Armageddon_ A Novel of Berlin - Leon Uris [217]
Chapter Thirty-nine
ERNESTINE OPENED THE DOOR quickly, put her finger to her lips and stepped into the hall.
“Shh,” she whispered, “Uncle Ulrich has dozed at his desk. I don’t want to awaken him.”
Sean helped her into her coat, took her arm, and led her to the Horsche sedan.
“What time does the concert start, Colonel?”
“I have a confession, Fraulein Falkenstein. I lured you out tonight under false pretenses.”
“So?”
“We have met four times. One piano recital, one dramatic reading of Goethe no less, one museum exhibition, and one opening of a play. The way I look at it is this ... there is only so much culture a man can absorb.”
“And what do you have in mind, sir?”
“A table at a nice French restaurant on the Tegeler Lake. Are you angry?”
“As a matter of fact, there is only so much culture a woman can absorb.”
He clicked on Armed Forces Network, where there was apt to be music no more serious than Glenn Miller, and swung to the northern end of the city past the medieval borough of Spandau.
In the middle of the French Sector, the Jungfernheide and the Tegel forests surround the Tegeler Lake. At the lake’s edge the French Officers’ Club operated a lovely restaurant for occupation forces.
It was that kind of warm and balmy night that, with the freshness of the woods, made Berliners boast about their rare brand of air. Their table was ready on the outside terrace.
“What a lovely idea,” she said.
Sean excused himself as he always did when they arrived at a destination. She watched him leave to phone in to Headquarters and give his whereabouts.
After their first date they did not see each other for ten days, until Ernestine phoned him to ask him to the opening of a play. She was glad he had decided to drop the “cultural” pretext as a reason for seeing her. They were quite at ease with each other now, in a formal sort of way. What was it besides his rugged good looks that made him so attractive? The inevitable comparisons with Dietrich Rascher and the other men she had known came to mind. She realized that Sean and her uncle were the most interesting people she had ever known. His range of knowledge and his ability to express it seemed limitless, like the teacher he was.
There was a certain peace within Sean that was apparent. He did not need to prove the masculinity that obsessed most German men. He was certain of himself about so many things.
The opening of a warm and sentimental side began when Sean tried to apologize to her. No German boy would so humble himself; it was a new experience for her.
But there were other moments when she felt she could read his thoughts and those thoughts were ugly. He constantly seemed to be reminding himself he was sitting with a German woman, asking himself why. “German woman ... leper.”
Ernestine was curious to know if she could loosen him from an obsessive hatred of Germans. Or was their friendship nothing more than two lonely people who needed to talk to each other? Would Sean’s hatred always lurk and suddenly be triggered?
He returned to the table.
The menu was a bit on the thin side, but the French could do wonderful things with sauces, even over Rhine River eel. Fortunately, there was no shortage of champagne.
He raised his glass. “To our first noncultural affair.”
Their other encounters had given way to a rising number of long silent spells, lingering glances, and greater occasion of the need to touch each other. In this setting both of them knew that these feelings had to find their way through. It became a moment of both anticipation and fear.
She reached over and took his plate. “Here, let me cut that for you. Only an old eel fresser can do it properly.”
Sean watched her movements as she made thin, true slices down the middle of the fish and removed the backbone. He thought she did everything delicately.
They were conscious of their own silence.