Hauptmann von Eckhart stood tall and handsome, with a smile so easy on his face Isa could barely look at him. She had little choice but to step aside and let him in, along with another, older man at his side.
“Mademoiselle Isa Lassone, may I present to you Herr Stephan Lutz.”
Isa received their stiff bows in greeting. Only the Hauptmann was bold enough to kiss her hand, but she’d prepared herself for that and did not pull away.
“I shall take your coats,” Isa said, following the Hauptmann’s lead with her usage of the French language.
“Is there no one serving this house?” Herr Lutz asked, also in French, as he unbuttoned his coat.
“Yes, but our housemaid is in the kitchen finishing preparations for our meal.” Need she explain that no one had money to keep servants these days? That it was only Clara’s loyalty—and whatever money she still had left from Isa’s father—that kept her here?
Isa received their coats and went to the closet on the other side of the staircase, where she took her time putting things away. There was no hurry to join the others, at least until Edward arrived.
Genny and Major von Bürkel stood with the visitors when Isa returned to the parlor. The Major spoke in heavy, ugly German, obviously pleased to be reunited with his older friend.
Herr Lutz had a pedantic look about him, like a science professor who could name every law of physics but would be hard-pressed to remember a single student’s name. He was of medium height, with gray hair too long at the back and a beard that needed a trim. Obviously too busy with other matters to tend to something as trivial as his own appearance.
In a bizarre imitation of prewar days, Isa watched the exchange of pleasantries as if this were another dinner party her parents hosted in this very parlor. Isa should be friendly and talkative if she was to play the role her mother had modeled all too often, but how could she? Her mother may have entertained people she secretly disliked, but surely she’d never hosted marauders under this roof.
It was near time to serve and Edward had not yet arrived.
“Have you enjoyed Max’s company since you resumed living here?” the Hauptmann asked, now speaking in French.
Company! Isa stole a glance at the Major. Max. Such a different sound from Major von Bürkel.
“He’s been very kind,” Genny said.
Isa was glad Genny had answered for her. Her gaze went once again toward the door. Where was Edward?
Clara came to Isa’s side to remind her the meal was ready to be served, and Isa knew she couldn’t stall and in fact didn’t want to. The sooner this was over, the better. Edward would have to join them in the dining room, whenever he arrived.
Among the goods delivered earlier that day had been several bottles of wine, one for each course of the meal and one for an apéritif. All, so Clara claimed, from Isa’s own wine cellar. Clara had huffed and puffed all afternoon, in between oohing and aahing about all of the food, especially the fresh dairy.
She and Genny had planned a meal no one had dared dream of for the past two years. Isa had done what she could—which was little, having had no training—but had enjoyed tasting sauces, stealing crisp vegetables, breathing in the scent of fresh dinner rolls all afternoon. It had taken her mind, for a little while, away from fretting over what they’d hidden in the cellar.
Place settings beckoned on each side of the narrow table in the long, dimly lit room. The electricity had flickered all afternoon and so Genny suggested candlelight. Under its gentle glow glimmered china and plain flatware—the silver having disappeared long ago—upon an embroidered cloth, with hothouse flowers set in a small bowl in the center. Candle sconces on the walls made shadows dance behind each place setting. Only one seat, next to Isa’s, was vacant.
Herr Lutz stared at the open spot. “We have set a place for those we remember at war?”
“A nice sentiment,” Isa said, “but we are expecting one more guest. Madame Kirkland’s nephew, Father Antoine.”
“Father Antoine? A man of the cloth?”
Isa nodded. The German’s face revealed little; she couldn’t tell if he was pleased or disappointed to share the table with a priest.
“Yes, quite a young priest, this Father Antoine. I spoke to him the other night.” The Hauptmann laughed. “He said God doesn’t care who wins the war.”