Part Five: Outright War — Chapter 10 - The Barman of the Ritz

JULY 26, 1943

How did Luciano hear about it?

Frank did not ask, he is simply happy to be able to celebrate with the boy. Italy’s old aristocracy, terrified by the Allied troops’ advance, has ousted Benito Mussolini.

Il Duce was arrested by order of the king.

The first blow to the fascist camp.

Luciano was moved to tears at the thought that he might get to see his mother again before the year was out. He has been living in Paris now for five years—an eternity, for a boy of twenty. And an eternity for a mother to be separated from her son. For the first time ever, Frank hugged Luciano and felt tears well in his eyes. He promised that they would have a glass of Veuve Clicquot when the bar closed that night. He even told the boy he could start work an hour late, so that he could share the moment with a friend, a boy from Naples who works in the kitchens.

“Don’t forget that you’re a Swiss citizen from Lugano!” he was about to say, but Luciano had already dashed off. Is this Neapolitan friend fooled? It hardly matters. They share a hatred for the occupying forces, and, being so far from home, their mother tongue is their homeland.

Mussolini behind bars.

Frank still cannot believe it.

Will Hitler and Pétain suffer the same fate some day?

The atmosphere is explosive. By noon, a thick plume of gray smoke has blotted out the blue sky over the Place de la Concorde. Dozens of onlookers are gathered behind the gates of the Tuileries gardens. Elmiger tells Frank that the Germans are burning looted paintings in the gardens of the Jeu de Paume: “works by degenerate artists,” they announced, “from which France must be purged.” Frank thinks of the Picasso Süss bought from the Spanish maestro.

Was that burned too?

Will they burn everything before they leave, as a final punishment?

But before the end comes, there will be many days of doubt, many days of dread. And days with Inga Haag, who has just appeared, cradling her cat in her arms.

“Hello, Frank, would you have a bowl of water for Raimund?”

“Of course. Unfortunately, I have no raspberries in the bar. I haven’t had a chance to get down to the kitchens.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m in the mood for a dry Martini today.”

“Coming up.”

He focuses on his cocktail shaker and tries to think of something to say. Should he mention the arrest of Il Duce? How does she feel about it? Earlier this week, Jünger taught Frank a little trick for probing the person you are talking to. “Never be afraid to broach sensitive subjects,” he said. “Like the German stalemate in the battle of Kursk, for example. If they say there is still time to turn things around, or opt for a ‘tactical silence,’ you know exactly the kind of person you’re dealing with and can move on to polite small talk. If not, then it could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Though you need to be wary in case they are pretending.”

“Your Martini, madame.”

“Thank you.”

Frank cannot help but be fascinated by the way Inga Haag brings the glass to her lips. It is high time he found out what kind of game she is playing.

“What’s your secret, Frank?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never had such a delicious Martini anywhere else in the world. What’s your secret?”

Relieved, Frank gives her his most charming smile.

“Well, it’s all about the ice. The ice cubes in the glass must be at a precise temperature: between minus sixteen and minus seventeen degrees. It stimulates the gin, that’s the trick.”

“It’s wonderful. You are a true artist.”

The more Frank makes things up, the more people believe him. Who could believe that ice cubes in a bucket could be kept at a constant temperature? Inga Haag is not his only victim. Over the past weeks, Frank has become an expert in the art of deception; he is training for a possible interrogation.

He is weighing where to take the conversation next when Georges suddenly comes into the bar, his face red and beaded with sweat.

But this is his day off.

“I-got-here-as-quick-ly-as-I-could!” he splutters, gasping for breath.

“Calm down, what’s happened?”

“I need to talk to you. It’s urgent!”

Frank turns and asks Inga to excuse them. She gives a little wave and lights a cigarette. Frank leads Georges down into the cellar.

He looks like he’s seen the devil.