Part Two: Strategic Warfare — Chapter 3 - The Barman of the Ritz

AUGUST 28, 1940

Although it has been four weeks since the Auzellos moved back to the Place Vendôme, there has still been no sign of Blanche.

Where is she? What is she up to? Is she even here?

Frank can no longer pretend indifference, he feels himself close to frenzy, he needs to know. He starts with Marie Sénéchal, one of the chambermaids who works for the Auzellos, and arranges to meet her for lunch at the Café de la Paix, on the Place de l’Opéra. She was delighted to be invited; given the times, for many, an omelette and a green salad is a banquet. Arriving early, in a three-piece suit of gray merino wool with a white shirt and a black silk tie, the barman takes a seat at the back of the room. It is Wednesday, and the café is quiet.

“How’s life?” Frank asks once Marie Sénéchal has settled herself across from him at the small wooden table. She is shy and pretty, with green eyes and luxuriant curls neatly framed by a pinned hat. He is touched to see that she has dressed up for this lunch with him.

“Not too bad, monsieur. I suppose it’s possible to adapt to anything.”

He gives her a small nod.

“Are you hungry?”

They place their order: rabbit terrine, followed by turbot à la parisienne for Frank and fillet de sole à la cancalaise for Marie, paired with a half-bottle of Riquewihr—Frank’s choice—for them to share. Marie is beaming; this little lunch seems almost miraculous now that staples such as bread and sugar are tightly rationed and restaurants such as this are patronized almost exclusively by German officers. But she is also happy that, in some small ways, life in Paris seems to be returning to normal. Many of those who fled the city have since returned, and she credits the “old maréchal” for tempering the worst excesses of the occupying forces. As she sips her glass of the pale wine, she confesses to Frank in a proud whisper that she has even written to Pétain to thank him. Frank takes the opportunity to begin his approach.

“So, what does Claude Auzello think of Maréchal Pétain?”

“Oh, you know Monsieur Auzello, always grumbling about something.”

“Even about Pétain?”

“No, he mostly grumbles about the Krauts! But I can understand that—he fought in the Great War, like you.”

“Very true.” Frank pauses, calculating his next move. “And you, Marie, what do you think of the Germans?”

“Well, they behave themselves—”

The waiter sets down the terrines on the table.

Frank senses Marie’s increased wariness. She grabs a thick slice of bread and digs into the rabbit terrine. Adopting his most casual tone, Frank starts up again.

“And, I wonder, what does Madame Auzello think of this whole situation?”

Marie Sénéchal hesitates. She flashes him a smile and then looks down at her plate. Frank purposely says nothing.

“I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but,” she drops her voice, “Madame is really not very well.”

So Blanche is here.

To think that he had begun to doubt the fact. He has a momentary rush of fear and trepidation. She’s really not very well, what does that mean? He picks up his wineglass and takes a sip. Still, he says nothing.

Marie continues, as if to prove her loyalty to him:

“Madame is very short-tempered. She spends most of her time holed up in her bedroom and sometimes I’ll see her writhing in agony. She perspires so much we regularly have to change the sheets. But even so, she refuses to see a doctor.”

“And what does Claude have to say?”

“Nothing. Poor Monsieur Auzello is completely distraught. He’s asked us to be very discreet, but I know I can trust you.”

“Thank you, Marie. Don’t worry, I won’t say a word.”

“I hope she gets better soon.”

“So do I.”

Frank Meier thinks back to the Great War, to the symptoms of infantrymen who were addicted to ether. He is almost certain of his diagnosis. Morphine withdrawal. If Marie-Louise Ritz were to find out, she would use it as reason to dismiss Blanche and Claude.

The young chambermaid politely dabs the corners of her mouth with her napkin before raising the glass of wine to her lips. When it comes to etiquette, the Ritz is a perfect finishing school.

Ever the barman, Frank refills their glasses before moving the conversation forward. He needs to be careful lest his questions signal an excessive interest in Blanche.

“Have you had any news from your mother?” he asks.

“Not a word. She’s living in Brittany, but, as you know, there has been no post. Have you heard from your family?”

“No, I don’t even know where my son is.”

Frank is surprised to hear himself talking about Jean-Jacques. It is something he never does.

She probably didn’t even know that I had a son.

Marie Sénéchal asks how old Jean-Jacques is.

“Nineteen.”

“Well, well, same as me!” she says.

Frank bites his lip. It has just occurred to him that he has never taken his son to lunch.