Part Seven: Winds of Change — Chapter 4 - The Barman of the Ritz

AUGUST 21, 1944

Frank has not set foot outside the hotel for a week, but still he hears the rumors circulating in Paris. Elmiger told him that, in Gennevilliers, women accused of sleeping with Germans have had their heads shaved and are being paraded naked through the streets with swastikas drawn on their foreheads. Men who have felt humiliated these past four years are taking their revenge, not on the profiteers or the collaborators, but on their sisters, wives, and daughters. It’s pathetic. On the other hand, thirty-four boys who tried to join the Resistance were ambushed last night and coldly executed by the SS in the Bois de Boulogne. Most of them were under twenty.

In the waiting room outside the Widow’s office, Frank sees a copy of Combat set out on a nearby table. According to the front page, Allied troops are four miles from Paris and de Gaulle has landed in Cherbourg. It feels like the end.

Frank is racking his brains to figure out how a Resistance newspaper came to be lying on a coffee table here at the Ritz. He skims the headlines, not daring to pick up the paper lest the Widow suddenly appear. It is ten o’clock, and she has summoned him to yet another meeting. What does she want this time…?

Frank waits patiently; it is one of his many talents. He studies the small white marble fireplace. The Louis XVI trumeau is surmounted by an Empire mirror and an eighteenth-century pastoral scene depicting two aristocratic couples in the countryside, young nobles discovering the pleasures of chivalry. Frank has never really noticed the painting before. He realizes that it was here long before the Germans arrived and will probably be here long after they have left. A permanent fixture that puts the present into perspective. This thought fortifies him.

Suddenly, the door to the Widow’s office bursts open. Jolted from his reverie, Frank gets to his feet. Madame Ritz stands straight as an arrow in a three-piece pinstriped navy suit. It is a little unusual, but it makes her look younger. The outfit is new, probably from Chanel, a summer wardrobe utterly at odds with the Widow’s customary style. She looks as though she is about to set off for a tour of the hotspots of Cabourg or Deauville.

What is she up to?

The Widow has a wry smile, but there is a troubled look in her eyes. Frank is confused.

“Meier, please come in!”

“Good morning, madame.”

As soon as Frank steps into the sun-drenched office he notices two Louis Vuitton travel trunks standing in front of the window.

She’s leaving?

Instinctively, he heads towards the large polished cherrywood desk, but the Widow gestures for him to sit on the Louis XV settee, the one reserved for guests. Well, well… He sits where he is bidden and manages to hide his surprise. Marie-Louise Ritz closes the padded door and sits opposite him in the Louis-Philippe wing chair, friendly but clearly impatient.

So, what’s this about, then?

Frank notices a road map of the Paris area spread out on the coffee table. To the south of the city, there are a few blue satin flags.

“Have you read the copy of Combat on the pedestal table?”

“I glanced at it.”

“The Allies are at the gates of the city, Meier!”

Frank cannot work out whether Marie-Louise Ritz is delighted or concerned by the news.

Is she planning to take them on? Does she think she is Pétain, planning the Battle of Verdun from his headquarters in Souilly?

“According to my information, a number of patrols of the Third United States Army have already reached Meudon,” she says, pointing to the flags.

“I don’t understand—”

“I need you to help me, Meier. I want to get out of Paris and personally greet them.”

“Excuse me?”

Has she gone crazy from being cooped up in here?

Confidently the Widow outlines her plan. She cannot afford to stand idly by. She is convinced that, if she does nothing, she risks having the hotel commandeered as soon as the Allies arrive. She quotes her late husband, César Ritz: “To stand still is to die.” She wants to get to the Americans before they enter Paris and give them proof of her loyalty. And she has planned everything down to the slightest detail.

“You will come with me; you can drive the Citroën. I have had the van loaded with the last six cases of bourbon, and twenty-five bottles of champagne, also the last ones, I’m afraid. I hope you don’t mind.”

“But madame—”

“Let me finish!”

Annoyed, the Widow continues. The two Louis Vuitton trunks are filled with perfumes from Chanel, cigarettes from Balto, and chocolates from Debauve & Gallais, which she plans to give to the American officers as a thank you for the liberation. They will surely appreciate the risk involved in going to meet them. Frank cannot believe his ears.

“And I want us to leave within the hour.”

“Madame, I—”

“No, Meier, listen to me! You are idolized by the officers, you have lived in America, you know how to deal with them, you’re coming with me! They’ll be thrilled to see you—a little taste of what awaits them in Paris. Now, go fetch your various bits and bobs, you’ll mix them cocktails on the bonnets of their Jeeps and we will save our skins. I promise, I’ll make it worth your while!”

“Stop! Do you even realize what you are saying?”

Marie-Louise Ritz is stunned by Frank’s forcefulness.

“We’d never make it out of Paris, we would be machine-gunned at the first crossroads by Germans or insurgents.”

“We can at least try! You are a war veteran, Meier, have some guts!”

“No, madame! It would be a suicide mission. I’m not taking part in this. I’m sorry.”

Frank suddenly stands up, as does the Widow. She looks at him pleadingly, panic in her eyes.

“Madame, can’t you hear the gunfire everywhere? There are barricades on every street corner. We would be killed!”

“I would rather die than lose the Ritz.”

“Be reasonable, madame, it’s too late.”

She gives him a sneer.

“So, even at the bitter end you let me down, Meier. I’d forgotten what a coward you are. Get out of my office.”

Frank is dumbfounded. The Widow angrily sits down in the wing chair and, with a furious gesture, sweeps the map off the table and lets out a muffled scream of rage. She is reduced to a huddled figure, showing her age. Marie-Louise Ritz was ready to brave the battlefield to greet the liberators in order to save her life’s work… It is the act of a heroine. Frank almost feels moved. Out in the hall, he finds himself thinking that the Widow has never been more human to him than she was this morning. She dreads the fall she knows is coming, a feeling Frank knows all too well. The arrival of the Allies signals the passing of a world, the world of the ancient bourgeoisie who, for more than a century, have ruled with their wealth.

What will the new world be like?