The Miernik Dossier - Charles McCarry [48]
2. Last night (18th June) Miernik gave a celebratory dinner at the Hochhaus Restaurant to introduce us to his sister. Zofia Miernik is a beautiful and intelligent girl and she would have been the feature of the evening if Miernik himself had not turned up in evening clothes. He went ahead of us to the restaurant to supervise arrangements. He had booked the best table on the terrace, which has a marvellous view of Vienna. By the time we arrived, champagne (German variety) was chilling in ice buckets and a squadron of waiters was bowing and flourishing napkins. Miernik, in his double-breasted dinner jacket and old-fashioned starched collar (with white tie), looked rather like a trained bear. (Christopher’s description.) But as usual he had got exactly what he wanted: just the right table, just the right degree of obsequious service, just the right tunes from the orchestra. His helpless air is an illusion. He is a tyrannical stage manager.
3. Zofia Miernik arrived with Christopher. She was wearing a blue frock cut very low at the neck, which certainly was not purchased in Warsaw. She speaks fluent German with almost no accent. On meeting Prince Kalash, she revealed that her English is excellent as well. Whatever else they may be, the Mierniks (assuming that Zofia is in fact a Miernik) are an educated family. Once we were seated, Miernik had the champagne opened and stood for a toast. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I present to you my sister, Zofia, in the hope that your friendship for her will be as steadfast as your friendship for me.” We all drank, though I did so with understandable mental reservations. Miernik then began snapping his fingers at the waiters, and a meal was served that actually began with caviar and ended with baked Alaska. Obviously it cost a fortune, but one assumes that Miernik has adequate sources of money.
4. I attempted to interrogate Zofia. A look of amusement crept over Christopher’s face. Miernik apparently had less confidence in his “sister’s” discretion; he was distinctly nervous. I asked Zofia how long she planned to remain in Vienna before returning to Poland. “I plan to travel for some time,” she said. How exactly did she travel to Vienna? Was it not inconvenient to leave Poland? “Friends were very kind,” Zofia said, “it was a very enjoyable journey—so much to see I had never seen before.” Yes, but how did she come— by air? by railway through Berlin? “By car, mostly. You’ve no idea how bad the roads are in the people’s democracies—but even that is preferable to flying; one is likely to land in a meadow or on a strip of country road.” She told of a friend who had flown to Bulgaria. Every hour or so, the old Dakota nosed over and bumped down in a field. Peasants came scrambling out of the woods carrying cages with chickens in them and blanket rolls, elbowing each other away from the door of the aircraft in a free-for-all rush for the seats. Some sat on the floor, eating sausages. Fifteen years under Communism has not deprived Zofia of her sense of class consciousness; as she mimicked the Bulgarian peasants she might have been a duke’s poor relation trying to talk in Cockney. If all this was produced by the Polish secret service they have a right to be pleased with their methods. Prince Kalash asked Zofia to dance and she rose and followed him onto the floor (H.R.H. does not let females walk ahead of him, of course). The Viennese were frozen in the middle of their fox-trots by the sight of this towering black holding a perfect Aryan specimen in his arms. As they danced it was plain that Prince Kalash would be raising no objection to Zofia’s joining our expedition. After they returned to the table, Zofia excused herself. Prince Kalash, lifting his wineglass and giving Miernik a friendly glance, observed: “Your sister has beautiful breasts. That is