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Elsa smiled her gratitude.
73 Obtierstrasse turned out to be a shabby apartment block.
“I think it would be best if I went in here alone, Jimmy.”
“You’re sure?”
She nodded. “Please.”
When he saw her enter the building, Cronley settled down for what he was sure would be a long wait by lighting a cigar.
Elsa was back in the car before there was enough ash on the cigar to knock off.
“Not there?” he said.
“Frau Hofstadter was there. Jimmy, please take me back to the hotel. Now.”
“Is there something I can do?”
“Just take me back to the hotel.”
—
At the corridor door to the Goethe Suite, she smiled quickly at him, said, “Thank you,” and went inside.
It was obvious that he was no longer welcome in the Goethe Suite.
“I’ll be next door,” he said to the closed corridor door.
He had been in the armchair with his cigar and the new Stars & Stripes perhaps five minutes when the connecting door opened and Elsa came in.
“Do you mind?” she asked. “I don’t want to be alone.”
There were tear tracks running down her cheeks.
He stood up and put his arms around her.
You are not going to make a pass at a crying woman.
Just comfort her.
Nature overrode that noble determination.
Her breasts were soft against him, and the smell of the Chanel No. 5 intoxicating.
He felt the stirring at his groin and pulled his midsection modestly away from hers.
Not quickly enough.
She pulled her head back and smiled up at him through her tears.
“Oh, sweet Jimmy, you never get enough, do you? You remind me of a bull in a field.”
“What would you like me to do with it?”
“What you did with it the last time,” she said, and pulled his face down to hers.
—
