Part Two: Strategic Warfare — Chapter 7 - The Barman of the Ritz

SEPTEMBER 30, 1940

“He said good night to you, did he not, Monsieur Elmiger?”

“Yes, madame. Then he laughed like a madman, twirled his baton as though he were on parade, tripped over his dressing gown, and nearly fell flat on his face.”

“He was drunk, I assume?”

“A little more than that, in my opinion.”

“By which you mean…?”

“I fear that Reichsmarschall Göring overindulged in psychotropic substances last night, specifically cocaine.”

“Are you serious, Hans?”

“Yes, madame, perfectly serious.”

But for the fraught expression on the face of Marie-Louise Ritz, Frank would have burst out laughing. Sometimes it only takes one guest to pitch the whole hotel into turmoil—but what a guest! Just as it seemed that the elegant decorum of the Ritz had finally been restored. Since the closure of the Petit Bar, the more brazen prostitutes have quietly disappeared. The guests are happy. Arletty spends her days billing and cooing with Lieutenant-Colonel Soehring, and Coco Chanel frolics with her Prussian aristocrat while, in the gilded salons, ministers of the Reich engage in hushed conversations with an Italian minister of state and the brother-in-law of General Franco.

And now the Great Huntsman himself is leading the carnival of degenerates: the Widow never saw it coming.

“Dear God,” she sighs, “I had assumed he was a morphine addict.”

“So he is,” says Elmiger. “And indeed, this has created a problem I feel I must raise with you.”

Elmiger calmly explains that, since his arrival, Reichsmarschall Göring, on the advice of his personal physician, has been taking several baths a day to ease the symptoms of his morphine addiction and, in the process, using up almost all the hot water in the hotel. There have been numerous complaints at reception, but the higher echelons of the Wehrmacht have been turning a blind eye. Elmiger sheepishly admits that he does not know how to resolve the issue.

At these words, the Widow’s eyes light up.

“Well,” she said, “I think it is high time that I paid Herr Göring a little visit. It appears that he has asked us to change the clock in his parlor because he finds the ticking too loud. I shall personally see that he gets a new one and make the most of the opportunity to clarify a few details with him.”

Frank has to admit the Widow has guts. She is not a woman to balk in the face of trouble; on the contrary, she seems to relish conflict and confrontation.

The Widow snaps at Elmiger: “Kindly get in touch with Herr Göring’s aide-de-camp and ask what time would be convenient for me to visit his apartments.”

Without waiting for a reply, she turns to Frank.

“And since you’re here, Meier, you’ve given me an idea. You’ll come with me.”

“To Göring’s apartments? Are you quite sure, madame?”

“How dare you question me! Fetch a bottle of champagne from the cellar. A rare noble vintage, one that has a story to tell. We’ll present it to him as a welcome gift, and you will sing its praises.”

“Very good, madame.”

“Perfect. And now, something that should make you happy. Tonight, mon cher, your time in purgatory is at an end. I have decided that the bar will reopen. You may send for Georges. There is not a moment to lose. Oh, and one more little thing.”

Never a favor without a quid pro quo: Frank would have been astonished if she had let him off so lightly.

“Monsieur Elmiger thought that perhaps you might like to invent some new cocktails in honor of our guests. They would be flattered by the gesture, don’t you think?”

Frank turns to Elmiger.

The embarrassed hotel manager looks away.

“It’s just a question of adding a few cocktails named after German officers to the menu,” says the Widow. “Oh, and Meier, one last thing: have you any news of Madame Auzello?”

“I’m told that she is recovering from a bout of illness. The events of the past few months have deeply affected her.”

“Deeply affected Blanche Auzello? I thought she was made of sterner stuff!”

The Widow turns to Elmiger.

“What do the chambermaids have to say, Hans?”

“They no longer have access to her apartments.”

“Excuse me?” snaps Marie-Louise.

“The Auzellos have dispensed with the housekeeping service.”

“Ridiculous! What does that mean?”

Elmiger throws up his hands.

“That they are doing their own housekeeping,” says Frank in a hesitant voice.

“Poppycock, Meier,” the Widow hisses before turning to Elmiger and the unheeded Süss. “I’m sure it is some conspiracy. Find a way to gain access, whatever it takes! I must know what she is plotting behind my back.”

Stand up straight, stay calm.

Frank simply gives a curt nod. At her worst, the Widow can be just as ruthless as Göring. He must keep his allegiances to himself. If he is to survive, he has to weather the storm.