course I love you, Martha.’ He kissed her.
‘A proper kiss, Harry. A kiss like the one you gave me when you arrived this afternoon hungering for me.’
‘Dear Martha, you’re a sweet girl.’
‘What’s wrong, Harry? You’re not yourself today. Is it something to do with the bank?’
He shook his head. Things were not too good at the bank, but he never discussed his business troubles with Martha and he never would. Women and business didn’t mix. Winter wasn’t entirely sure about women being admitted to universities. On that account he sometimes felt more at ease with women like Martha than with his own wife. Martha understood him so well.
‘Do you know who Count Kupka is?’
‘My God, Harry. You’re not in trouble with the secret police? Oh, dear God, no.’
‘He wants a favour from me, that’s all.’
She sat down and pulled him so that he sat with her on the sofa. He told her something about the conversation he’d had with Kupka.
‘And you found out what he wanted to know?’ She stroked his face tenderly. Then she looked at the leather document case that Winter had brought with him to the apartment. He rarely carried anything. Many times he’d told her that carrying cases, boxes, parcels, or packages was a task only for servants.
‘It’s not so easy,’ said Winter. She could see he wanted to talk about it. ‘My manager asked for collateral. This fellow owns land on the Obersalzberg. All the paperwork has been done to make the land the property of the bank if he defaults on the loan. I have now changed matters so that the loan has come from my personal account. Luckily the land deed is already made over to a nominee, so I get it in case of a default.’
‘Salzburg, Harry? Austria?’
‘Not Salzburg; the Obersalzberg. It’s a mountain a thousand metres high. It’s not in Austria: it’s just across the border, in Bavaria.’
‘In Germany?’
‘And that’s going to be another problem. I’m not sure it’s possible to turn everything over to Kupka.’
‘He’ll say you’re not cooperating,’ she said. She had heard of Kupka. What Jew in the whole of the empire had not heard of him. She was sick with fear at the mention of his name.
‘Kupka is a lawyer,’ said Winter confidently.
‘That’s like saying Attila the Hun was a cavalry officer,’ she said.
Winter laughed loudly and embraced her. ‘What good jokes you make, Liebchen. I’m tempted to tell Kupka that one.’
‘Don’t, Harry.’
‘You mustn’t be frightened, my darling. I am simply a means to an end in this matter.’
‘Just do what he says, Harry.’
‘But not yet, I think. Tonight I’m meeting this mysterious fellow Petzval at the Café Stoessl in Gumpendorfer Strasse. Damn him – I’ll get from him everything that Kupka won’t tell me.’
‘Remember he’s a relative of Kupka’s, and close to his wife.’
‘Rubbish,’ said Winter. ‘That was just a smokescreen to hide the true facts of the matter.’
‘Send someone,’ she suggested.
He smiled and went to the leather case he’d brought with him. From it he brought a small revolver and a soft leather holster with a strap that would fit under his coat.
‘If Kupka has his men there, a pistol won’t save you.’
‘Little worrier,’ he said affectionately and kissed her.
She held him very tight. How desperately she envied his wife; the children would always bind Harry to her in a way that nothing else could. If only Martha could give him a wonderful son.
1900
A plot of land on the Obersalzberg
It was dark by the time that Winter pushed through the revolving door of the Café Stoessl in the Gumpendorfer Strasse and looked around. The café was long and gloomy, lit by gaslights that hissed and popped. There were tables with pink marble tops and bentwood chairs and plants everywhere. He recognized some of the customers but gave no sign of it. They were not people that Winter would acknowledge: the usual crowd of would-be intellectuals, has-been politicians, and self-styled writers.
Petzval was waiting. ‘A small Jew with a black beard,’ the bank manager had told Winter. Well, that was easy. Petzval sat at the very end table facing towards the door. He was a white-faced man in his late twenties, with bushy black hair and a full beard so that his small eyes and pointed nose were all you noticed of his face.
Winter put his hat on a seat and then sat down opposite the man and ordered a coffee, and brandy to go with it. Then he apologized vaguely for being late.
‘I said you’d go back on your word,’ said Petzval.
It wasn’t a good beginning, and Winter was about to deny any such intention, but then he realized that such an opening would leave him little or no room for discussion. ‘Why did you think that?’ asked Winter.
‘Count Kupka, is it?’ Petzval leaned forward and rested an elbow on the table.
Winter hesitated but, after looking at Petzval, decided to admit it. Kupka had claimed Petzval as a relative and had not asked Winter to keep his name out of it. ‘Yes, Count Kupka.’
‘He wants to buy my debt?’
‘Something along those lines.’
Petzval pushed his empty coffee cup aside so that he could lean both arms on the table. His face was close to Winter, closer than Winter welcomed, but he didn’t shrink away. ‘Secret police,’ said Petzval. ‘His spies are everywhere.’
‘Are you related to Kupka?’ said Winter.
‘Related? To Kupka?’ Petzval made a short throaty noise that might have been a laugh. ‘I’m a Jew, Herr Winter. Didn’t you know that when you made the loan to me?’
‘It would have made no difference one way or the other,’ said Winter. The coffee came, and Winter was glad of the chance to sit back away from the man’s glaring eyes. This was a man at the end of his tether, a desperate man. He studied the angry Jew as he sipped his coffee. Petzval was a ridiculous fellow with his frayed shirt and gravy-spattered suit, but Winter found him rather frightening. How could that be, when everyone knew that Winter wasn’t frightened of any living soul?
‘I’m a good risk, am I?’
‘The manager obviously
