“Is that so?” wondered Burleigh thoughtfully.
Hakim nodded. “Any day now-so my sources inform me.”
“It seems I have come at the right time.”
“Most fortuitous,” agreed the broker. “Trade will flow again soon, Insha’allah!”
Three kaftanned waiters trooped to the table bearing armloads of plates and platters. Without a word, they began laying down the food: honey-glazed quails stuffed with plums and pine nuts on a bed of delicate jasmine-scented rice flavoured with coriander. This was accompanied by dishes of pickled slices of Nile perch and tiger fish with onions and whole peppercorns, pale green slices of melon, and figs in wine.
Hakim Rassoul smacked his lips and, tucking his white linen napkin into the neck of his robe, fell to with gusto, never once resorting to the use of knife and fork. His pleasure in the meal outstripped enjoyment and proceeded well on the way to rapture. Burleigh, whose appetite had been annihilated by the heat, watched in amazement, his own efforts feeble by comparison.
It was some time before Hakim could speak again. “Heaven should have such food,” he announced, pushing his plate away at last. “You have been in the presence of greatness, my friend.”
“I do not doubt it,” agreed Burleigh mildly.
Coffee was brought, and they finished their meal in amiable conversation about the international trade in antiquities, then returned to the warehouse to resume their business. It was late afternoon when Burleigh took his leave; the taxi was still waiting-he had to wake the driver-and Burleigh settled into the back, deep in thought. Upon reaching the hotel, he roused himself, paid the driver a substantial tip, and went in. Three paces inside the lobby, he spotted his quarry: a tall, slender, impeccably dressed man standing at the front desk, drumming his fingers on the marble counter.
Burleigh paused, straightened his jacket, then strode forward, coming up behind the man, whose back was turned to him. He gave a little cough to announce himself and said in a firm, resonant voice, “Excuse me, but is it Lord Carnarvon?”
The man turned, took him in at a glance, and offered a polite smile. “Yes? Whom do I address?”
“Allow me to introduce myself,” he said, offering his hand. “I am Archelaeus Burleigh, Earl of Sutherland. I was informed you were staying here. We have mutual friends, I think. May I offer you a drink?”
CHAPTER 21
In Which Social Climbing Is Indulged
I’m sorry, Etzel,” Wilhelmina said, clasping the big man’s hands in both her own. She gave them a squeeze for emphasis. “I should have talked to you first. I know that. It happened so fast I didn’t have time to think, and before I knew it, we had agreed.” She watched the wide, round face for any flicker of forgiveness; but the pale blue eyes remained downcast, the mouth pressed firmly together.
“We are partners,” he said, without raising his head.
“I know,” Mina assured him. “I know-and that’s why I feel so terrible about this. I just… please understand, I just saw the opportunity and took it. It was wrong of me to do that, and I am sorry. I really am.”
She felt herself caving in under her friend and partner’s unhappiness. Her lower lip quivered, and her voice became shaky. A tear rolled down her cheek. “Please, say something, Etzel. Tell me you forgive me. I’ll never do it again.”
Englebert drew a deep breath and heaved his round shoulders. “Ah, mein Shatz,” he sighed. “How can I say no? We are partners, you and I.” He looked at her sadly. “Of course, I forgive you.” He raised a hand and rubbed away her tears with his thumb. “Do not cry. I am not angry with you.”
“Then you do forgive me?” she sniffed.
“I have already said that I do,” he replied. “How could I stay angry with you? If not for you, Mina, I would be back in Rosenheim trying to please my father and brother. I would not have a Kaffeehaus at all. Of course, I forgive you.”
She took his hand and kissed it. “Thank you, Etzel. It will all work out fine. I promise.”
He pursed his lips and nodded, thinking to himself. In a moment, he said, “I have no doubt it is for the best. To be in business with Master Arnostovi-who could have imagined such a thing?”
“He is giving us a refund on the rent of this place, and we get first pick of his best properties as soon as any become available. Oh, Etzel, we’ll have the finest coffee shop and bakery in all of Prague-in all of Europe!”
At this, his good-natured face broke into a cherubic smile. “We already have this, I think.”
“But the new shop will be better, still. And it will have a proper bakery for you-with big ovens and a good kitchen. We’ll even get some kitchen staff to help us. It will be wonderful. You’ll see.”
He laughed, then, and as low as Wilhelmina’s heart had been at hurting her friend, her spirits revived and took wing on that happy sound. “You are a good man, Etzel,” she told him, and planted a big wet kiss on his round cheek.
His smile swelled to bursting, and his face turned red.
A few days later, Arnostovi made good on his promise. “Fraulein Wilhelmina, come,” he said, striding into the coffeehouse with his little black book tucked under his arm. “I have something to show you.”
“Would you like your Kaffee first, Herr Arnostovi?”
“Not now. We must hurry. Come along.”
He turned and stepped back out the door and into the street, beckoning her to follow.
Mina turned and called to Englebert, who was just then taking a tray of pastries from the oven. “Yes, go,” he replied. “I will watch things here. Go. I trust you.”
“What is the rush?” Mina asked, catching up with him a few steps later. His heels clicked along at a fair pace, making the long white plume in his green hat ripple in the breeze of his passing.
“There are people coming to meet me at the property,” he told her. “They will have it, unless you take it first.”
“Oh,” replied Mina, not quite understanding. “I see.”
They proceeded at pace to the Old Town Square. “There!” declared Arnostovi, pointing across the market area to the north side and a row of fine shops that shared a copper-faced awning that shielded the doorways to the shops from wind and rain. The shops were south-facing and fronted with large glass windows the likes of which were enjoyed by very few buildings on the square. “That one,” he said, indicating the rank of shops with the point of his spade-shaped beard.
“Which one?”
“The one on the end nearest the clock tower.”
Wilhelmina’s eyes widened at the sight. “That one?”
“Yes.” He bent his head around to look at her, slowing his pace only slightly. “What is the matter?”
“Nothing! It is… the best property on the square!”
“So some would say.” He started away again.
“And you are giving it to us?” she asked, scrambling to catch up with him again,
“I am giving you nothing, Fraulein. I am offering it to you for rent, as we agreed.” Once across the square, he moved quickly to the door of the shop and withdrew a large iron key from the leather satchel at his side. “Come. Hurry. We have not much time.”
As if to lend urgency to his words, the clock in the great stone tower began to chime the hour. Herr Arnostovi unlocked the door of the shop and opened it wide for Mina to enter. She stepped in.
The single large room was bare of furnishings, but what she could see spoke of luxury and quality-all brass and crystal, with white marble on the floors, and walnut wainscoting on the walls, and rows of expensive blue tiles around the windows and door. A three-tiered chandelier hung from a painted ceiling over the centre of the room, and the eastern wall featured an ornate Kachelofen, a ceramic stove of glittering white and blue tiles.
“Well?” said Arnostovi. “What do you think?”
“It is beautiful!”