If I had a restaurant, Wolff thought, I would do things like that. The two glasses of brandy cost the proprietor very little, in relation to Wolff’s total bill, but the gesture was very effective in making the customer feel wanted. Wolff had often toyed with the idea of opening a restaurant, but it was a pipe dream: he knew there was too much hard work involved. Sonja also enjoyed the special attention. She was positively glowing under the combined influences of flattery and liquor. Tonight in bed she would snore like a pig. The proprietor had disappeared for a few minutes, then returned. Out of the corner of his eye, Wolff saw the man whispering to a waiter. He guessed they were talking about Sonja. 152 Ken Follett
Wolff felt a pang of jealousy. There were places in Cairo where, because of his good custom and lavish tips, he was known by name and welcomed like royalty; but he had thought it wise not to go to places where he would be recognized, not while the British were hunting him. Now he wondered whether he could afford to relax his vigilance a little more. Sonja yawned. It was time to put her to bed. Wolff waved to a waiter and said: “Please fetch Madame’s wrap.” The man went off, paused to mutter something to the proprietor, then continued on toward the cloakroom. An alarm bell sounded, faint and distant, somewhere in the back of Wolff’s mind. He toyed with a spoon as he waited for Sonja’s wrap. Sonja ate another petit four. The proprietor walked the length of the restaurant, went out of the front door, and came back in again. He approached their table and said: “May I get you a taxi?” Wolff looked at Sonja. She said: “I don’t mind.” Wolff said: “I’d like a breath of air. Let’s walk a little way, then hail one.” “Okay.” Wolff looked at the proprietor. “No taxi.” “Very good, sir.” The waiter brought Sonja’s wrap. The proprietor kept looking at the door. Wolff heard another alarm bell, this one louder. He said to the proprietor: “Is something the matter?” The man looked very worried. “I must mention an extremely delicate problem, sir.” Wolff began to get irritated. “Well, what is it, man? We want to go home.” There was the sound of a vehicle noisily drawing up out. side the restaurant. Wolff took hold of the proprietor’s lapels. “What is going on here?” “The money with which you paid your bill, sir, is not good.” “You don’t accept sterling? Then why didn’t-” “It’s not that, sir. The money is counterfeit.” The restaurant door burst open and three military policemen marched in. THE KEY TO REBECCA 153
Wolff stared at them openmouthed. It was all happening so quickly, he couldn’t catch his breath . . . Military police. Counterfeit money. He was suddenly afraid. He might go to jail. Those imbeciles in Berlin had given him forged notes, it was so stupid, he wanted to take Canaris by the throat and squeeze- He shook his head. There was no time to be angry now. He had to keep calm and try to slide out of this mess- The MPs marched up to the table. Two were British and the third was Australian. They wore heavy boots and steel helmets, and each of them had a small gun in a belt holster. One of the British said: “Is this the man?” “Just a moment,” Wolff said, and was astonished at how cool and suave his voice sounded. “The proprietor has, this very minute, told me that my money is no good. I don’t believe this, but I’m prepared to humor him, and I’m sure we can make some arrangement which will satisfy him.” He gave the proprietor a reproachful look. “It really wasn’t necessary to call the police.” The senior MP said: “Ifs an offense to pass forged money.,% “Knowingly,” Wolff said. “It is an offense knowingly to pass forged money.” As he listened to his own voice, quiet and persuasive, his confidence grew. “Now, then, what I propose is this. I have here my checkbook and some Egyptian money. I will write a check to cover my bill, and use the Egyptian money for the tip. Tomorrow I will take the al- legedly counterfeit notes to the British paymaster general for examination, and if they really are forgeries I will surrender them.” He sn-dled at the group surrounding him. “I imagine that should satisfy everyone.” The proprietor said: “I would prefer if you could pay entirely in cash, sir.” Wolff wanted to hit him in the face. Sonja said: “I may have enough Egyptian money.” Wolff thought: Thank God. Sonja opened her bag. The senior MP said: “All the same, sir, I’m going to ask you to come with me.” Walff’s heart sank again. “Why?” “Well need to ask you some questions.” 154 Ken Follett