You pay the receptionist, he said with a smile.
But not usually with cash, Russell thought, as they waited for the taxi which the receptionist had ordered. Zarah, who looked as if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders, was eager to get back to the Savoy, where she could telephone Jens. Its wonderful news, Russell told her, and received the warmest of smiles in return.
Once back at the hotel, they agreed to meet for lunch in an hour. Leaving Paul exploring the lobby, Russell retrieved Achievements of the Third Reich from their room, and came back down.
Heres the room key, he told Paul. Ill be back in half an hour or so.
Paul was looking at the book. Where are you taking that? he asked. I didn't know you had a nephew in England, he added suspiciously.
I dont, Russell admitted. Ill explain it all this afternoon.
He walked down to the Continental Bank, paid a years rent in cash for the safety deposit box, and was shown into a small room with a single upright chair and table. A clerk bought him a rectangular metal box and two keys, and told him to press the buzzer when he was finished. I already am, Russell said, placing Achievements of the Third Reich inside and locking the box shut. If the clerk was surprised by the nature of the deposit he didn't show it.
Theres more to the Nazis than meets the eye, Russell said.
I dont doubt it, the clerk replied gloomily.
Lunch was an altogether more cheerful affair than breakfast or the previous nights dinner, but 24 largely sleepless hours had taken their toll on Zarah. Im going to take a nap, she said. Well see you this evening.
Asked if there was anything he wanted to do, Paul suggested a walk down to Big Ben. I didn't see it properly in the dark, he explained.
They set off down the Strand, stopping in at Charing Cross to see the Southern trains and admire the Cross itself. After circling the Trafalgar Square ponds and climbing on a lion they marched down the Mall toward Buckingham Palace. The Kings out, Russell said, pointing out the lowered flag.
Kings are outdated, Paul told him.
They cut through to Parliament Square and ventured out onto Westminster Bridge, stopping in the middle to turn and admire Big Ben. You were going to tell me about that book, Paul said rather hesitantly, as if unsure how much he wanted to know.
A small voice in Russells head reminded him how many children had already denounced their parents to the authorities in Germany, and a whole host of other voices laughed out loud. And if he was so wrong about his own son, he told himself, then he probably deserved to be denounced.
He told Paul about the Wiesners: the familys need to emigrate, the fathers arrest, the certain confiscation of their savingsthe savings they would need to start a new life somewhere else.
The savings are in that book? Paul asked incredulously.
Valuable stamps, Russell told him. Hidden behind the stickers.
Paul looked surprised, impressed, and finally dubious. They collected the stamps? Like ordinary Germans?
They are ordinary Germans, Paul. Or they were. How else do you imagine they would get hold of them?
Paul opened his mouth, then obviously thought better of whatever it was he was going to say. They paid you to bring them? he asked, as if he couldn't quite believe it.
No. I did it because I like them. Theyre nice people.
I see, Paul said, though he clearly didn't.
It was almost 3:30. Back in Parliament Square they joined the queue for a 24 bus, and managed to find seats upstairs for the short ride up Whitehall and Charing Cross Road. Solly Bernsteins office was two storeys above a steam laundry in Shaftsbury Avenue and accustomed, as he frequently observed, to hot air. A bulky, middle-aged man with gold-rimmed glasses, a notable nose and longish black hair, Russells agent seemed unchanged by the last three years.
This is my son, Solly, Russell said.
My, hes bigger than I imagined. Welcome to England, young man.
Thank you, Paul said in English.
Ah, a linguist. I have just the book for him. He searched through the piles on the floor and extracted a large picture book of world aeroplanes. Have a look at that and tell me what you think, he said, handing it over. Throw those books on the floor, he added, indicating a loaded seat in the corner.
He turned back to Russells grinning face. Its good to see you in the flesh. Three years, isnt it? A long time in todays world.
Something like that, Russell agreed, taking a seat.
You havent come to tell me youve found a better agent?
Good God, no.
Well then, I can tell you weve sold the Germanys Neighbours series in both Canada and Australia. And herehe rummaged in a draweris a check to prove it.
Russell took it, and passed a sheaf of papers in the opposite direction. One for each series, he said. I thought Id save the postage.
An expensive way to do it. You came by train, I take it?
Nope. We flew.
Bernsteins eyebrows rose. Even more expensive. My percentage is obviously too low.
I came for another reason. Two, actually. And one was to ask you a favor. Russell outlined the Wiesners circumstances, his hope that at least some members of the family would be given exit visas before a war broke out. Paul, he noticed, was listening with great interest to his recital. Ive just put the family wealth in a safety deposit box, he told the unusually sober Bernstein. There are two keys, and I was hoping youd hang on to one of them. Theyll have the other, but theres a good chance it would be confiscated at the border.
Why, in heavens name?
Simple spite. If Jews are caught carrying a key out, the Nazis will guess its for something like this.
Id be happy to keep one of them.
Thanks, Russell said, handing the key over. Thats a weight off my mind. He stole a glance at Paul, who looked more confused than anything else.
How long are you here for? Bernstein asked.
Oh, only till Sunday. I came with my girlfriends sisterthat was the other reason. She wanted to have her son examined by an English doctor. A long story. But if theres a war, well, I guess Ill be back for the duration.
Without him? Bernstein asked, nodding in Pauls direction.
Without him.
Bernstein made a sympathetic face. Anyway, at least youve got a lot of work at the moment. No other ideas you want to talk about?
Not at the moment. He looked at his watch. Wed better go. Paul?
His son closed the book and brought it over. You can keep it, Bernstein said. Practice your English on the captions.
Thank you, Paul said. Very much, he added carefully.
Its working already. He offered Paul his hand, then did the same to Russell.
He was a nice man, Paul said, as they made their way down through the steamy stairwell.
He is, Russell agreed, as they reached the pavement. And hes Jewish, he added, hoping that Paul was not going to wipe the handshake off on his coat.
He didn't, but he did look upset.
Theyre wrong about the Jews, Russell said firmly. They may be right about many things, but theyre wrong about the Jews.
But everyone says. . . .
Not everyone. I dont. Your mother doesnt. Your Uncle Thomas doesnt. Effi doesnt.
But the government says. . . .
Governments can be wrong. Theyre just people. Like you and me. Look what foreign governments did to Germany in 1918. They were wrong. It happens, Paul. They get things wrong.
Paul looked torn between anger and tears.
Look. Lets not spoil the trip arguing about politics. Were in Londonlets enjoy it. They were walking down Charing Cross Road by this time. I know where we can get a cup of tea and a cake, he said, steering Paul off to the left. A few minutes later they were on the edge of Covent Garden market, dodging trucks piled high with crates of fruit and vegetables. Russell led them into one of the cafes.