Page 29 of Winter's End
Her father cut her off with a comment about the roast – how succulent and perfectly spiced – and the Germans agreed, helping themselves to a second portion.
The conversation limped along despite Mila’s effort to spur it on. Finally, as the fourth bottle of wine was emptied, the older German laid his napkin on the table.
“I fear, Herr Brouwer” he said, “with many thanks for your gracious hospitality, we must make this an early evening.”
His companion rose, clicked his heels together in the Reich fashion, and bowed from the waist. “Our thanks to you as well, Frau Brouwer, and your lovely daughter,” he said in passable Dutch. “The repast and the company have been a delight.”
Her father rose. “Of course,mein Herr. “Perhaps as soon as tomorrow. Cook will roast the goose you brought this evening.”
The pig-faced officer shook his head. “Danke schoen, Herr Brouwer. “I wish it were possible. But we are summoned to a Reich meeting at the Haarlem Cinema tomorrow evening, and there is much to do in preparation.”
He rose and bowed again, first to her mother, and then to her. “Our gratitude again for this repast and your gracious company. We hope to see you soon again.”
Mila was relieved, if still puzzled, when the two of them were gone. She said brief goodnights to her parents and hurried to the sanctity of her bedroom.
She locked the door and, without bothering to change out of her silk dress, sat down in her clothes closet and pulled out the secure line. To her great relief, the call was answered.
“Pieter,” she began. “I was worried that I could not reach you earlier. I have the sketches you asked for, and I hope they are useful. But alarm bells are going off in my head.”
She lowered her voice. “Both the few German guards I saw this morning, and our SS dinner guests this evening appeared to be oddly distracted – and it appears some sort of meeting is planned for German personnel tomorrow evening at the Haarlem Cinema.”
Pieter took a moment. “Tomorrow morning if you can manage it,” he said finally. “Ten o’clock. My office.”
EVI
It was a different tavern, set far back from the street along the same small stretch of quiet highway just outside the city limits. The samearrangements had been made with the Resistance bodyguards, and Evi had memorized the path to the rendezvous point where she was to lead her drunken German victim.
Mila, for some reason, was not in attendance, but Evi told herself it made no difference. She felt alluring and confident in the emerald green sheath dress, and she was in good hands, she assured herself as walked through the tavern’s rear door.
The interior was strikingly similar to the first, smoke-filled and dimly lit. She took a seat at the far end of the bar, and tucked a few stray hairs into her upswept chignon. The bartender took her order without hesitation.
She was nursing her Amstel, surreptitiously peering down the length of the bar to survey her prospects, when a voice whispered in her left ear.
“Bist du allein, fraulein?”He asked in German. “Are you alone?
She turned on the bar stool, a smile on her face. The young SS officer was lean and clean-shaven, with startlingly blue eyes. He gestured questioningly to the stool beside her.
“Ja, ja,”she said, encouraging him to sit, and hoping he spoke at least a little Dutch.
He ordered two beers and another for thefraulein. She asked, in Dutch, how long he had been in the Netherlands, and he answered easily enough.
“Drie yaren,” he said in perfect Dutch. Three years.
She tried her most seductive smile. “That is a long time. Do you like it here?”
“Einebeautiful landmitmany beautiful ladies,” he murmured in a mix of languages, leaning close enough for her to smell the beer on his breath.
It was difficult to tell how drunk he was. He did not seem to be slurring his words, though his gaze seemed oddly unfocused.
“Where in Germany do you come from?” she asked.
“Munchen,” he said, smiling sadly. “Munich. Also, beautiful. Ach, ya,meinebeautifulMunchen.”
“You miss your home, then?”
“Ich vermisse mein familie.”I miss my family.
She brought to mind one of the German phrases Mila had taught her. “Unt deine freundin?” she asked, smiling coquettishly. Your girlfriend?
