‘You know, we’ve not met for six years. Six whole years, it’s a long time, particularly when one is young, or youngish, or whatever we are.’
She was wearing a white dress and little green suede shoes and a straw hat, the ensemble looked modest but expensive. He was struck by her appearance, more settled than in the past. No flowing robes or unbound hair. She appeared a daughter of Old Philadelphia: wealthy, and comfortable with her wealth.
They had arranged to meet at the Hotel Bayerischer Hof, on the terrace if the weather was fine, and indeed it was brilliantly sunny, as spring merged into summer. He had never cared for Munich, irritated by the inhabitants’ insistence that they lived in the most charming city in northern Europe. But that morning the city seduced him.
‘It is so nice to see you,’ she went on, rather fast. ‘Tell me what I should eat. One never knows, in Germany, though that’s an absurd thing to say because I never set foot in Germany before today. Let me rephrase: I do not know what to eat, here in Germany. Should I be eating sausage? Should I be drinking beer?’ He smiled, faintly irritated. ‘Well, I see you are not impressed by my stereotypes.’ The waiter was hovering. ‘Suppose you order some white wine, a German wine perhaps? I must say, I’m starving. How was your train journey? We slept like tops. Barbara went for a walk, you’ll meet her this evening. I love arriving in a strange city in the morning. To be honest, I’m surprised how well looked-after everything is, one’s heard such dreadful things. . .’
She was nervous. He was, too.
‘Shall we go to Nymphenburg? I gather it’s delightful. Can you really stay four days? That would be such fun. Barbara is very serious about history. She is very obliging, we can deposit her in a museum now and again, and spend some time together.’ She looked at him quizzically. ‘If you’d like that.’
‘Yes, yes, very much so.’
A bottle arrived in a silver holder with a white napkin, inducing an elaborate serving ritual, which made Mark impatient again.
‘My parents send their love, we weren’t sure you’d be able to escape Berlin. . .’
He was glad she was not coming to Berlin, he thought, so much chatter.
‘I wasn’t sure whether you’d want to see me, I was so pleased when you telegraphed by return. Oh, Mark, it is nice to see you.’ He said the same thing, reflecting that this was what people remarked when they met after a long interval and weren’t sure what to say.
She raised her glass. ‘What do you say in Germany?’
‘Zum Wohl.’
‘Well then, Zum Wohl. And to Germany.’ She did not say ‘To us’, but he sensed the phrase trembling in her mind.
‘By the way,’ she was saying, ‘I met an old friend of yours in Washington. A man called Harry Mansell, he spoke warmly of you. He says you’re friendly rivals.’
And after a while, what with the wine, and three courses of rather good food taken in the shade of a white and green striped awning, they began to talk as easily as they had in that other world, back on the East Coast during the Great War.