“And the film.”
She nodded, accepting tribute.
“Of course, not serious art, like Mahler. Gropius.” Listing former lovers like credits. “But it’s important here, to have a success. It’s what they respect. And of course it’s nice, too, to be comfortable. Look at poor Heinrich. In Germany such an important name. I remember passing a bookstore, a whole window, all Kaltenbach, no one else. And here? No one knows who he is.”
“The books aren’t translated?”
“No. Franz, Lion, Hans of course,” she said, tipping her head toward Liesl. “But Heinrich, it’s too European maybe. So it’s hard for him. We all help a little. Not charity, we tell him, a loan until better times, but of course he’s proud. Once in all the windows. Liesl said you were just in Germany?”
“Yes,” Ben said, surprised at the veering off.
“It’s bad there, everyone says. Heinrich wants to go back. ‘I want to be a writer again,’“ she said, quoting, but shaking her head. “Well, you know what it’s like. I had a letter. My friend Beate. She says people are like zombies. Numb.”
“They’re hungry,” Ben said.
“Yes, hungry,” Alma said, not even glancing at her own plate. “But not reading. Not reading Heinrich.”
“They will again. Someday. Let’s hope so anyway.”
She looked up quickly, as if she had been corrected.
“But not here, I think. He doesn’t have the popular touch, Heinrich. Like your brother. He had the popular touch. Detectives,” she said airily, sliding it in as easily as a pinprick. “Heinrich is an artist.”
They were rescued by Kaltenbach, slightly hunched, like a courtier, who came to say their car had arrived.
“You’ll excuse us? These cars, they don’t like to wait. Such delicious food,” he said to Liesl. “But you must be tired. All these people. You should rest.”
“Yes,” Alma said. “It must be terrible for you.” She paused, another prick. “So unexpected.”
She patted Liesl’s arm, then nodded at Ben and handed him her plate, leading Kaltenbach across the room, tipping her head to people as she went. Just a hand on his elbow, enough to move him along. Ben stared at it. To push a man over you’d need a tighter grip. Had Danny screamed? He must have. At least a startled grunt. Only suicides made no noise, grim with purpose, not taken by surprise. Nobody had said. But it might be in the police report.
“Is something wrong?” Liesl said, peering at him.
“Sorry,” he said, snapping back. “Is she always like that?”
“You don’t like her?” Liesl said, a mock innocence, then laughed, the first time Ben had seen her really smile. She covered her mouth with her hand, a girl’s gesture.
The police report. Tomorrow.
They went out on the terrace, picking up wine glasses off a passing tray.
“Daniel didn’t like her, either.”
“What did they see in her?” Stay on Alma. “Kokoschka. Mahler. She had half the men in Vienna.”
“She used to be a great beauty they say.”
“Who says?”
She laughed again. “She does, mostly.”
He looked at her, caught by the laugh. It seemed to come from some private part of her, something you only saw in glimpses, like her ease in the water.
“I shouldn’t,” she said, putting the drink down. “They’ve only started coffee.”
“It’s going by itself now,” he said. “You can sit one out.”
She glanced up, working out the idiom, then took a sip of wine.
“Did you notice? They don’t talk about him. Anything else. They’re embarrassed.”
“How are you doing?” he said, a private question.
“Well, Alma’s gone, so that’s one thing,” she said, evading it. “Now there’s only my father to worry about.” She nodded toward the end of the pool where two men were smoking cigars. “He always quarrels with my uncle. Well, not always. Then it’s like this, polite.”
“Quarrels about what?”
“Germany. Dieter says my father blames the people. You know the article he wrote. The German character. And how can you blame the people? It was Hitler. So back and forth. They’re all like that,” she said, looking around. “Their house burned down and they argue about why it happened.”
“But it’s important. To know why it happened.”
“You think so? I don’t know. It doesn’t change anything. It’s gone. They all want to go back. But to the old days. Heimat.”
“Do you?”
“Me? I almost died there once. You don’t get rescued twice, I think. Who would marry me next time?” She tried to smile, then looked away, restive again. “Well. There’s Salka waving so Mann must be leaving. He’ll expect-oh god, not Polly.”
She was looking toward the pool again, where Polly Marks had wedged herself between the brothers-in-law.
“Who’s the guy in the gray suit? Do you know? I saw him at the funeral.”
“He came with her-I suppose he works for her.”
Ben smiled to himself. “I thought he was a cop.”
“A police? Why police?” she said, her head jerking around.
“But he wasn’t. Just a legman.”
“Why would you think that?” she said.
He looked at her, but this wasn’t the time, not with people around them, not with nothing more to offer than a feeling and the wrong bottle.
“I’ll go play referee,” he said, heading toward the pool.
The group at the end, like actors in a silent, were telling the story with their bodies-Ostermann leaning away from Polly, who was cornering him with attention, her back to his brother-in-law, the legman off to the side, smoking and watching them with the same quiet sweep he’d used at the funeral.
“Hello again,” Ben said to Polly, interrupting them.
She turned in mid-sentence, caught slightly off guard, trying to place him.
“Ben,” Ostermann said, cueing her.
But Polly had already found him in her mental file and only gave him a quick nod before she went back to Ostermann. “They sure sound like a front to me. You think it’s all innocent-I’m for world peace, too, who isn’t? — and the next thing you know they’re using you. Your reputation.” The same rushed voice, quivering.
“Do you think I’m so famous?” he said gently, making light conversation. “No.”
“You’re not just anybody, you know that. Your name speaks-”
“I tell him he has to be careful,” Dieter said.
Polly didn’t even turn, brushing this off with a blink. A relative from Pasadena.
“You listen to Polly,” she said. “Warners doesn’t buy just anybody. If you have any doubts, people asking to use your name, call me. I’ve been here a long time. Turning over rocks.”
“That’s very kind,” Ostermann said flatly. “To take so much trouble.”
“It’s no trouble. I love this country.”
“As we do,” he said, a courtly half bow. “Who took us in?”
“Terrible about all this, isn’t it?” she said, looking back at the house. “I don’t know how Liesl does it. So strong.” She shook her head. “Of course he was no angel, but I’m not one to speak ill of the dead.”
“No.”
She took his hand and patted it, oddly flirtatious. “Glad we could talk. We’ll have lunch soon.” She looked at Ben. “You never mentioned you were going to Continental,” she said, a black mark, holding out, all that needed to be said.
Without being signaled, the man in the gray suit slipped away from the oleander and followed her.
“So it begins,” Ostermann said slowly. “Enemies everywhere. I wondered what would happen when they won. Now look. Like Germany last time, when we lost. ‘I love my country.’ That’s what they said in Berlin, remember?” This to Dieter, who looked at Ben.