Part Five: Outright War — Chapter 5 - The Barman of the Ritz

APRIL 27, 1943

Before he even steps into the Widow’s office, Frank knows that there is something gravely wrong. Elmiger’s face is ashen; Süss’s eyes are rheumy. Only Marie-Louise Ritz, her face gaunt, remains ramrod straight, undaunted in the face of adversity.

The worse things are, the better she seems.

“Monsieur Meier,” she says, flashing him a brief smile he cannot quite interpret. “Please, take a seat. Would you care for a cigarette?”

“No, thank you, madame.”

There have always been two Frank Meiers. The one who seeks refuge in deference and discipline. And the other, who flirts with rebelliousness and insubordination. He knows that he is not alone in this. The poisonous circumstances into which fate has plunged him these past three years have only exacerbated this old duality. One day, he finds himself doing favors for Nazis, the next, he is helping Jewish families escape.

The atmosphere in César Ritz’s office is oppressive; now everyone knows they could be arrested.

It is Elmiger who breaks the silence.

“Frank, we have just received some deeply troubling news that concerns us all: this afternoon, Blanche Auzello was sentenced to ten months’ imprisonment by the German military courts.”

Ten months. An eternity.

Frank forces himself to stay strong.

“On what charge?” he manages to ask.

“Consorting with communists.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Frank protests.

“Not really, Frank. They had already arrested Mademoiselle Kharmayeff, and two days ago Moscow newspapers ran furious headlines about the ‘arrest of a great Russian dancer in Paris.’ That was proof enough for them. Poor Claude is in shock and has locked himself away in his apartments. He knows that, in the best interests of the Ritz, he needs to keep a low profile. And, with time off for good behavior, his wife might be back with us by Christmas.”

Christmas, is there still such a thing as Christmas in this world?

“We find ourselves in a very difficult position,” Elmiger says. “The Gestapo are more than a little angry about this business of the kitchen lights being left on all night. They consider it an act of sabotage. So now we are all under suspicion, and we have to prove ourselves very quickly.”

“What has that got to do with me?” says Frank.

“I’m getting to that. Henri Lafont has just been promoted to the rank of SS commander, and this morning he called to say he wished to celebrate his new appointment here at the Ritz. Forgive me, but I see this as a blessing. We thought perhaps you could make your bar available to him as a token of our friendship.”

Disconcerted, Frank Meier says nothing.

Hand over my bar at the Ritz to Lafont. My bar.

“He’s a man who has great influence with the Nazi authorities. You take care of everything, and in return we will give you ten percent of the takings for the event. That could be a lot of money. You need to pull out all the stops. His group of thugs and gangsters will all be there, and—”

“Hans!” the Widow interrupts. “That’s no way to describe Monsieur Lafont’s entourage.”

“I apologize, madame. I stand corrected. You will be organizing a lavish reception for Henri Lafont and ‘his dearest friends.’ There will also be a number of SS officers in attendance, including Helmut Knochen, commander of the Security Police in Occupied France. A very big gun. He must be made to feel at home, do you understand?”

The whole of the Ritz is capitulating. This is not a reception, it’s an invasion. But with Blanche in the hands of the Gestapo, what choice do I have?

Frank sighs.

“I agree.”

“We never doubted that you would, Frank. Especially since our offer is more than generous. These days, everyone needs money…”

“That’s very true. And, on that subject, I’d like fifteen percent.”

The Widow almost chokes.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I need to get my staff involved. I think they will be more willing to serve members of the Gestapo if I promise them a little butter for their parsnips.”

“You have some nerve, Meier!” the Widow protests, without much conviction.

“I think Frank has a point, madame,” says Elmiger. “We need all hands on deck to give Monsieur Lafont an evening he won’t forget.”

“If you say so,” the Widow snaps.

“Is it a deal, Frank?”

“It’s a deal, Monsieur Elmiger.”

Frank glances at Elmiger. How much does he know about what has been going on these past months? Perhaps nothing. Perhaps everything. Frank would rather not find out.