An Ace up my Sleeve

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Helga Rolfe crossed the lobby of the Konigshof Hotel, her mink coat draped over her shoulders, aware that two stout German business men were eyeing her, their eyes taking in the coat, the black two piece suit, the red blouse and the mink trimmed hat. The eyes approved, but by now, she was used to approving male eyes. Approval no longer interested her: she needed more than approval.

She dropped her room key on the desk and the Hall Porter, bowing, gathered it up as if it were a thing of value.

“You need your car, madame?”

His guttural English irritated her. She spoke German, French and Italian fluently, but he knew her to be an American and to him, all Americans spoke only English.

“No… I’m shopping.” She spoke in German. “I am leaving tomorrow at eight o’clock. Please have my car serviced and ready.”

The Hall Porter’s fat fingers closed on a pencil and he made a note.

“Yes, madame.” He persisted in his English. “Then at eight. I will have your account ready. Is there anything else?”

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