Face to the Sun [antikvár]

Preface Rue du Faubourg St Honoré, Paris, France: 27 December 1938 He tried to contain his astonishment. So! It had been an affaire de coeur after all. No other reason could possibly account for such a complete turn-around. It had ended in disaster, obviously: that's why she was here now. What was the famous saying - 'Court a mistress and she'll deny you, but let her alone and she will court you?' She shifted her position in the leather armchair, and recrossed her long shapely legs. Desperately tired, she longed for a bath. Still with his back to her, staring down at the traffic in the wide boulevard below his office windows, he was beginning to irritate her. The hum reached up to them like thousands of bumble-bees heady from gasoline, not nectar. Had he been a Noel Coward type, his hands would have been used as the elegant extension of a Kensitas, while he repeated some devastatingly witty remark to put her at ease. Had he been a priest, he would have kept his hands around his rosary beads with serene custody of the senses. Instead, she had to endure the jingling of loose change in his pockets, setting her teeth on edge. 'You must go back,' he said, still addressing the windowpane. 'No! The reason why I am here is to ask for another assignment. It's all there, in that mochila on your desk. Names, dates, places, everything you asked for, so there's no reason for me to go back. I'll do anything - go anywhere, even as a nanny to Berghof if that's what you want.'