Page 68 of Winter’s End

“Alas, no,” she said. “I am in Amsterdam only for the day. But I was told not to miss the opportunity to dine here.”

“Of course.” He led her to a table in a quiet corner, with a good view of the room. “Shall I order some champagne for you to start?”

“I think a glass of white wine – a good French chardonnay, if you have it.”

“Of course.”

Mila raised the hem of her dress above her knees and crossed her legs so that the shapely calf and slim ankle above her black spike-heeled shoe protruded just a bit into the aisle. She checked her watch and peered at the menu, more than a little surprised at the depth and breadth of the selections. But then, she reminded herself, the whole establishment was run by and for the Nazis.

A waiter brought the wine. “Mademoiselle.”

He offered it to her for approval.

Mila sniffed and sipped. “Perfect.”

Bowing, he set the glass before her. “I shall give mademoiselle a moment with the menu,ja?”

“Bitte.” She said, replying in German.

She picked up the menu, pretended to peruse it, checked her watch again. At precisely one o’clock, as she had been told to expect, a portly man with a full handlebar moustache entered the restaurant and tapped his fingers on the reception kiosk.

The maître d hurried to his side.

She could not hear their brief exchange, but there was no mistaking the face she had studied in the photograph or the storied air of arrogance. He was police captain Reimar de Boer.

She moved slightly, so that her foot extended into the aisle just the tiniest bit more. The maître de moved past without the slightest notice, but the portly de Boer, following in his wake, slowed for a moment to examine the extended ankle and follow the line of sight to Mila’s face.

“So sorry,Meneer,” she flashed a brilliant smile, pulling in her foot just a fraction.

De Boer paused for a milli-second, bowed slightly, and moved on. Mila picked up her menu.

She had given up hope that the ruse would work when de Boer suddenly appeared at her side, his cashmere coat draped over one arm, felt derby hat in his hand.

“Pardon, Mademoiselle,” he said in poor French, his ruddy face no more than a foot from hers. “Have we met?”

Mila nearly choked at the oldest pick-up attempt in the world, but she managed to look up and smile. “I do not think so,Meneer,” she replied in formal Dutch. “I live in Maastricht, not far from the Belgian border. I am in Amsterdam only overnight.”

“Ah,” de Boer seemed to drink in her presence. “A visitor to our city. The maître’ d tells me you are dining alone,ja?”

“Alas, yes” she simpered. “I have a bit of business to complete this afternoon. But then I am at odds, I suppose. I am afraid I know no one in Amsterdam.”

A click of his heels, a nod of his head. “Allow me to introduce myself if I may. I am Reimar de Boer, a police captain in this fair city. The maître d’ can vouch for my authenticity.”

“Anna de Groot,” she held out a manicured hand. It was all she could manage not to draw back in as his fleshy lips descended upon it.

“If I am not being too forward,Mademoiselle, may I perhaps join you for lunch?”

She gestured amiably to the seat across from her. “I would be pleased for the company. I was just enjoying a glass of Chardonnay. Is there anyone who prefers drinking alone?”

De Boer heaved his bulk into the red banquette, folding his coat beside him and placing his hat precisely on top of it.

“And if you have the time after you complete your business, I would be happy to show you the sights of Amsterdam.”

He picked up the white linen napkin and spread it across his lap. “I realize we have only just met,” his gaze caught sight of her neckline. “But who could be a safer companion than the city’s police chief?”

Mila smile and inclined her head.Who indeed?

EVI