The next morning Werner was surprised to see Frau Richter in the breakfast room at the buffet. Until now, he had only thought of her as an apparition in the family’s mind, and therefore not real. She smiled at him, and he nodded back in return not really knowing what to say. There was a resemblance between Gisella and her except Frau Richter was to say it politely a stout woman. The silk-satin frock she wore was designed to ameliorate her plumbness by elongating her body with vertical details, subtle colors and flat fabrics and a dangling necklace for good measure. There was a half belt that tied at the back and a panel of tiny glass buttons down the front of the frock. She peered at him again before taking the location at the breakfast table normally set aside for Gisella.
Herr Richter sat in his usual position at the head of the table. Per usual, he appeared oblivious to his surroundings, too engrossed in reading some article in the Völkischer Beobachter. An occasional harrumph was emitted from behind the newspaper to signal his displeasure with something or other that he was reading. Werner was familiar with the daily since it was one of several Nazi related publications his dad brought home after a drinking bout. He recalled that the Völkischer Beobachter had recently been bought by Adolph Hitler. He took up his position opposite Frau Richter puzzled by Gisella’s absence.
“My daughter had to go into work early today,” Frau Richter said sadly, her comment directed at Werner. “I was so hoping to have time with her.”
“Oh…Yes…I forgot.” He noticed her eyebrows raised in an amazed look.
“Strange you would forget,” she replied, clearly discombobulated by his reply. “She only found out early this morning.”
He vaguely remembered through layers of a sleepy haze the ringing phone two hours earlier and Gisella rising from his bed to answer it. He had been caught in a faux pas. He steadied his gaze at the creamy white skin and perfect teeth of Frau Richter who peered at him across the table expecting an explanation, while he earnestly tried to engineer one.
Herr Richter carefully folded the newspaper as if preparing it for execution and slammed it hard on the table. “Damn government!”
Her attention was now diverted to her husband, and it wasn’t without relief that Werner’s heedfulness was directed there, too. He noticed that Herr Richter’s neck and face were flush with anger.
“What is wrong, Wilhelm?” his wife asked.
“This is the second time!” he replied, holding up the paper and shaking it at her before slamming it down again.
“What is?” Wilhelm! Darling! Please calm down!” There was an obvious concern, almost panic expression written on her face.
“The government has suspended this daily again!” He forcefully grasped the serviette tucked in at his collar and thrusted it down and stood up, both hands clinched in a fist. “I must talk to Alfred Rosenberg and see what he is going to do about this.”
“Wilhelm.”
“Yes, Frieda!”
“There’s not much an editor can do. You know that. Leave the politics of dealing with the Weimar government to Hitler and Goebbels. I’m sure some sort of negotiation is already underway. Now sit and finish the rest of your breakfast.”
Slowly he regained his seat and tucked in the napkin at his collar. The redness on his neck and face had dissipated. “Perhaps your right, Frieda. You usually are in such matters.” He reached over and patted her hand.
“Now what’s it about this time?” she asked.
“The usual. Attacks on government policies and officials.” He let out a deep sigh and took a sip from his coffee cup. “And anti-Semitic articles.”
“See. There are no surprises there, now are there?” she replied. “The first time it happened, it was settled. It will be so this time round too. Anyway, Goebbels will fill us in when he comes to supper.” She took a bite from her toast and glanced at Werner. “Like all good things in life, one must be patient. Don’t you agree, Werner?”
Werner peered at Wilhelm then at Frieda and nodded.
Wilhelm took out his vest pocket watch and checked the time. “Werner. In about a half hour there will be a car to pick you up to take you to the Ministry of the Reichswehr.”
Surprised, he replied, “I didn’t expect that until later in the day.”
Wilhelm demonstrated one of his rare smiles. He took up the coffee cup and took another sip and peered at Werner over its edge. “You impressed Herr Schilling. And Albert is not a man easily impressed.”
“I’m not sure why I’m going, sir,” Werner replied.
Wilhelm finished his coffee and returned the cup to its saucer and sat back in his chair, his Index fingers forming a steeple. “You will meet Paul Schultz who will explain the reason for your visit. And… possibly offer you a job.”
“Job? Is my performance in your department at question?” For the second time Gisella’s father smiled. He wished he had photographic mementos for such rarity.
Her father shook his head. “It’s because you have been deemed outstanding that all of this is taking place.” He went about finishing his breakfast.
“How old are you?” Frieda asked.
“Nineteen,” replied Werner, surprised by the question given the present dialogue.
“My daughter is twenty-three.”
“What does this have to do with anything, Frieda?” Wilhelm interjected, showing his displeasure with the direction of the conversation.
She turned on her husband with the expression of a hungry lioness about to devour its prey. “Only that young men his age are noted for sowing their oats. And I don’t want my daughter hurt by him sowing his oats.”
Wilhelm nervously cleared his throat. “She’s much more worldly that you give our daughter credit for, Frieda,” Wilhelm replied.
“Perhaps. Maybe. But until he proves himself,” she punched her index finger in Werner’s direction, “I don’t want there to be even a hint that they are sleeping together under our roof.”
With a slight tilt to his head, Wilhelm’s eyebrows raised as he glanced in Werner’s direction.
An hour and a half later, Werner waited in the foyer of the Ministry of the Reichswehr to be escorted to the office of Paul Schulz. He had just finished lighting up his cigarette when he looked up to see the raven-haired beauty from the previous evening walking toward him.
“Hello again, Werner,” Eva said extending her hand to shake his. “I suggest you stub that out. Herr Schulz doesn’t tolerate smoking in his company.”
“Thank you for the heads up,” Werner replied, grinding it out in a nearby ashtray. By the time he had snuffed it out and looked up, Eva was well ahead of him, and he had to run to catch up to her. “What’s the big hurry?”
“We are running behind this morning,” she replied over her shoulder. “Not to worry. It’s the usual situation at the Reichswehr.” She stopped at a closed door. “His assistant will take care of you from here.” She turned and walked in the opposite direction.
“Thanks,” he called out to her. She waved at him over her shoulder and turned down a hallway and disappeared.
He opened the door and entered Herr Schulz’s outer office. “Gisella.”