The Little Hotel Read Free Page A

know, so we put it into the U.S.A. Supposing Switzerland were invaded; why would they want our mountains? For the money! We are the richest country on earth. Why should we have all this worry? We must protect ourselves. So you see,’ (she said to Mrs Powell) ‘You should not think only of self, but you should see the Russians destroyed, because it is to your interest too. If we go down where will you be? All Europe is your buffer state.’
    ‘Not the English: you have a socialist government; you are collaborators with the Russians,’ said Mrs Powell turning accusingly to Mrs Trollope.
    Roger and I used to get them to disband as soon as we could; they all agreed in hating the Russians but they began to dispute, each blaming the other for their present worries. I had time to think that if Madame Blaise had property sequestered in America, since she is not an enemy alien, but a Swiss, then that property must have been enemy alien property entrusted to her, which she was now claiming. She would not be the first one. During the war many Swiss took charge of German property to prevent its being confiscated; some did it for kindness, others made a profit.
    One evening the Mayor said he would draw up a document giving his property in Zurich to my five-year-old son Olivier. It was only a temporary document, not witnessed or properly drawn, but he labelled it Document 157. He said we must call it between ourselves Document 157; never mention it to Roger and never refer to it when with others; and he told me to put it away in the safe. My safe was getting full.
    Apart from the Mayor’s papers, I had a parcel of jewels belonging to Madame Blaise and a packet containing thousands of Swiss francs and American dollars belonging to Mrs Trollope and her cousin Mr Wilkins. Madame Blaise would examine her jewels from time to time, for, she said, with Italians about, there was no security; then she would do it up again ready to fly with her to America.
    Mrs Trollope’s parcel was a source of worry too. It was labelled Property of Robert A. Wilkins , which was the name of Mrs Trollope’s cousin, but the money it contained belonged to Mrs Trollope. I never knew why it was there; for they had bank accounts in the local banks. But Mrs Trollope would come to me almost every day talking about it, crying about how short of money she was. Supposing something happened to Mr Wilkins, ‘which God forbid’? The odd thing about this was that Mrs Trollope was an heiress, richer than her cousin. That was a mixed-up story. Mrs Trollope told me everything and I soon understood; yet you are always astonished at how people can muddle their lives.
    Most of our guests are in bed by eleven, a middle-aged set. But we have a year-long contract with the local night-club, the Toucan, to lodge their touring artistes and we put up the road companies who play the Casino. The artistes for the Zig-Zag Club are a poorer crowd and put up in working-class pensions. We like the Toucan people. They are well-behaved and some of them come back each season. They get up at five or six in the evening, have coffee and rolls, lunch at the night-club and eat a snack in their rooms before going to bed. About this time there came back to us Lola-la-Môme, who does apache and South American and other dances. She is forty-two, short, strong and plump with thick black hair which she dresses like a savage; and she is still healthy and sexy enough to get applause doing belly-dances and acrobatics with her partner. Her manager is her husband, who is a few years younger; and her partner is her lover and about twenty-five. The three of them go about together and are quite famous. They quarrel and fight in public, but never here. The husband doesn’t like his position but can’t afford to lose Lola-la-Môme and her partner. But Lola insists upon picking up rich tourists in the night-club. It is dull enough here, let us admit it, at night; and all the places but night-clubs close at