Intrigue in Geneva – Episode 3
As he emphasised the you, Rashid’s voice took on a disconcerting edge which caused her to flinch inwardly. Anton, her Unit Commander, had insisted that Dvora should have a Jewish cover name. He wanted to discover whether Rashid’s motivation was money or ideology.
She frowned. “No, I’m not. Why do you ask?”
The waiter set their drinks in front of them.
Rashid gave a mocking smile. “To be honest, I’m not keen on them. In England, they’ve taken over the press, banks and industry.”
A chill seeped through Dvora. “Really?”
He warmed to his subject. “Hitler had the right idea. It’s a shame he didn’t get to finish the bloody job. Look what’s happening in the Middle East. The damned Jews had the nerve to take Arab land and make it theirs.” Rashid’s expression hardened. “Are you quite sure you don’t have Jewish blood?”
Dvora’s expression didn’t alter, but she raised her voice.
“No, I already told you. Perhaps we’d better skip dinner. I don’t want to dine with you if you’re going to continue this conversation.” Anton would be furious with her, but Dvora refused to listen to any further anti-Semitic rants. She stood up.
Rashid immediately apologised. “I’m terribly sorry – I’ve overstepped the mark. I know you Germans are sensitive about Hitler and the Jews. I suppose you’re going to tell me some of your best friends are Jewish.” He smiled again, but the smile did not touch his eyes. “Please Elsa, I won’t discuss it again. Please sit down. I apologise again if I’ve offended you.”
Dvora complied.
“Let’s change the subject,” he said. “What line of work are you in?”
“I’m an auditor for an insurance company in Bonn.” Dvora proceeded to talk about the technicalities of making insurance claims in Scandinavia. She had memorised the information which Luntz Street had sent over last night. After speaking for seven minutes, she noticed that his eyes had glazed over and he was fidgeting with his gold cufflinks.
“I’m sorry – am I boring you?”
“Not at all. It’s fascinating. Shall we get another round of drinks and look at the menu?”
Dvora smiled. “Yes, that would be nice.”
He insisted on ordering for her, and chose an expensive bottle of Chianti to accompany the meal. As he escorted her to the dining room, he placed his hand on the small of her back, a gesture she hated, particularly from men.
In the corner of the room a pianist sat behind a miniature grand piano. He played a discordant, jazzed-up version of the Frank Sinatra classic “Strangers in the Night.”
Rashid pulled out a chair for her, and the waiter turned to him and asked, “Wo möchten Sie sitzen, mein Herr?”
Dvora answered him in German. “Next to me.”
“Danke, meine Frau.”
Rashid obediently took the seat next to her. The table had been set for an intimate dinner, with a starched white cloth, crisp napkins and gleaming cutlery. The waiter lit the candle in the centre of the table, smiled at them and wished them a good evening. Dvora scanned the room. A casual middle-aged couple sat opposite them. Dvora guessed they were either Swiss or German. She overheard snatches of their conversation, which revolved around the price of watches in Geneva compared to Munich.
Rashid said, “Do you like the restaurant, Elsa?”
“Yes. It’s very pleasant.”
The faux-English theme continued into the dining room. Dark wooden beams, horse brasses and prints of hunting scenes covered the walls. A log fire roared in the fireplace, making the room uncomfortably hot. Dvora could feel sweat prickle on her neck. Was it nerves or the heat?
