Armageddon_ A Novel of Berlin - Leon Uris [204]
Ernestine took the invitation impersonally, in the nature of a semi-official request, as her uncle would ordinarily attend such a function.
“What day, please?”
“Day after tomorrow.”
“Oh? Let me check his calendar ... Hello ... he has a district meeting in Spandau on Thursday and I believe he has said it was quite important.”
“How about you going with me?”
“Me?”
“We have a fine young pianist who will play a concert. I understand he is going to do a Beethoven sonata.”
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
“Please, fraulein. This is not an order.”
“Well ... very well, I’ll go.”
“Good. I’ll come by for you about six-thirty. My regards to your uncle.”
Sergeant William James lived up to his advance notices as a forthcoming giant among the virtuosos.
Sean and Ernestine met with what seemed to be dedicated determination to be polite to each other. The first moments were stilted and awkward. They hardly spoke all the way to Amerika Haus.
Then by some mystic communication, Sergeant James played the “Pathétique” and Sean and Ernestine were given an awareness of each other that said that a long dormant awakening was taking place.
On the way to the Press Club they had something to talk about and it helped them relax.
At the door, he offered her his arm and they walked down the reception line. Eyebrows were raised; they felt it.
Neal Hazzard studied Ernestine from head to toe in a second or so. He caught Sean with a glance that read: “Jesus, what a dish.”
“Fraulein Falkenstein, I’d like you to meet Colonel Hazzard, Mrs. Hazzard.”
“Lovely affair.”
“Any relation to Ulrich Falkenstein?”
“My uncle.”
They tried to avoid the voices trailing after them.
“Say, is that O’Sullivan with a German girl?”
“For her, he should make an exception.”
“That’s Falkenstein’s niece. She works in Judge Cohen’s section.”
“I’ll bet General Hansen told him to bring her. Show of friendship and all that.”
While the gossips had their say, Sean found the friendly, homely face of Nelson Goodfellow Bradbury deep in a mug of beer at the bar. He introduced Ernestine and they retreated to a quiet table in the garden and Sean excused himself to report his whereabouts to Headquarters.
In all the time they had been in Berlin, Sean had never been seen socially in the company of a German. His dates were either American girls or those working in the foreign missions.
Big Nellie sat with the girl and remembered a lot of things from way back. He was the one who had told Sean his brother was dead. And in Rombaden, Sean confided his unadulterated hatred of Germans.
Was it this particular girl because of her obvious intelligence and beauty who broke the barrier, or was it because she was the niece of Falkenstein? Was this the beginning of a softening process?
“I have enjoyed your column over the last year and a half,” Ernestine said.
“I didn’t realize I was read here in Berlin.”
“My uncle has an arrangement to receive a number of American and British papers. You have been a friend of the Berliners.”
“Because the Berliners have been our friends.”
“I understand you and the colonel are old comrades?”
“We go back a ways.”
There was an awkward second. Perhaps a question she wanted to ask; perhaps one he wanted to ask.
Sean returned and after a moment Big Nellie ambled away.
They talked for a long time about things that both of them liked: the kind of music they heard tonight; the kind of books she had read since living with her uncle. There was much in common.
When it was time for them to leave, Sean drove her home and both of them said it was a nice evening and perhaps ... sometime again.... And the moment he drove away he was annoyed with himself for enjoying it and wanting to see more of her.
Ernestine slipped quietly into the apartment. The light was on in the living room.
“How was the evening?” Ulrich asked.
“The concert was lovely. It was a pity you couldn’t attend.”
“And the colonel?”
“Quite civilized. In fact, he can be quite charming. As you know he can discuss many things on a wide range of subjects.”
“All O’Sullivan