Frederick's American Café

There are only 9 chapters in this little story, so I should finish posting by Tuesday of next week. I hope everyone has been enjoying it thus far. The powers-that-be have removed the child-safety warning and the ABBR notice from the copy appearing in Fantasia Gallery, so I too shall omit them from the remaining chapters.

Chapter 7

Frederick Wentworth did not treat his position of owner as a sinecure. There was always a lot of hard work to do and, if he didn't do it himself, he at least set the example of hard work for others to follow. He had never taken a vacation in all his years at The American. There had been no point; he had nowhere else to go, invitations from his sister notwithstanding.

While he was above taking time for his own pleasure, he had fallen ill from time to time, and been tended to by Mrs. Harville either at his bedside or in his office, depending on the severity.

Both Harvilles could attest that when the boss had gone to bed the night before, he had been in no condition to rise at his usual early hour. They knew where to find him in case of an emergency, and they shielded him from the morning's mundane travails. What they could not handle between the two of them, they could delay until the boss felt well enough to show his face.

And so, aided by the Harvilles, Frederick slept late. When he woke, Anne was gone, along with any visible sign that she had been there. With sadness he realized he might never see her again, but it was a pain not weighted down by the bitterness that had plagued him for years, and so it was exceedingly light. She had loved him; she loved him still. She had not been some cruelly fickle female falling in and out of love with the fashions. It had been his fate to fall in love with a woman of principles and convictions. It was a hard fate but he could live with it now.

The sounds of life in the building and outside his windows coaxed him from his bed at last. He drew a bath in the small en-suite and washed off the accumulated blood, sweat and dirt. Feeling more and more like a new man, he toweled off and put on his clothes from yesterday. He wanted to duck into his room downstairs for clean clothes and a shave before slinking into his office, but he at least looked presentable enough to leave the room.

He was just about to wind the bandage around his head when he was startled by a loud knocking on his hotel room door. He could hear Hemmert barking at him in German to open the door. It seemed Hemmert had finally discovered that the Elliots and the Wilkes had gone.

Frederick opened the door with a gruff salutation and was surprised to find not just Hemmert but also Harville and Croft standing there.

Croft was equally surprised, exclaiming, "Good grief, Wentworth, were you attacked?" No one had warned him of Frederick's forehead.

"Don't worry," Frederick answered. "Hemmert was there when it happened. In fact, if you've got a report for me to sign, I'm willing to swear."

He hoped the German would respond to the dig, but the man's attention was focused elsewhere.

"Your Gäste are gone!" he announced.

Frederick decided to act as if he didn't fully understand. Harville read his look and filled him in. "The Elliots and the Wilkes are gone, boss. No one's seen them all morning, and they didn't answer when we knocked."

"It did occur to you they got married yesterday?" Frederick pointed out. "They may not be in the mood for early morning callers."

"They are gone, Herr Wentworth," Hemmert grit out, quickly tiring of this conversation.

"Have they paid their bill?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yes, boss, through tomorrow morning," confirmed Harville.

Frederick fixed his gaze upon the Gestapo. "Then I don't care where they are."

"If they are not here then it is a certain admission of guilt. They are criminals, absconding in the night. I shall have warrants in my hand tomorrow morning to prove it to you, incontrovertibly. Their property in your hotel will be forfeited. I insist that you open the safe for me and let me collect their belongings."

"If they've paid through till tomorrow, and you have no warrant today, I don't have to do anything for you now." He could feel his day sliding downhill. Leave it to the German to ruin his mood.

"Jetzt!" barked Hemmert in barely contained fury, grabbing Frederick by his collar and pulling him into the hall. Croft and Harville, who had initially seemed competent enough as witnesses to stall Hemmert's rage, now seemed powerless to offer any protection at all.

"At least let me shave first."

Hemmert looked ready to slit Frederick's throat if offered, or to throw him down the stairs as a consolation prize. He shoved Frederick in the direction of the staircase.

Frederick decided the best course of action for now was to go along. There was no reasoning with the Gestapo at this point and he had promised Anne to take care of himself while she was gone. They promenaded down to his office: Frederick with Hemmert close behind, ready to push and prod should he move too slowly, and Croft and Harville bringing up the rear.

Once inside his office, however, Frederick stood his ground. "This is as close as you get without a warrant," he announced.

Hemmert put his hand on his gun. "Wentworth!"

"Now, now, old chap," Croft interrupted with a ghost of a stutter. "Let's not be hasty, any of us. No one doubts your bravery, Wentworth, but I'd rather you not get yourself killed over this."

"He has no warrant, Croft, ergo he has no right," Frederick explained with irritation. "What if he decided that you and Mrs. Croft were hiding illegal goods in your home and decided to search it. Would you just roll over and let him?"

The possibility gave the Englishman pause and made his pink skin pale slightly.

Frederick turned back to Hemmert. "The Wilkes and the Elliots are gone. They're not getting into this safe. Your warrant arrives in 24 hours. You can wait."

Hemmert glowered at him, trying to determine how he could motivate this obstinate American. At last he drew his pistol. "Then I insist you wait with me," he said. "Come with me, across the square. I had prepared to host four guests today but one will do for now."

"What?" asked Croft. "You're taking him into custody? On what grounds?"

Hemmert turned to glare. "I do not need your consent." He added a subtle wave of the gun for emphasis. "Herr Wentworth, beweg dich!"

Frederick again led the parade across the square. Croft followed closely behind Hemmert, informing the German that he was going home immediately to write a very sternly worded letter to Hemmert's supervisor which would go out on tomorrow's plane. Hemmert only laughed. "Go ahead," he goaded. "They will probably give me a commendation for it."

Hemmert locked Frederick in his lone cell, handcuffing him to a bar of the cell for good measure.

"Come on," protested Frederick against the extra measures. "This is ridiculous."

"Should I find them today I will certainly free you. Otherwise you can stay here until you agree to open the safe for me."

"What do you want me to do, boss?" asked Harville, hapless.

"Run the hotel," snapped Frederick. "I'll be in here for a day, 24 hours. Think you can keep the place running that long?"

The look Harville gave him did not fill him with confidence but there was no alternative from where he now stood. "If anyone needs me, I'll be right here. You can find me," he said as a comfort to both of them.

With a nod and wishes for a quick stay, Harville turned around and returned to The American. Hemmert stayed briefly to press him to capitulate but, now that Frederick was locked up and unable to open the safe for anyone, his motivation was waning. Once convinced that Frederick would not be turned, he left him unattended to see if he could find out where the English spies had gone.

An hour later, Mrs. Harville brought a tray of breakfast with her apologies for not coming sooner. As it was, she had come as soon as she had heard the news; her husband had been too immediately overwhelmed to send word to the kitchen earlier.

He thanked her for her kindness and sent her back. He had wanted to ask if Anne was hiding in the cellar like he had suggested but he knew that to speak the suggestion to another person was to betray everyone involved, so he said nothing on the topic.

The day passed slowly with no other company. The cell was spartan, without privacy or much of dignity, and he was glad at times for the lack of witnesses.

When his stomach was getting uncomfortably empty again, another emissary from The American brought his dinner. It was Lulu Argile.

"What are you doing here?" he asked in lieu of a friendly greeting. "You're supposed to be on stage." He blamed Harville for this. It had been less than half a day and already things were falling apart.

"There is no show tonight," she informed him of the obvious with a disinterested shrug.

"Says who?"

"Madame Harville has closed the café. There is only room service tonight in solidarity with you, patron. And Monsieur Charlie has closed the bar and cancelled the poker. He says it is because he does not trust Monsieur Massoud without you to keep an eye on him, but between you and me..." She looked around to see if the coast was clear and then leaned close to the bars to whisper, "c'est le Gestapo."

Frederick wanted to swear.

“And I have one more bad news for you, patron,” continued Lulu in her regular voice. “I am leaving you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I am going to quit The American and go somewhere else,” she said matter-of-factly. “I have been talking with Miss Elliot, and I think I will go to England. They will appreciate me there.”

The arrogance and simplicity of the woman angered him. “You can’t just sprout wings and fly away.”

She looked at him coldly. “How do you know what I am capable of, when you have never bothered to find out? Just because you are not interested in me does not mean no one is.”

“Elizabeth Elliot is not the kind of woman to mean what she says when she is this far from civilization. She might have invited you to come visit when you’re in the neighborhood, but she didn’t actually mean it. You’d be a sucker to chase after her.”

“We talked about you, she and I,” explained Lulu with a puckered frown. “We agree you are not right in the head. I meant what I said. I am leaving you, patron. You are blind for me; blind and stupid. If you had any sense at all, you would be weeping like a child right now, to lose me. The only pity is that I will not be here to see your spirit crushed when you experience true remorse at what you have thrown away.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll be here for months and months, trying to get the paperwork to get into England,” he told her, reaching for the upper hand. “You’d have better luck trying to get back to France, such as it is.”

“Think what you like, patron, but I am done working at The American. By the time you get out of here, I’ll be a distant memory.”

“I’ll be out of here tomorrow morning, Lu,” Frederick warned her. “I’m sure you’ll be here for a while. Best not to burn those bridges until you’re on the other side.”

She looked like she wanted to argue with him but then decided to rise above it. “Adieu, patron.”

And so she left him.

Frederick spent the night alone, chained to the bars of his cell. It did him no good to contrast this night with the night before, when he had slept in the best room in his hotel -- nor had he been alone, at least for part of it -- but memories would intrude before he could stop them. He could only hope, with a fervency that bordered on prayer, that Hemmert’s continued absence spelled good tidings for Anne.