“How did that creep ever get to you, Renette?”
“He never did. We’re just married.”
“Was that another one of Kator’s plans?”
“Yes,” she said, and there was no feeling in it. “It worked, too.”
“What’s von Lohe got that Kator wants?”
“Position. A special kind of position. I don’t know if you knew it, but Johannes has a title, too. But it’s out of touch. Poor and very secluded. The von Lohes know a different set, the industrialists, the families who got rich under the Nazis.”
“Nice friends.”
She shrugged and stretched her arms over her head.
Jesso had a hard time listening right then.
“Not nice, but Kator needs them. And Helmut can help with the introductions. Like the Zimmer matter.”
“Who?”
“Zimmer. I thought you might know.”
“What’s Zimmer?”
“Oh, an industrial combine. One family runs it. They have holdings or plants all over the world, and that’s what interests Johannes.”
“In America too?”
“There too. Why are you interested?”
He thought he might be, but when she asked him she rolled on her stomach, which was a beautiful movement, and Jesso didn’t feel any interest in plants or Zimmers. He went over to the bed and ran his hand down her spine.
“Now I’m hungry,” she said, and she jumped up from the bed. He let her jump and watched her dress. There was time. She wanted to eat in the diner, and after that they sat in the club car instead of in the compartment, and that wasn’t bad either. Jesso had never seen her except alone or at von Lohe’s place, and she was good to watch anyplace. When they went back to the compartment it was almost dark, which was all right with Jesso, but as soon as he had the door shut the conductor came through the corridor calling something or other. He went by and kept calling.
“What’s he want?”
Renette smiled, sat down by the window, and said, “Hannover Station, fifteen minutes,” and then she cocked her head at Jesso, and he thought that if she had known the expression she would have said, “So do me something; go ahead.”
“So you’re safe,” he said, and they both had a laugh.
It changed by the time they were in the taxi. The thought of Kator had started to irritate him, his beef and the stance like a Buddha and the mind like a machine. When they passed the intersection where he had left the ambulance he saw it was still there, with more parking tickets. But even that didn’t amuse him. For once he wasn’t eager to see Kator or to think out the next step before Kator took it. Jesso leaned back in the seat and put his arm around Renette. She leaned, took his other hand, but he sat up again, watching the traffic.
The row of villas had dots of light all along, but the von Lohe place was lit up as if for a coronation. Jesso paid the cab driver and took Renette up the drive. They carried no suitcases. They passed long cars all the way up and Hofer was at the open door, ready with a guest book.
“Evening, Hofer. Don’t bother. We’re not seeing anybody.”
That shindig wasn’t for him, anyway, so Jesso turned to the stairs. Kator could wait. Renette was ahead of him, but then she stopped on the stairs.
“Up with you,” said Jesso.
“He wants you, I think,” and she nodded toward the hall.
Jesso turned and saw Kator. He hadn’t heard the sharp little steps because of the party noises.
“I’ve been expecting you, Jesso.”
That bastard had gall. Not a hair out of place, soup and fish as if they had been invented for him, and looking cool as ice.
“So you got what you wanted.”
“Hardly,” Kator said. He made a stiff smile.
“And that’s the way it’ll be till you start playing it my way.”
“You’re not complaining, are you, Jesso? It paid well.”
“And I’m keeping it.”
“The wages of war,” Kator said, bowing briefly.
Jesso turned to go but Renette hadn’t moved yet. She started to go when Kator stopped her.
“After you have changed, Renette, please see me in my study.”
“She’s going upstairs,” Jesso said.
“Naturally. And after she has changed—”
“Why, Johannes?”
Kator seemed to need a moment to collect himself, but then it came out as smoothly as ever.
“I will wait for you in the library, Renette. Afterward, there is the party.”
“But Johannes, I’d rather—”
“She’ll see you in the library,” Jesso said. “Without changing. And no party.”
Kator seemed to swell out. When he didn’t say anything, Jesso told him, “And I’ll wait here. So don’t be long.” Then he stepped aside and waved Renette down the stairs.
“And tomorrow, Kator, you and I talk turkey.”
Kator heard it but turned on his heel, following Renette.
She was waiting for him by the desk. He stopped in front of her, looked her up and down, told her to sit.
“I’ll stand, Johannes.”
“Very well. I suppose you are bursting with information, my dear.”
“You mean about Jesso?”
“I was thinking of Jesso, yes. What have you learned?”
“I’ve learned this, Johannes. He doesn’t talk about business, but after a while he talked about you. He has no illusions about you, Johannes, and it does not frighten him.”
“This much I knew.”
“He is dangerous, Johannes.”
Kator sat down on one of the couches, crossed his legs, and spread his arms along the backrest. The pose made him look more bull-necked than usual.
“You stand there, Renette, and find it necessary to warn me?”
“You are my brother.”
Kator gave one short hard laugh. Then the big nostrils seemed to move up between his eyes.
“And Jesso, what is he to you?”
“A lot.”
“You love him?”
It surprised Kator when she just shrugged.
“He means a lot, Johannes.”
“And the wedding, my dear. When will I announce the wedding?”
“I don’t think I’ll marry him.”
“And when will you return to us, my dear, to resume your proper functions?”
“If I leave him it will have nothing to do with you. Not any more.”
Kator stopped playing. He understood how she had changed, and more, he understood something that Renette herself might not yet know; that she would now be capable of leaving Jesso just as she had left her brother. It was a fact that pleased him, a fact that he understood. She had become like himself, in a way. She had gained his kind of freedom to choose and discard. So for the moment he left her alone. He made it light.
“Would you like me to tell Helmut about this?”
“Suit yourself,” she said, and went upstairs.
When Jesso heard Renette pass his door, he gave her a few minutes and then went to her suite, behind the bend of the hallway. Downstairs there was music and polite laughter, but Jesso hardly heard it.
The first thing Jesso saw was the maid leaving, and there was no argument about it this time. She was carrying Renette’s dress and a few other things, and she left the door ajar for him when she saw him coming.
The big light was on in the room, so Jesso turned it off. Just the faint one by the bed was left. Renette was humming behind the door where the dressing room was. Jesso didn’t go in. He went back to his room and got himself pajamas. He hadn’t noticed before, but there was a small crest on one pocket; the von Lohe brand, most likely.
She was waiting for him. He could see her through the milky white thing she was wearing, white where it gathered and live skin tones where the thing stretched.
“Don’t come any closer,” she said. “Your suit scratches.”
Then she turned for him, wanting him to look. “I’ve done all the looking I’m going to,” he said.
“I’ll yell,” she said.
“I know you will.” But he didn’t go any closer. He went to the bathroom and took a shower. When he was through they pulled the quilted seat she had in the bedroom to the window and sat there looking out over the garden. The watery moon sent shafts of light here and there, and glittered on the cut glass of the decanter by the seat. It was a sweet liqueur with a curled gold leaf floating along the bottom, the kind of drink Jesso didn’t even know. He watched how she tasted it, and he had some and thought it was good too. They had more and sat on the seat.
“Turn some,” he said. “You’re poking me.”
“I have big hips.”
“Good.”
“If I turn I’ll just poke you somewhere else.”
“Good.”
She turned and they sat still.
“You know, I’ve never seen that garden at night.”
“I haven’t either.”
“Look at it sometime.”
“I will.”
“Not now.”
“I’m not looking now.”
“I know, Jesso.”
“Done with your glass?”
“Put it down for me, please?”
“Just drop it.”
She dropped it and looked where it rolled. “I might step on it in the dark.”
“You won’t. I’ll carry you.”
“Carry me now, Jesso.”
And then the door made an oiled movement, swung wide, and the big light overhead came on like an explosion. Jesso let go and jerked around just as Helmut closed the door. Then Jesso’s voice came like a bellow.
“What in hell do you want?”
It shook the Baron. It was an insult to which there was no answer. A moment later he drew himself up and sounded cultured.
“I’m sorry the light startled you. It must have—”
“It did. So turn it off.”
This made another pause and when the Baron found his voice again it was edged.
“Actually,” and he smiled with his mouth, “I came to see my wife.”
“Scram, Helmut.”
“Renette,” and he looked past Jesso, “I would like you to come now.”
She had turned in the seat and made a face. “But Helmut, I don’t understand your—“
“As your husband I demand—”
“Shut up, Helmut. You interrupted her.”
Renette frowned. “Just what do you mean, Helmut?”
“I know what that sonofabitch means!” Jesso was barking. He jumped up from the seat and watched the Baron take a step back. The Baron fiddled with his cuff links and his voice had a slice to it.
“Do not take my leniency for granted, Jesso.” He started a thin smile. “I will overlook your intrusion. However, at the moment I desire the presence of my wife. I assure you she is well able to forego your—“
“Get out.” It wasn’t very loud.
“Why, Jesso. You have affrontery—”
Then Jesso roared again. “You think you can talk like that just because she’s your wife? Now scram!” Jesso went across the room fast, but by the time he got to the door it had closed again and the Baron was gone. He was bolting down the hallway like a puppet on too many wires, even forgetting about his hair, which had flapped out of place, showing the skull.
Jesso was down at eight and Hofer served his breakfast in the long room next to the solarium. He would eat till eight-fifteen, smoke a cigarette, take a walk in the garden. He would walk in the garden like a gentleman, because Kator never showed till after ten, when he had breakfast and read his mail. He wouldn’t be ready for business till close to eleven. That was two hours anyway, two hours to walk in the garden like a goddamn gentleman and maybe think everything over again.
Hofer came back.
“I don’t want anything and I’m not done, so stop popping in here or whatever you call it.”
“Herr Kator is waiting for you in his study.”
Jesso jumped up and made for the door.
“There is no need to interrupt your—”
“You finish it, Hofer.”
Kator looked cold and impersonal. He got up from his desk. He was ready for business.
“Get your coat, Jesso. We are leaving for Berlin.”
“Another dry run?”
“I am going with you. Please get your coat.”
The airport was far out of the city and the plane was Kator’s. It was a two-engine with a separate pilot’s cabin and the outside was painted gray, a thick gray, as if there used to be some other paint underneath. They climbed aboard and took off almost immediately.
Neither of them talked. Kator read papers that he took out of his brief case and wrote on a pad. Jesso looked out of the window. Once Kator went to the front and handed the pilot a message he wanted radioed, then sat down again as before. Jesso looked out of the window again. There wasn’t much to see. He’d got used to the constant overcast over Hannover and was almost surprised when the plane broke through the layer and there was sun. Underneath there was nothing but clouds.
That changed after a while. Occasionally the sun broke through underneath, and when the plane entered the traffic pattern over the Tempelhof airport the country below had a glassy brilliance.
The car that waited for them was Kator’s and the chauffeur wore the same livery as the one in Hannover.
“The Klausewitz address,” said Kator. “But go down the Charlottenburger Chaussee.”
“It’s out of the way, sir.”
“Just the same.”
When they came out of the Tiergarten the wide street ended on the Potzdammer Platz. Jesso recognized it from newsreels he’d seen.
“Take a slow swing past the gate,” Kator said. He leaned toward his window and looked across to the Russian sector.
“Homesick, Kator?”
“Historical interest, Jesso. Actually nothing has changed.”
“Where was your office, Kator—Unter den Linden? War Department, maybe?”
“No. A much smaller building. Not far from there.”
“And what a beautiful uniform you used to wear.”
Kator turned slightly, looked almost bored. “I never wore a uniform, Jesso.”
“That figures. And if you’re through sight-seeing, I’m dying to meet your friends. We going across?”
“I arranged the meeting in this sector. Your passport is hardly good enough for the East Zone—at this short notice.”
“How about yours?”
“I manage. Erich, the Klausewitz place,” and the big car slid off, back toward the West.
Kator turned in his seat, ready to talk. It turned out to be the briefing voice.
“This will pain you, Jesso, but for both our sakes I advise you to remain—uh—polite. In view of the stakes, you should be able to manage it. The man we shall meet does not have my leniency, nor can he be forced to adopt it. For the sake of our business and your well-being, please be warned.”