searched.”
“If the trunk is locked,” Noelle asked, “would he not smother?”
Albert Heller took a sip of wine, quietly lost in thought. Finally he said, “Not
necessarily.” He spoke to Noelle for five minutes, keeping his voice low, and when he had
finished, he said, “Good luck.” And he still did not look at her.
Early the next morning Noelle telephoned General Scheider. An operator answered
the switchboard, and a few moments later Noelle was put through to an aide and finally to
the General’s secretary.
“Who is calling General Scheider, please?”
“Noelle Page,” she said, for the third time.
“I am sorry, but the General is in conference. He cannot be disturbed.”
She hesitated. “Could I call him back later?”
“He will be in conference all day. I suggest you write the General a letter stating your
business.”
Noelle sat there a moment contemplating the idea and an ironic smile touched her
lips.
“Never mind,” she said. “Just tell him I called.”
One hour later her phone rang, and it was General Hans Scheider. “Forgive me,” he
apologized. “That idiot didn’t give me your message until just now. I would have left word
for them to put you through, but it never occurred to me that you would telephone.”
“I’m the one who should apologize,” Noelle said. “I know how busy you are.”
“Please. What can I do for you?”
Noelle hesitated, choosing her words. “Do you remember what you said about us at
dinner?”
There was a short pause, then “Yes.”
“I’ve been thinking about you a great deal, Hans. I would like very much to see you.”
“Will you have supper with me tonight?” There was a sudden eagerness in his voice.
“Not in Paris,” Noelle replied. “If we’re going to be together, I would like us to be
away from here.”
“Where?” General Scheider asked.
“I want it to be some place special. Do you know Etratat?”
“No.”
“It’s a lovely little village about a hundred and fifty kilometers from Paris, near Le
Havre. There’s a quiet old inn there.”