Part Three: The Growing Conflict — Chapter 5 - The Barman of the Ritz

JUNE 11, 1941

“Gentlemen, I shall be brief: we are faced with a crisis of extraordinary magnitude…”

Marie-Louise Ritz has summoned Frank to her weekly Wednesday meeting with Elmiger and Süss. Such meetings are synonymous with coffee: real coffee—an increasingly rare commodity—which Marie-Louise serves in porcelain cups. The Widow wears a grim expression that has become second nature, but Frank cannot help but wonder whether she isn’t privately thrilled every time the situation gets complicated.

“I have a serious suspicion that Madame Auzello is a Jewess.”

Frank feels a cold blade ripping his insides.

“If this proves to be the case,” the Widow continues, “then Blanche Auzello has failed to register as part of the compulsory census.”

She turns to Süss.

“We must not be afraid to face the facts; we find ourselves in a deeply perilous situation. If this gets out, we could be accused of aiding and abetting.”

Frank’s throat is dry, his mouth cottony.

Why did she ask me to the meeting? How much does she know?

With a little pout, the Widow explains that, ideally, she would have asked Madame Auzello herself, but Blanche is still refusing to speak to her, and Claude is staying with his friend Frank Gould in Juan-les-Pins.

“I have therefore requested that Monsieur Süss carry out discreet investigations. I would hope that the two of you will help him get to the bottom of this matter as soon as possible.”

From the Widow’s tone, Frank can tell that the investigation is already underway. His heart is hammering in his chest, his head feels as though it might explode at any moment. Does she suspect anything of him? Probably not—otherwise he would not be here.

“To begin with, I must confess that thus far I have not been able to corroborate the allegation,” Süss says, pushing his spectacles back onto his forehead. “The claim was made by a chambermaid we hired ten days ago. It seems that she knew Blanche when she first arrived in France. At the time, the chambermaid was working at the Hôtel Claridge, where Claude Auzello was deputy manager. It was here, she claims, that she encountered a young New Yorker called Miss Blanche Rubenstein, who was hoping to make a career in the French film industry. It follows that Blanche Auzello is Jewish, something she has concealed through her marriage.”

“Monsieur Meier, you have known the couple for some time,” says the Widow. “Please, enlighten us.”

The first warning shot. Something inside Frank coils tight with fear. He struggles to draw breath, but on the surface he remains calm and meets the Widow’s gaze full on. He must not show any sign of dishonesty. It could mean Blanche’s arrest and even execution.

“I’ve always heard Madame Auzello say she was brought up Catholic. In fact, I think I heard that her father was a church deacon from Cleveland. So, I have to say I am very surprised.”

Marie-Louise eyes her barman suspiciously. Frank does not dare look at Süss, who is staring at him like an inquisitor. The detail about Blanche’s father came to Frank on the spur of the moment. It would not take long for the Widow or Süss to check it with the Auzellos.

You thought you could outsmart them, but you’ve just put yourself in danger for nothing!

“I guess we’ll wait to see what the investigation uncovers. But I would not dream of turning Madame Auzello in to the authorities!” the Widow says with her hand on her heart. “To do so would go against my moral principles. Besides, I have nothing against the Jews. But if the allegation proves to be true, it would be unconscionable to have the Auzellos stay under our roof.”

Elmiger has still not said a word. Clearly, he was not made aware of his deputy’s investigations, and from his scowl, it’s clear he is not happy about being circumvented. He turns to Süss with an unfamiliar sternness.

“This chambermaid… did she come to speak to you voluntarily?”

Süss nods and visibly stiffens.

For the first time, a rift has opened up between the two Swiss men.

“Why do you ask, Hans?” the Widow says sharply.

Baron Pfyffer’s nephew observes a moment’s silence, of the kind that sometimes precedes an act of bravery.

“I was not made aware of this allegation,” says Elmiger, “but I feel I should say that, over the past weeks, I have been alarmed to note the increasing eagerness of staff to denounce one another in the hotel.”

Marie-Louise stares at him in amazement.

“The presence of the German officers at the Ritz has led to staff receiving exorbitant tips, madame, and in the current climate of social score settling, many of our employees seem keen to, shall we say, make as much money as they can, sometimes regardless of the truth. I am sorry to have to put it so bluntly, but the fact is that every floor of our magnificent hotel has been infected by this poisonous atmosphere.”

“That sounds rather extreme, Hans,” the Widow blusters. “The hotel staff here have always had access to wealthy guests. And while your uncle praises your cautiousness, I would describe you as alarmist. You seem to get worked up about the slightest thing.”

“I respectfully disagree, madame. I’m telling you what I think in the best interests of the Ritz. We urgently need to nip this greed in the bud. The mood is quickly becoming toxic. Monsieur Süss here can corroborate what I am saying. I am particularly thinking of the staff in the restaurant, where we are worried there may soon be all-out war.”

The Widow turns to Süss, but he has closed up like an oyster. Elmiger, on the other hand, is standing straighter than usual. Relieved to have found a chink in his rival’s armor, he allows a look of smug authority to cross his face. As though dignity were back in fashion, Frank thinks. He is not remotely surprised by what he has heard: he sees the staff falling over themselves grubbing for tips every night at the bar. But a manager who actually knows what is going on is a rare phenomenon.

“The situation has been exacerbated by the increasingly frequent visits of lowlife gangsters who are making a fortune trafficking on the black market,” says Elmiger. “Doubtless you have realized this, madame, but the money spilling out of the pockets of these nouveaux riches has made even the humblest members of staff greedy, and their envy has turned them on one another.”

Marie-Louise is listening now. The very words “nouveaux riches” make her shudder.

“We saw an example just yesterday. One of the restaurant waiters was approached by a notorious collaborator named Lafont. This man offered the waiter a substantial bribe in return for calling him every day with the names of any Germans who would be lunching at the hotel.”

A simple ploy, thinks Frank. Getting a table next to Göring or Speidel would be a godsend for a racketeer.

“The reason I found out,” Elmiger says with a sigh, “is because the young waiter was denounced by a jealous colleague.”

“I want his head on a plate right now!” roars Marie-Louise.

“And I would gladly give it to you, madame, but perhaps it might not be a good idea to get on the wrong side of this man Lafont, who has close ties to the Gestapo?”

Elmiger shoots a glance at Frank, hoping for some support. Or some respite. Instinctively, Frank cuts in.

“If I may be so bold, I have to agree with Monsieur Elmiger. I know this man Lafont, he’s been a regular at the bar for some time now. The staff at the hotel admire him, he speaks their language, he is a working-class man who insists people call him ‘boss,’ and they love it. He swaggers around the bar as though he owns the place.”

As the Widow listens, Frank delivers the fatal blow:

“To them he is like Gavroche, madame, a street urchin who uses his wit and his wiles to make his way in the world. Far from being outraged, the staff are impressed by his shady dealings with Nazi dignitaries.”

“If more of the hotel staff were to collaborate with the Germans,” says Elmiger, “it would seriously tarnish the Ritz’s reputation as a neutral ‘Switzerland in Paris.’ And that’s not all.”

Who would have thought it? At the height of the story, the spineless Elmiger dons his captain’s uniform.

Marie-Louise sinks further into her Louis XV armchair. Süss has folded his hands and pressed his steepled forefingers to his pursed lips, as though to prevent himself from opening his mouth.

“I should, perhaps, also point out that one of our chambermaids is having an… intimate relationship with a German officer billeted at the Ritz.”

“Surely you are joking?” the Widow says, exasperated.

“Madame Delmas, the head housekeeper, tells me that, unfortunately, Mademoiselle Anna Jaouen has become the mistress of Captain Sommer in room 208. If this is true, I think it vital we let our chambermaids know that we will not tolerate such behavior. Our rules on the matter are crystal clear, and failure to punish them for breaking these rules would be interpreted as complicity on our part. I have therefore summoned Mademoiselle Jaouen to my office at noon and I am requesting your permission to dismiss her with immediate effect, so that she can leave as soon as possible. You must see, madame, while we will certainly proceed with our investigation into Madame Auzello, we must also be wary of the idle talk of our chambermaids.”

War changes people. The once refined staff of the Ritz have turned mercenary. Disconcerted, Marie-Louise stares out of the window at her beloved linden trees, whose pallid leaves are covered in gray spots.

They’ve been contaminated by the occupying forces too.

Leaving the Widow’s apartments, the manager and the barman find themselves alone in the corridor.

“The thing is, Meier, deep down, I’m a man of duty,” Elmiger says in a moment of unaccustomed compassion. “When you think about it, after darkness falls, the sky gradually becomes clearer and you can see the stars.”