When Pascale Auber is forced out of the airship of the evil Dr. Simpelstur, she finds herself rescued by a handsome Ruritanian diplomat, Theo von Hentzau. Pascale soon realizes that Theo is hiding something - something to do with the evil doctor, th...
As soon as Theo von Hentzau turned towards the doorway, I was moving. There was no chance to make it back to the table and still stay out of sight.
Two facts worked together to save me - Hentzau believed me to still be in the lavatories, and the restaurant had a number of large, potted plants scattered artfully around the dining room. I positioned myself between a large parlour palm and the small bar that featured Delmonte's impressive steam coffee machine.
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The coffee machine was a beautiful thing, a cylinder of shiny chrome and gilt decorated with various baroque fittings. I pretended to admire the coffee machine until Hentzau passed by on the other other side of the palm. I then smiled to the coffee-boy, and made my way between the tables.
I reached my own table at the exact moment our new waiter arrived with my eggs and Theo's steak. Naturally, I wished that I could ask Theo exactly what he knew about Dr.Simpelstur, but I was well aware that I could not inspire that level of trust - at least, not yet.
I let the evening proceed as if was what it appeared to be; a chance for Theo von Hentzau to impress me and perhaps win my attentions. His courting techniques were smooth – had I been truly interested in him as a suitor, instead of an information source, I think I would have been quite bowled over.
As it was, I had to make some small effort to keep my mind focused on my work. We were just finishing our meal when the music of the mechanical orchestra swelled to its full glory. The brass animals gleamed and pirouetted as they filled the air with the most enchanting music. We danced to the mechanical orchestra for what must have been a half hour, but felt like seconds. Many men believe they are good dancers; Theo von Hentzau actually was. Dancing with him was like floating. Although I fake it well enough, I was never taught to dance; he was good enough for both of us, carrying me along on a cloud of song and swirling skirts.
When we were tired of dancing, we walked down to the river, where the reflection of the moon on the slowly flowing water was like a huge coin, or a perfect, yellow cantaloupe. Hentzau bought me a paper dish of ice cream – pistachio –and then walked me back to the flivver to fly me home. To Hentzau's credit, he seemed genuinely interested in my every little statement. It was a pleasant evening, but none of it was real. By the time I stepped onto the flivver, I felt strangely dirty.
