Dream Paris (26 page)

“Are you really going through with this?” said Francis.

I didn’t think I was. Something about the look of the crowd, the way they looked at me, as if I was a commodity, almost as if I was something to eat.

“I…” I was ready to back out. I would have done too, honestly I would have, if Count von Breisach hadn’t appeared, immaculate in his military uniform.

“Ah! Fräulein Sinfield! Not about to leave, I hope?”

“Why should I do that?” Why are there some people from whom a simple ‘excuse me’ can be taken as a challenge? Something in the Count’s duelling nature meshed exactly with mine.

“I hope you don’t mind if we play out our little disagreement as part of a wider competition? I’ve reserved us two seats together, near this end of the table.” He spoke as if he had invited me out for dinner and the theatre.

The maître d’hôtel appeared, equally immaculate in his black and white outfit. He clapped his hands once for attention.

“
Mesdames et messieurs, veuillez s’il (1)vous plaît prendre (1)vos places, le dîner est sur le point d’être servi
!”

The Count led me to the table. Francis made to follow, but a dinner jacketed waiter blocked his path.

“
S’il (1)vous plaît veuillez attendre ici, monsieur, avec les autres spectateurs.
”

I looked on helplessly as Francis was escorted to a row of purple velvet seats set out for the friends of the diners. He took his place next to a gentleman in a lavender suit. The man seemed to take an instant shine to Francis, pulling out a brown paper bag and offering him a piece of deep-fried octopus, which Francis queasily refused.

The Count led me to a seat with a good view of Francis and his new friend. There he pulled back my rather moth-eaten
Louis Quinze
chair, then took his place next to me on a wobbly pine fiddleback seat. I looked around the other diners. A pretty young woman in a yellow-and-silver-striped dress, a man with a pointed beard and a rakishly tilted bowler hat. Next to him, a man wearing a red toupee and then, towering above the diners, something that looked like a cross between a human and black bird. An elegant lady of mature years sat next to him, her hair pinned up in an elaborate chignon.

“I must admit, I am surprised that you turned up tonight,” said the Count, shaking out his napkin. “Perhaps you will prove to be a worthy adversary…”

“Do you go out on many dates?” I said, lightly. Inside I felt sick. Sick at the smell, sick with worry about what was to be served… If I had any sense I would have got up and walked out there and then. But too late, the waiters were approaching the table, seven of them, carrying platters covered in silver dishes

The maître d’hôtel introduced the course.

“
Et pour commencer, la nourriture des pauvres de Paris
!”

Francis was waving, trying to catch my attention. He held up two hands; he didn’t understand, he wanted me to translate.

“Poor people’s food!” I called. “No problem.”

A plate was set before each of us diners. On a signal, the cover was removed. We looked at the food with stoic indifference. Stale bread, a thin gruel.

“The wine of course, is excellent,” said the Count, swirling his glass. “A ’43 Trainee Sheep, I believe.”

“‘Trainee Sheep’?” I said. “Is that the correct translation?”

“
Naturlich
! I speak eleven languages.”

I didn’t particularly like wine, but I took a drink anyway. It helped to soften the bread.

Across the way, the lavender man placed a hand on Francis’s knee. Francis visibly stiffened, one fist half-clenched. I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Francis pushing the hand away.

“Why are you so angry, Anna?”

“Me? I’m not angry.” I couldn’t keep the surprise from my voice. “Why do you say that? I was just smiling.”

I examined the Count’s face carefully, searching for signs of strategy. Was he trying to put me off the meal? But no, he just seemed puzzled.

“Even when you smile you are so very angry, and I don’t know why. You can’t admit the good in anyone without first enumerating their bad points. No one is perfect, Anna.”

“I never said they were.”

“Not out loud, perhaps.”

Lost for something to say, I spooned up a mouthful of gruel and almost gagged. Not quite. I washed it down with the Trainee Sheep. I coughed.

“No. That doesn’t excuse people’s behaviour,
Thomas
. People are in the habit of doing awful things and then excusing it by the fact that ‘
no one is perfect.’
”

The Count nodded thoughtfully, spooning up gruel and swallowing stoically.

“True, Anna, but it’s not always the case. Look at how you treat your companion…”

Francis and his friend were apologising to each other, shaking hands, laughing. The lavender man had signalled to a waiter and the pair of them were handed a glass of champagne. Now that I came to look, I noticed that all of the spectators were enjoying food and drink of a much higher quality than we were.

“A perfectly pleasant young man, but you treat him with contempt.”

“No, I don’t. And he has his faults, too, you know…”

“See what I mean? You don’t accept imperfection.”

“That’s not true!”

“It was not such an insult. We are both that same, Anna, you and I.”

I gulped down my last spoonful of gruel.

“I don’t think so.”

“Ah, the young never like to think they resemble the old.”

“I don’t threaten other countries.”

“Nor do I.”

“So why are your airships hovering over this city”

“Two hundred years ago, Anna, the armies of Dream Paris marched to the very walls of Dream Friedrichshafen.”

“So? Just because they did something wrong doesn’t mean that you have to do the same.”

“Ah, Anna! You are so delightfully naive!”

“And you’re a patronising creep.”

He laughed out loud. It was all just another duel to him, I realised, this one of wits.
One up to me
, I thought.

One by one the diners finished the first course. I noticed the young man in a red toupee gulping down wine to hide the taste. My stomach was churning a little, but I ignored it. This was poor people’s food. I’d had worse in the aftermath of Dream London.

The plates were quickly cleared and the next course arrived. It smelled rather appetising, warm pastry, something meaty with a delicious savoury bass line.

“Mmm…” said the elegant old lady with the chignon. “
Tarte à la Souris
.”

Mouse pie.

“That smells rather good,” I said, an enormous sense of relief flooding through me.

“It does, doesn’t it?” agreed the Count.

The spectators applauded politely as the pies were placed on the table, one pie for two diners. I wondered who’d get the spare portion.

The Count and I watched as an immaculate waiter sliced into ours. Brown gravy spilled out. I almost retched at the sight of the little mouse bodies packed inside. They had been skinned and gutted, but that was it.

“There is a problem, Anna?” said the Count, smiling. “There are many people in the manufactories that ring Dream Paris who would be grateful for a meal such as this tonight.”

Was there a problem? The pie smelled good, after all. It’s not like they would serve us anything poisonous…

“No problem,” I said. “It smells delicious.”

A waiter heaped pie crust, gravy and mouse bodies onto my plate. He did the same for the Count. The waiters all finished serving at the same time, bowed, and withdrew. We picked up our forks.

The big black bird man ate first. It didn’t seem to bother him. The woman in the silver striped dress was tucking in with gusto. I began to eat. It wasn’t that bad, apart from the bones. I copied the Count and piled them up on the corner of my plate.

“Of course, Anna,” he said, “if the people of Dream Paris were to allow us to take over the running of their city, there would be no hunger. German efficiency would ensure all were fed properly.”

“Are you saying there’s something wrong with this food?”

“No, merely its distribution.” Make that one-all.

The second course was soon finished and the maître d’hôtel reappeared.

“
Et maintenant, mesdames et messieurs, une pause courte avant l’événement principal.
”

“A short break before the main event,” translated the Count.

“I understood that!”

The diners rose to their feet, drifted towards the velvet ropes and their friends and supporters. I returned to Francis, tummy gurgling.

“Well done,” he said. “You’ve proved your point. Are you ready to go now?”

“I think so.” I was watching them clear the table. The cutlery, the crockery, glasses, even the table cloth had been removed. Two women with wooden buckets appeared and were scrubbing the surfaces of the tabletop with stiff brushes. For some reason, I was more aware than ever of the hooks hanging from the roof, the hooks that would once have carried the animal carcasses.

“Why should we go now?” I wondered. “After all, the meal has only just begun.”

“Don’t be silly, Anna. The next rounds are dangerous. Albert was telling me all about it!” He pronounced the name
Al-burr
. The man in the lavender suit who had taken such a shine to Francis appeared at our side. He had such beautiful, lustrous eyes.

“Ah, Anna! Eet ees true, what ’e says! You must not eat anymore! It is
dangereux
!”

I looked from Francis to Albert and raised my eyebrows.

“Oh, I know he’s gay,” said Francis. “It doesn’t bother me. We had shirtlifters in the Army. Fine once you get to know them.”

“I don’t like that term, shirtlifters.”

“Oh, give it a rest, Anna.”

The Count marched up, glass of schnapps in hand.

“She did very well, didn’t she?”

“Very well,” agreed Francis.

“
Très bon
!” agreed Albert.

The Count clicked his heels together and gave a little bow.

“Anna, I concede. You have won the duel!”

I tried not to smile.

“You’re very gracious, Count.”

“As a token of my esteem, I would invite you to join me in Montmartre tomorrow. Perhaps we could board my airship and talk more about Dream Prussia and Dream Paris. I find your views most entertaining, Anna.”

“Entertaining?”

“Oh, yes.”

Somewhere a bell was rung. I saw the other diners return to the table. The big bird man was the first to resume his seat.

“Are you being intentionally rude?” I said.

“Not at all!” The Count smiled, that scar on his cheek glowing in the dim light. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I must return to the table. Our duel is over, but the contest goes on…”

He bowed and turned to walk away. I noticed the old lady with the elegant chignon staring at me.

“What?” I said.

She turned away without a word. I felt my cheeks grow hot.

“Hold on! Count von Breisach! I said wait!”

“Yes?” He turned around slowly, an amused smile playing across his lips.

“You’re carrying on?” I asked.

“Of course. But do not think that you must do the same. You’ve already proven yourself, young lady.”

The maître d’hôtel clapped his hands.

“The meal will recommence in one minute. Please take your seat at the table if you wish to continue!”

It didn’t register with me until later that that the maître d’hôtel had spoken in English. He was playing with me. Everyone in Dream Paris was playing with me. If only I’d realised that at the time…

“If you’re going on, so am I!”

“Anna! Don’t be silly! It’s dangerous!” Francis put his hand on my arm. I stared at it until he removed it.

“Thank you, Francis.”

“Anna. Do not do zees!” Albert’s big eyes were pleading.

“You should listen to your friends,” said the Count. “This is no place for a young woman such as yourself.”

“She’s not much older than I am!” I said, pointing to the young woman in the silver striped dress.

“Ah! But she has experience of the world!”

“And I don’t?”

“Thirty seconds,” said the maître d’hôtel.

“Anna, don’t be silly. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

“Yes. Do as your friend says,” said the Count, and he resumed his seat.

“Come on, Anna.”

“Be quiet, Francis. I’m not a kid!”

I took my place by the Count just as the second bell sounded.

I immediately wished I hadn’t.

The maître d’hôtel stepped forward and waited for the spectators to be silent.

“
Mesdames et messieurs
!”

He paused for effect.

“
Le premier cours du dîner de la mort
!”

The Dinner of Death.

The crowd applauded. Across from me, I saw Francis and Albert cover their eyes.

ENTRÉES

I
STOOD UP.

“What’s the matter?” asked the Count.

“This is stupid. I’m not risking my life for this.”

“Why not?” asked the young man with the pointed beard. That rakishly tilted hat irritated me now, he seemed just too self-satisfied: the way he’d spent the first course in conversation with the young woman in the striped silver dress, as if the rest of us were beneath his notice.