“I don’t. I’m working it out as I go along.” I turned to Greg. “What do you think?”
“As you do. It must operate something like that. And I’m now going to wire the brigadier. You and I need to work out exactly how we get a look at the money—to be doubly, triply certain we have our man. But, once we do, I want his authorization to act immediately.”
“Are you really going to have to kill him?” I asked.
“Hal! Think what he’s doing! He’s helping fund the German war effort. Not indirectly, but very, very directly. He deserves to die.”
I looked at Rebecca.
She took a deep breath. “Can’t come soon enough for me.”
That evening I had promised myself I would write to Sam one more time but, with the denouement of our plan so close and its resolution so … so terrible, I was on edge and unable to concentrate. Greg had gone off to draft and encode his wire for the brigadier, so I asked Rebecca out for dinner.
She shook her head. “I’m having supper with Liesl.” But then, seeing how cast down I was, she said, “Why don’t you come too? Though I warn you: it’s a Dada club and quite shocking. Be prepared to be shocked.” She added with a smile, “I’m smiling but I’m not joking.”
I told her about my prewar days in Munich.
“Not bad as a warm-up sort of place, Munich. But this is the real thing. Dress casually—corduroys if you have them, no tie, be ready for a late night. We’ll meet in the Venner at nine. Bring money.”
I did as I was told. I had one pair of corduroy trousers with me, as it happened, but that was as bohemian as I got. For the rest, my ensemble was a blue shirt and a blazer.
Rebecca and Liesl were already at the bar when I arrived. They were both wearing trousers, both smoking, and both had on lots of makeup. I didn’t know Liesl but these were all innovations so far as Rebecca was concerned.
We had two drinks at the Venner, then caught a taxi to the club. It was in the Zäune part of town and called the Club Pantagruel. Inside, it was crowded, the air thick with the reek of tobacco, and a saxophone was playing slow, sad, reedy music. Despite the crowd, Rebecca and Liesl seemed to be known to the management, and a table was found. It was very dark but as my eyes became adjusted to the gloom I began to make out some very unusual ways of dressing.
The next thing I noticed, after registering that the quality of musicianship in the band was extremely high (a virtuoso pianist was now ripping through a much faster tune), were the pictures on the walls. They were very modern—collages of sorts—and appeared to be made of wood and paper. They were very assured and I immediately liked them.
“They’re by a painter called Kurt Schwitters,” murmured Rebecca. “He’s a friend of Liesl’s.”
A waitress appeared. Or was it a waiter? He/she was very slim, very good-looking, wore lots of makeup, and spoke German with what I could swear was a Munich accent.
“Red or white, whisky or gin?”
“Champagne—and a bottle of Scotch,” replied Rebecca with a laugh. “We are going to get very steamed.”
He/she disappeared.
I looked around again. This was definitely what you would call a bohemian club. There were some very beautiful women and some very beautiful men. Almost all were dressed casually, exotically even— low-cut dresses, high-cut skirts, very high-heeled shoes, long cigarette holders, feather boas, makeup by the mile. Dark glasses. Military jackets together with tight leggings. They were arguing, canoodling, kissing, dancing, stroking. One or two, I saw, were sprinkling powder on the backs of their hands and sniffing it.
I have to say I was glad I had come. I wasn’t part of this scene— no way, not yet, and probably never would be—but at least it was alive. After all I had been through, in here the war seemed a long way away.
What would Sam make of all this, I wondered. There had been no nightclubs in Middle Hill or Stratford, and in London, mainly because of Will, I suppose, we had hardly sampled the clubs the capital had to offer.
I’m sure my sister would have loved this club, I told myself. She and her flatmates would be right at home here—how did she put it?—dancing, flirting, drinking, and even, as she had said,