She was sitting in her little cupboard, waiting patiently to clean up the dust. She had her shoes and black stockings off, and was soaking her bunions and corns in a basin of salt water to which she had added a small handful of rose petals – red ones, ah yes.
‘God, they’re a bugger, aren’t they?’ he said of the shoes these days. ‘Mine are killing me.’ And from a tattered pocket, he rescued a forgotten cigarette and broke it in half.
Lighting them, he handed her one and said congenially, ‘Hey, don’t worry, eh? No one will see us, and if I have to, I’ll tell them it’s business.’
Business? She swallowed and began to do up the belt and buttons she had released to give a tired waist a little room.
‘The robbery,’ he said. She ducked her eyes away and cringed – knew he had seen the rose petals, knew he’d noticed the two tickets she had found for the Opera, the magazines and the newspapers, all in German he would know only too well she could not understand.
‘The pictures,’ she managed. ‘I look at them.’
‘That’s what the Propaganda Staffel count on, but like I said, don’t worry. I simply want to ask you a few small questions. Nothing difficult.’
Her bunions were swollen, the corns aflame. The toenails had been painted but some time ago. The uniform, a dress of thin black cotton with a starched white lace cap and an apron, needed attention. The shoes had been made of ersatz leather and cardboard, their soles of softwood.
At the age of sixty-seven, life had been unkind. Bony in places, sagging in others, she had been a girl of the streets and brothels until married to the night shift at the Ritz and to cleaning up after others.
‘So, the robbery,’ he said again and she didn’t know whether to fear him or to be beguiled, for he was formidable with that slash down his face and the other one across his brow, but there was laughter in his faded blue eyes and it was not unkind, or was it?
‘I saw nothing. I heard nothing. I was occupied in another part of the hotel.’
‘Don’t be stubborn. The rose petals came from room 13. It’s the Opera tickets that worry me.’
‘They’re no good now. The performance will be …’
‘Your name? Papers … Papers, bitte, eh?’ He snapped his fingers just like Engelmann had done and hated himself for doing so but it was no time for her to be stubborn.
‘Mademoiselle Georgette Bernard,’ he breathed, scanning the ID photo and glancing at the guilt-ridden, swimming brown eyes.
Self-consciously she touched a curl and then her cap. ‘Monsieur …’
‘It’s Inspector and hey, I really do want us to cooperate.’
‘I found the tickets on the carpet in the corridor outside room 13.’
‘When?’
‘Sometime after … after the Generalmajor had left to play with the birds.’
‘And the rose petals?’
‘A rose with its stem had fallen and was lying between the tickets. I …’
Had the Gypsy a sense of humour? Had the bastard left them in the hall as some sort of calling card or a reminder for Nana Theleme? ‘Now start by telling me if that’s your master key up there on the hook, then why is there another hanging from your belt?’
Things would not go well. ‘That is Mariette’s key. She’s the day-girl. When she leaves at six, she changes out of her uniform and hangs it up, the key also.’
‘Good. And when you come on to change and get your key, do you leave the door to this cupboard locked?’
She crossed herself and silently said a small prayer. ‘The door is never locked. I …. I am away from here for some time – the carpets, you understand. The mirrors, the endless dusting – I can see that you appreciate my absences and that, the back, it was often turned and I could not possibly have known always that … that Mariette’s key had remained constantly in its place.’
‘And would anyone else have known of this?’
‘The Mademoiselle Theleme? Ah no. No, Monsieur l’inspecteur. It’s impossible. That one comes only by the lift. Never the stairs and certainly not the ones you have climbed, since they are only for the staff and the notice forbids entry to all others.’
She was really doing well. ‘When did the Generalmajor leave to play badminton?’
‘At about ten minutes before eight. Always when he is in Paris and not out for dinner, he does so. Always after the little birds, he has the shower bath and then takes to the pool, and then … well, whatever suits him. Who am I to say?’
Ah now … ‘Pardon?’ he asked.
She tossed her head. ‘Mademoiselle Theleme always comes by the side entrance, the one that is on the rue Cambon and reached by way of the garden-restaurant. After he’s done with her, she leaves by the same route, sometimes happy and light of step, sometimes wounded. Who’s to say what makes the heart beat faster than at other times. An hour or two – Mariette is the one you should talk to. She has to clean up and make the bed in the morning. That is not my duty.’
‘Okay, so the Generalmajor went out at about eight this evening. Your back was turned and the day-girl’s master key was up there on the wall. Did you see anyone in the halls, anyone who was not of the usual?’
‘I saw many. They come and go. Most wear the uniform and I must continue working and duck the eyes away so that they will not notice me. Several carry the attache cases. All are very important, and some do take their women with them to their rooms. Yes, I have seen such things. Others live here with them. It’s allowed.’
‘But number 13 is at the end of the corridor and therefore a little out of the way. Was there anything else? Think. Please try to remember. It’s important.’
In dismay, she sadly shook her head but her deceitful toes were playing with each other in the swimming pool of their basin. ‘Okay,’ he breathed, and taking out a thin roll of banknotes, unsnapped the elastic band and gave her 200 francs.
‘A night’s wages,’ she sighed pityingly. ‘You do not tip?’
500 more were found. ‘There was a captain, a general – they are all the same to me, you understand. Oh mais certainement, he was fair-haired and blue-eyed but a Dutchman, I think. The Dutch are even more conceited and arrogant than les Allemands. He carried himself well. A man of forty years. Tall, handsome, very sure of himself and quick of step. Ah! to pass unnoticed, it is only necessary to let others see you living normally.’
The song of their times.
‘The scars on the face like yourself, though not so terrible. Three of them – both cheeks and the nose. The chin, it was sharp; the lips, those of a teenaged boy like the one I once knew. The eyes with laughter, yes, but also the gaze that constantly searches, the heart most especially.’
‘But … but you just said you were not to look at the guests?’
‘Ah! this I could not help since the mirror I was polishing faced him and I could not stop him from pausing to straighten his tie. He was very smartly dressed, wore the pistol in its holster and had the Iron Cross at his throat. The attache case … ah, now. Could there have been explosives in it, Inspector? L’eau de vie de nitroglycerine? He has set the case very delicately on the table before straightening his tie and looking at me.’
‘At about what time?’
‘I cannot tell you. The watch, it is in for repairs.’
‘The mont-de-piete?’
The pawnshop. ‘Yes.’
He sighed as another 500 francs were found. ‘That’s to get your watch back.’
The Boches were such fools! ‘At 8.15 he has gone along the corridor towards room 13. I have had to dust the spare suite that is always kept for the Reichsmarschall Goering, even though that one has a villa in Paris. My back, it was turned for some time.’
‘At 8.15.’
‘Yes. And then, Inspector, at 8.47 he has taken the lift. This I have also seen.’
Verdammt, and so much for her not having had a watch!