She looked him in the eye. “It would have been fantastic with the steak tartare that Emil suggested.” Bente wasn’t the only one with aspirations in this place; the chef often came up with ideas that Tomas dismissed as being too costly. “We have good wines, but the menu isn’t adapted to go with them, so nobody orders by the bottle.”
“So you think the menu is poor. Why don’t you go and tell Emil? What a supportive colleague you are.” The guests closest to the bar had picked up on the argument and fallen silent.
“It’s not Emil who’s responsible for the menu—you have the last word,” Bente said quietly.
“Well, I am the owner.” Tomas sighed loudly. “It’s obvious that you don’t have a clue how to run a restaurant.”
“Maybe not, but I know how to sell good wines.”
“You wouldn’t know it from the turnover. Things haven’t exactly improved since I took you on.”
Bente had no intention of letting him walk all over her. “Because you won’t let me do what I’m capable of. Shape the menus, match food and wine, have a dialogue with the chef, look at the big picture.”
Tomas stared at her. “You know what—if this place doesn’t suit you, the door is over there.”
Enough.She took off her apron, placed it on the bar. “Fine.”
She headed for the changing room, with Ellie running after her.
“What’s going on? You’re not quitting, are you? Please tell me you’re not quitting!”
Bente retrieved her things from her locker. Put on her shoes, slipped her work shoes into a cloth bag hanging from a hook. Grabbed her coat.
“I don’t know, but right now I need to get out of here.” On her way through the restaurant, she pulled on her coat, then walked outside.
She stopped, took out her phone, googled, and found an email address for Elnaz. Then she jotted down her idea and pressed “Send.”
Before she could change her mind.
5
1944
The stench from his fellow travelers—unwashed bodies and clothes, dirt and sweat—lay heavy in the air inside the packed train carriage. Maybe the worst of the smell was coming from Sven himself. The stress and fear that someone would discover the real purpose of his journey seemed to be seeping out of his pores along with the perspiration.
Sven hadn’t been in France since he’d completed his training with the Foreign Legion, before France surrendered and was occupied. The people he had encountered on the train today were completely changed from the ones he’d seen then. They sat in silence with their heads bowed, trying to make themselves as small as possible. The only people making a noise, chatting and laughing, were the two German soldiers who had embarked just after Sven. They had checked everyone’s papers and then stayed on board the train, which was heading all the way to Bordeaux.
At long last the train slowed down, but when the doors opened, more hot air came pouring in. Sven got off and was overwhelmed by the swirling dust on the platform. It was still only spring, but the past week had brought an unusual heat wave.
He had almost reached his final destination. He took his documents out of his inside pocket and tried to look as relaxed as possible. He had done this several times now, and this time he nearly felt as if he reallywas Per Jonsson, a carpenter from the Swedish city of Gothenburg, on his way to visit French relatives in Bordeaux.
Three German soldiers were stationed at the exit, checking documentation. Two of them looked tired and, apparently exhausted by the heat and the burning sun, barely glanced at the proffered papers. The third was a young man, bright and full of energy, who examined each person’s documents in detail, then smiled at them as he waved them through.
Sven hoped he wouldn’t get the conscientious soldier. However, a second later the eager young man beckoned him forward. Sven took a deep breath. His papers were credible; the resistance movement had done an excellent job. At the same time, the Germans had been more on their guard ever since the Allies had grown stronger. They seemed to see members of the resistance everywhere.
The thought of those courageous individuals, with whom Sven had been working ever since General Charles de Gaulle established the Free French, France’s resistance government-in-exile, made him feel immensely proud. When the occupation of France began four years earlier and the then-government signed an armistice with Germany, part of the Foreign Legion had thrown their support to the Vichy government, collaborators with Nazi Germany. But Sven’s brigade in the Foreign Legion had gone over to fighting for de Gaulle’s forces. Just like the brave Frenchmen who now fought from inside France, risking their lives.
The soldier looked at Sven. “What is your business in Bordeaux?” His French was perfect, but spoken with a German accent.
Sven explained, also in French. The German examined the documents, waited a few seconds, turned the papers over, looked at Sven again, then gave them back. Sven had passed through many checkpoints, but he was equally nervous each time. Afraid of being exposed. Arrested. Maybe sent to a prison camp.
Disappearing into a prison camp.
Everything he did involved risk, but that had been the case ever since he had decided to join the French Foreign Legion and fight in the war.
The soldier gave a brief nod, then smiled and waved him through. Sven was about to move on when the German looked down at his suitcase.
“I need to check that.”
