Doctor Fisher of Geneva

6

The quarrel was not revived. That was one of the great qualities of Anna-Luise: she never went back to a quarrel or back on an agreed decision. I knew, when she decided to marry me, she meant it to be for life. She never once mentioned the parry again and the next ten days were among the happiest I’ve ever spent. It was an extraordinary change for me to come home at night from the office to a flat which wasn’t empty and to the sound of a voice which I loved.

On one occasion only the happiness seemed a little threatened when I had to go into Geneva to see an important Spanish confectioner from Madrid on some business for the firm. He gave me an excellent lunch at the Beau Rivage, but I couldn’t take full advantage of the meal because he talked about nothing but chocolate from our aperitifs on - I remember he chose an Alexander cocktail sprinkled with grains of chocolate. You might think the subject of chocolate a rather limited one, but it certainly wasn’t, not to an important confectioner with revolutionary ideas. He finished the meal with a chocolate mousse, which he criticized severely because it didn’t contain some scraps of orange skin. When I left I felt a bit liverish as though I had sampled every kind of chocolate my firm had ever manufactured.

It was a heavy humid autumn day and I walked away towards the place where I had left my car, trying to escape the wetness of the air and the wetness of the lake and the taste of chocolate which clotted my tongue, when a woman’s voice said, ‘Why, Mr Smith, you are exactly the man I want.’ I turned and there was Mrs Montgomery in the doorway of an expensive shop - a kind of Swiss Asprey’s.

I said, ‘Jones,’ automatically.

‘I’m so sorry. Oh, what a memory I have. I don’t know why I thought you were Mr Smith. But it doesn’t make any difference because it’s a man I want. Just a man. That’s all.’

‘Is this a proposition? ‘ I asked, but she didn’t see the joke.

She said, ‘I want you to come in here and point out four objects which you would like to possess - if you were extravagant enough to buy them.’

She pulled me into the shop by the arm and the sight of all those luxury goods sickened me rather as the chocolate at lunch had done - everything seemed to be in gold (eighteen carat) or platinum, although for the poorer customers there were objects in silver and pigskin. I remembered the rumours which I had heard about Doctor Fischer’s parties, and I thought I knew what Mrs Montgomery was after. She picked up a red morocco case containing a gold cigar-cutter. ‘ Wouldn’t you like to have this? ‘ she asked. It would have cost me nearly a month’s salary.

‘I don’t smoke cigars,’ I said. I added, ‘You shouldn’t choose that. Didn’t he give those away at his wedding party? I don’t suppose Doctor Fischer likes repeating himself. ‘

‘Are you sure?’

‘No. I think after all they were swizzle sticks.’

‘But you aren’t sure?’ she asked in a tone of disappointment and put the cigar-cutter down. ‘You don’t know how difficult it is to find something which will please everybody - especially the men.’

‘Why not just give them cheques?’ I asked. ‘You can’t give cheques to people. It would be insulting. ‘

‘Perhaps none of you would be insulted if the cheques were large enough.’

I could see she was reflecting on what I said, and I have reason to believe from what happened later that she must have repeated my remark to Doctor Fischer. She said, ‘It wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t do at all. Think of giving a cheque to the General - it would look like a bribe. ‘

‘Generals have taken bribes before now. Anyway, he can’t be a general if he’s Swiss. He’s probably only a Divisionnaire. ‘

‘But the idea of giving a cheque to Mr Kips. Why, it’s unthinkable. You mustn’t tell anyone I told you, but Mr Kips in fact owns this store.’ She brooded. ‘What about a quartz watch in gold - or better still platinum? But then perhaps they have one already.’

‘They could always sell the new one back.’

‘I’m sure not one of them would dream of selling a gift. Not a gift from Doctor Fischer.’

So my guess proved to be right and the secret was out. I saw her gulp as though she were trying to swallow it back.

I picked up a pigskin photograph frame. As though people who shopped in that store mightn’t be clever enough to know what one used a pigskin photograph frame for, the management had inserted a photograph of Richard Deane, the film star. Even I had read enough newspapers to recognize that handsome old-young face and the alcoholic smile.

‘What about this?’ I asked.

‘Oh, you’re impossible,’ Mrs Montgomery wailed, but all the same, as it turned out, she must have repeated even that mocking suggestion back to Doctor Fischer.

I think she was glad to see me go. I hadn’t been helpful.