'I'd like you to take them home.'
'Thank you, John, that's really nice of you.'
'I thought we might cook together.' He handed her an apron and put one on too. Hers bore a picture of a white rabbit with a chef's hat. His had a caricature of a bulldog with a wooden spoon in its mouth. She thought them both rather silly.
The US quartermaster had installed refrigerators in the requisitioned apartments. Ashburner took out a bottle of white wine and filled two glasses. 'frost. That's what you say here, isn't it?'
'frost, John.' She took a sip. It was ages since she'd last drunk wine, though Sergeant Panelli sometimes stood her a beer in Club 48. 'What delicious things are we going to have?'
'Shrimp salad, steak with sweetcorn, we'll drink red wine with that, Chianti. Ice cream for dessert. OK?'
'Wonderful. What shall I do?'
'Open the can of shrimp and the jar of mayonnaise, please.'
'Oh, never mind that! If you have eggs, oil, lemons and mustard we can make the mayonnaise ourselves.'
Her own whisk was still hanging in its place in the kitchen cupboard. The ingredients she needed were there too. She put the yolk of an egg into a bowl, mixed it with pepper, salt, a few drops of lemon juice and a little mustard, and added a pinch of sugar. He was watching her attentively; it was an excuse to keep looking at her. She bent over the bowl, and puffed an annoying lock of hair away from her forehead. There was something very touching about the sight. The groove in the nape of her neck, which was bent at a pretty angle, aroused feelings in him that he couldn't really define. Her youthful figure in her light dress made her seem both vulnerable and desirable. At home, Ethel went around in hair curlers and barely visited the kitchen to get herself a Coke from the fridge. The two women were worlds apart.
Jutta slowly trickled oil into the bowl and worked it loosely with the whisk. 'The oil and egg yolk have to be at room temperature, that's the secret of it,' she explained. Before his eyes, she created a wonderful thick, yellow mayonnaise and mixed the shrimp into it. Then she piled it all on lettuce leaves in two dishes.
He heated the canned sweetcorn with a little butter and put it aside. He had bought the grooved, cast-iron grill pan in the PX especially for this evening, along with the aprons. 'It has to be very hot, so the steaks don't braise all the way through but grill fast. Here, let's test it.' He splashed a little water in the pan, and it immediately fizzled out. 'Careful now!' The steaks hissed as they went into the pan. He looked very serious and was concentrating hard on what he was doing, like a little boy with his electric train set. She did not try to fight off the tender feelings arising in her. 'Quarter of a minute each side to seal the steaks. Then two to four minutes each side, depending on the thickness. When the juices show like red pearls, they're au point, as the French say.' She could see that he was proud of his expertise.
'Well done, John. That's amazing.' She had found a tube of anchovy paste and was mixing it with butter. We can put this on the steaks.'
'We work together pretty well, don't you think?' It was a clumsy declaration of love, and all the better for that. He opened the Chianti and put the bottle on the table.
She took off her apron, and sensed that he was looking at her figure in the light dress, an admiring rather than offensive look. I hope he doesn't think my hips are too broad, she thought. He held her chair for her. She liked his chivalrous gesture, and thanked him with a small smile.
'Tell me about your home,' she asked as they ate. '1 know almost nothing about America.'
'Neither do I really. I know Venice, Illinois. Five thousand inhabitants, two churches, Bill's Bar on Main Street. And the police station house. Green hills and pasture around the town. I grew up on our farm: my brother Jim runs it now. I'm the local sherriff. A peaceful job: not much happens in the country.'
'What about your wife?'
He gave a resigned smile. 'Not much happens with her either. We don't have children. Ethel hated the idea of pregnancy.'
'Jochen wanted a Volkswagen first, and then a son. He never had either. A Polish marksman shot him. He was on the latrine. He didn't even get to die a hero's death.'
'I wasn't in the war itself. They sent me over here afterwards, when they needed police to keep order. Once the fighting stops guys can get stupid ideas into their heads.' He poured more wine. 'You know, I've always wanted just to talk like this — never mind what about. The main thing is to have someone listening.'
'Red check tablecloths and candles in wine bottles, wasn't that how your little German-style restaurant was going to look?'
'You remembered?'
'Of course, I like the idea.'
'Will you have a cognac?' he asked after the meal.
'No, thank you, John. After all that wine it would knock me right out.' She went close to him and raised her face. He hesitated before taking her in his arms and kissing her. He had almost forgotten what it was like. He felt her warm, soft body and breathed in her perfume. It seemed to him that they stood like that for a delicious eternity. Then she moved gently away from him. 'We have plenty of time, don't we?' she said quietly. It was a promise. Elated, he drove her home in the jeep and waited until she had disappeared into the building.
The door to the Konigs' room was open. Late as it was, they were drinking schnapps with Brandenburg. Jutta stopped. 'How's your son?' she asked.
'They're doing the second operation tomorrow to pull the skin over the stump.' Pretty Frau Konig wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.
'Now, now, Ilse. He'll soon get a brand-new hand with all the latest clever inventions. The surgeon says the Americans have made amazing progress in that area.'
I do hope he'll make a quick recovery. Goodnight.'
Brandenburg followed her into the kitchen. He was slightly tipsy. 'Been brought home in the jeep again? What's the going rate — a packet of cigarettes a trick?' She managed to hit his cheek even in the dark. Her hand connected with a loud slap, and his glasses fell to the floor. He bent down and felt about on the rug for them. When she lit the candle he had them on again. 'Well, congratulations, you have a good aim.' She ignored him, and filled a vase with water for the roses.
In bed, she felt remorse. He hadn't been sober, and he was blind and helpless. She ought not to have hit him. Later, she heard cries of pleasure from his room. Frau Konig's anxiety about her son was obviously kept well within bounds.
On the way to the bathroom in the morning she met Herr Konig. 'You mustn't upset the captain,' he told her reproachfully. 'Just think of all the poor man's been through.'
CHAPTER FOUR
BEN AND RALF kept their heads bent at breakfast, but the doomsday blast they were expecting never materialized. Their father's calm approach hurt far more. All three of you are to blame,' Klaus Dietrich told them in matter-of-fact tones. 'But Hajo is the one who has to pay for it. All his life. When you two have long forgotten about it, he'll still be going around with one hand. Think about that. Now, off you go to school.'
Relieved, the boys raced off over the veranda. Aren't you coming?' Ralf asked. Ben silently shook his head, and went to hide his school bag under the empty potato sacks in the shed. There was time enough for Latin, English and geography tomorrow. The Potsdamer Platz was on his schedule for today.
'You ought to give Ben a little help with his maths. He's having difficulty with logarithms.' Inge told her husband.
As soon as I get time,' Klaus Dietrich promised her, and glanced at his father-in-law, who was sitting at the breakfast table looking glum.