service.
He appreciated her efforts, but the evening reminded him of what
had been--of Annemarie, his wife, who'd died three years earlier. He
recalled how, as they'd dressed for the evening, they would banter
about the awful people they would meet, would have to entertain.
That made it easier, theatre for husband and wife, shared misery and
the instinct to find it some way, somehow, amusing.
The apartment provided for the military attache was on the
second floor of 22, aleja Ujazdowska--Ujazdowska avenue--the
Champs-Elysees of Warsaw, though not so broad, a street of elegant
five-story buildings, exteriors lavishly wrought with every sort of decorative stonework, set well back behind trees and shrubbery, which
was fronted by ornamental iron palings that ran the length of the
block. The French embassy had for a long time been on Ujazdowska
but had moved, two years earlier, to Nowy Swiat. Still, it was only a
fifteen-minute walk from his apartment, just enough to clear the fog
of work from his mind.
Furs_9781400066025_3p_all_r1.qxp 3/26/08 9:29 AM Page 44
4 4 * T H E S P I E S O F WA R S AW
The apartment came with a maid, Wlada, thin and nervous, who
lived in the maid's room, a cook, heavy and silent, who came every day
but Sunday, and a driver, Marek, a tough old bird who'd served as a
sergeant in Pilsudski's Polish Legion and drove Mercier around in
what he persisted in calling the "Biook," in fact a 1936 S41 Buick
sedan. The choice of the French and several other embassies, it was a
heavily sprung eight-cylinder bear of an automobile, with a bulbous
trunk, that negotiated Polish roads as long as you kept at least two
spare tires with you, though nobody went anywhere in the spring and
autumn rains--Poland's seasonal barrier against German expansion.
Entering the apartment, Mercier glanced at the mail on the foyer
table, then headed for his dressing room. This took time. The place
was enormous; ten vast rooms with high ceilings, plaster medallions
at every corner, and, thanks to the inordinately wealthy wife of a previous tenant, sumptuously furnished. Better to have private means if
you were a diplomat of higher rank, the salary didn't begin to pay for
the necessary show. Thus the heavy floor-to-ceiling drapes at the windows, couches covered in damask, ebony drum tables, exotic oriental
lamps with creamy silk shades, and a silver service to sink a small ship.
In the apartment, Mercier felt forever a temporary guest. The rough,
weary, mostly ancient furnishings of his country house in central
France--dog hair everywhere, how did they still have coats?--the only
style that felt, to him, comfortable.
In the dressing room, Wlada had laid out his best uniform, perfectly cleaned and ironed, and his kepi, visored military hat, which
she'd ruthlessly brushed. The damn thing was expensive, but there
was, in such matters, no interfering with Wlada. The more she
thought it important, the harder she punished it. Opening the bottom
drawer of his dresser, he brought out a square of blue felt with cardboard backing, which bore his service decorations, pinned in neat
rows. There were a lot of them; twenty-eight years in the military
brought medals. For the Renault crowd, much the best to go top
class, so Mercier unpinned his Croix de Guerre and Virtuti Militari
and set them on the dresser. A bath? No, it could wait. He took off
Furs_9781400066025_3p_all_r1.qxp 3/26/08 9:29 AM Page 45
H OT E L E U RO P E J S K I * 4 5
his work uniform, shoes, and socks, put on a wool bathrobe, walked
into the adjoining bedroom, and stretched out on a settee by the window. Twenty minutes, no more . Outside, the avenue was quiet under
the streetlamps, a horse-drawn cab went clopping past, a dog barked,
a couple spoke in gentle voices as they walked by. Peace. Another
nineteenth-century evening on the Ujazdowska.
As he often did, Mercier thought of Annemarie as he drifted off.
He was lonely for her, three
He appreciated her efforts, but the evening reminded him of what
had been--of Annemarie, his wife, who'd died three years earlier. He
recalled how, as they'd dressed for the evening, they would banter
about the awful people they would meet, would have to entertain.
That made it easier, theatre for husband and wife, shared misery and
the instinct to find it some way, somehow, amusing.
The apartment provided for the military attache was on the
second floor of 22, aleja Ujazdowska--Ujazdowska avenue--the
Champs-Elysees of Warsaw, though not so broad, a street of elegant
five-story buildings, exteriors lavishly wrought with every sort of decorative stonework, set well back behind trees and shrubbery, which
was fronted by ornamental iron palings that ran the length of the
block. The French embassy had for a long time been on Ujazdowska
but had moved, two years earlier, to Nowy Swiat. Still, it was only a
fifteen-minute walk from his apartment, just enough to clear the fog
of work from his mind.
Furs_9781400066025_3p_all_r1.qxp 3/26/08 9:29 AM Page 44
4 4 * T H E S P I E S O F WA R S AW
The apartment came with a maid, Wlada, thin and nervous, who
lived in the maid's room, a cook, heavy and silent, who came every day
but Sunday, and a driver, Marek, a tough old bird who'd served as a
sergeant in Pilsudski's Polish Legion and drove Mercier around in
what he persisted in calling the "Biook," in fact a 1936 S41 Buick
sedan. The choice of the French and several other embassies, it was a
heavily sprung eight-cylinder bear of an automobile, with a bulbous
trunk, that negotiated Polish roads as long as you kept at least two
spare tires with you, though nobody went anywhere in the spring and
autumn rains--Poland's seasonal barrier against German expansion.
Entering the apartment, Mercier glanced at the mail on the foyer
table, then headed for his dressing room. This took time. The place
was enormous; ten vast rooms with high ceilings, plaster medallions
at every corner, and, thanks to the inordinately wealthy wife of a previous tenant, sumptuously furnished. Better to have private means if
you were a diplomat of higher rank, the salary didn't begin to pay for
the necessary show. Thus the heavy floor-to-ceiling drapes at the windows, couches covered in damask, ebony drum tables, exotic oriental
lamps with creamy silk shades, and a silver service to sink a small ship.
In the apartment, Mercier felt forever a temporary guest. The rough,
weary, mostly ancient furnishings of his country house in central
France--dog hair everywhere, how did they still have coats?--the only
style that felt, to him, comfortable.
In the dressing room, Wlada had laid out his best uniform, perfectly cleaned and ironed, and his kepi, visored military hat, which
she'd ruthlessly brushed. The damn thing was expensive, but there
was, in such matters, no interfering with Wlada. The more she
thought it important, the harder she punished it. Opening the bottom
drawer of his dresser, he brought out a square of blue felt with cardboard backing, which bore his service decorations, pinned in neat
rows. There were a lot of them; twenty-eight years in the military
brought medals. For the Renault crowd, much the best to go top
class, so Mercier unpinned his Croix de Guerre and Virtuti Militari
and set them on the dresser. A bath? No, it could wait. He took off
Furs_9781400066025_3p_all_r1.qxp 3/26/08 9:29 AM Page 45
H OT E L E U RO P E J S K I * 4 5
his work uniform, shoes, and socks, put on a wool bathrobe, walked
into the adjoining bedroom, and stretched out on a settee by the window. Twenty minutes, no more . Outside, the avenue was quiet under
the streetlamps, a horse-drawn cab went clopping past, a dog barked,
a couple spoke in gentle voices as they walked by. Peace. Another
nineteenth-century evening on the Ujazdowska.
As he often did, Mercier thought of Annemarie as he drifted off.
He was lonely for her, three
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