to the shops, and into Wilskistrasse. A brass plate on Number 47 said: DR. JUR. RAINER JORDAN, ATTORNEY. The buzzer on the door let Jutta in. The legal offices were to the right on the ground floor, and Jordan opened the door himself. 'My secretaries are out at lunch. Do come into my office.'
'I brought your order. The invoice is in with it.' Jutta put the parcel down on his desk. Dozens of legal works covered the wall behind it. She didn't take her eyes off him as he unwrapped the book. There was something about him that for safety's sake she ignored, because she knew just how humiliatingly fast she might fall for it. On the other hand, it was an alluring thought, and set off a tingling below her navel. Typewriters started clattering next door. A telephone rang, and she heard a woman's voice.
Ah, the ladies are back.'
'I won't keep you any longer, Dr Jordan. You're obviously extremely busy.'
'You noticed?' He sounded pleased. 'Come and take a look.'
The three doors in the outer office were labelled WAITING ROOM — SECRETARY'S OFFICE 1 — SECRETARY'S OFFICE 2. Jordan opened them one by one. Behind the opaque-glass door of the 'waiting room' was a kitchen. 'Secretary's Office I' was the bathroom, and 'Secretary's Office 2' was empty but for a gramophone which stood on the floor, playing a recording of the staccato sound of a typewriter, the ringing of a telephone bell and busy voices talking.
'Was one of your ancestors by any chance called Potemkin?'
Advertising is all part of the trade. If a client really does find his way to me then I'm a very busy lawyer. So far I've had only a plumber who wants me to sue for payment of his invoice. Otherwise I live like most beginners in my line, on meagre fees from providing legal aid.' His glance rested on her sky-blue pullover. 'Would I get the brush-off again if I invited you to a glass of wine this evening?'
She thought of Jochen and Isabel. 'You would not.'
'Seven o'clock at Brumm's?'
'Ten past seven, if that's all right.'
'On that note I shall take my well-deserved siesta.' He folded down the wall of books behind the desk, and not a single volume fell out — they were the spines of books glued to the partition. An unmade bed appeared.
As soon as I'm a successful lawyer representing prominent people, as I fully intend to be, I shall have offices in the best location and a Kurfirstendamm apartment. May I pay for Mein Kampf next week? I'm a bit short of cash for the moment.'