“Yes, we do, sir,” he said with pride. “They are so tender that they melt in your mouth. Some say that when they take that first bite, they get a glimpse of heaven.”
Henry's mouth began to water.
The bankers and the stewardesses had moved to a larger table, gotten some more drinks, and been joined by two more stunning blonds. There was a lot of giggling from the ladies and winking from the guys.
No mystery there, Henry thought. While he nursed his beer, Henry resisted the urge to snap his head around each time the door opened. Instead, he found a good reflection of the front door in the bar mirror and kept his eyes peeled for her arrival.
When it was finally Katarina who walked through the door in a brilliant blue coat, it seemed that time slowed. He stopped staring and took a sip of beer.
He felt a light touch on his shoulder. “Henry Wood...”
A coolness came over him. He was confident and surefooted. This had never happened before, when she was around.
He stood up and gave her a light hug, more polite than anything. She hugged back with a moderately tight squeeze. They lingered, and then parted.
A waiter was waiting to show them to their table. Henry helped her off with her coat and handed it to someone nearby, who may or may not have worked at the restaurant.
Her dress was black and curvy. Henry couldn't help but say, “You look beautiful. The years have not only been kind…they have been complimentary.”
“Seeing you, makes the years melt away. It seems like just yesterday, we were at that diner."
Henry pulled out the chair for her and then took his own. A man lit the candle on their table and asked if they wanted anything to drink. Katarina ordered two martinis, the same way she had ordered them the last time they were there together. Henry wasn't sure, but he thought she might have been wearing the same earrings.
“Those were some good years,” he said, feeling that old familiar warmth.
Katarina reached out and took his hand. “My dear Henry, I did miss you.” She smiled, then let go of his hand when another waiter stopped with a pitcher of water. “It was a hard decision, leaving New York, but I had to. You know that.”
“What have you been up to over the last decade or so?”
“I went to visit my aunt in Wyoming after I got the news. I spent a couple of years losing myself in books. And then I got a message…that Paul was alive, hiding in Egypt.”
There it was…that old kick in the gut. He knew it well, it came to him each time she talked about her fiancé Paul. He had disappeared and been listed as missing in action. Henry had tried to console Katarina, but she was in denial, and decided she needed a change. Henry had always thought she would be back. When the record turned up eighteen months ago, he was sure she had returned, but when it was followed up with nothingness, the wound was opened, again.
He decided not to mention the record.
She took a sip of water, giving Henry a chance to speak.
He chose not to take it.
“I joined him in Cairo and found work in a gallery. You know how I love art.”
There it was again: art.
“Yes, I do.” Henry could see her ring finger was bare, without breaking eye contact. “So you married Paul, like you had planned?”
She shrugged. “Well, no, we hadn't known each other very long before he proposed. The war, life, and his own stupidity, took the luster away. We spent two years together in Cairo and then I moved on.”
Henry knew the emotions creeping up on him had been buried for many years. It was unsettling to have them surface and possibly, dangerous.
She took his hand again and looked into his eyes. “I should have stayed in New York – with you.”
Henry mustered a practiced confident, charming smile. He stared into her eyes with such depth that the rest of the restaurant seemed to fade away.
He didn't even notice the priest eating alone in the corner, or that he seemed to be watching them.
Chapter Fifteen
Dr. Schaeffer and Hans had been enjoying some maultasche, a traditional Swabian dish made with an outer layer of pasta dough and filled with minced meat, a bit of smoked meat, bread crumbs, and onions. They look similar to Italian ravioli, but to Dr. Schaeffer, they were a reminder of his nanny's cooking when he was a boy.
The conversation was sparse, as both men were enjoying their meal, the beer, and Wagner playing in the background. They preferred to savor the food. The talk would come later.
To most people, the knock at the door would have gone unnoticed with Der Filegende Hollander playing, but the exceptional ears of Dr. Schaeffer heard the three taps clearly. Soft feet treaded down the hallway, the door opened, and an envelope was handed to the woman. She said nothing, giving only a nod. The woman walked to the dining room and cleared her throat.