The Last Rose of Shanghai(53)

Ernest was heading toward the revolving door when the bellman said Sassoon had asked to see him. He nodded, slung the bag across his shoulder, and took the elevator up. Sassoon, still in his blue-gray uniform, was chatting with a woman on the chesterfield near the piano; he waved at Ernest to enter as he spoke to her. “I wish you the best with your work. But have you lived through war before, Laura?”

“God laughs when man plans, but I’m going to plan anyway. Now, who’s this young man?” The woman stood up, winding a red wool scarf around her neck. She looked to be in her thirties, with short hair and a plump face, wearing a black coat and a pair of sneakers. No makeup. She had a matronly demeanor that reminded Ernest of the mother of a strict conductor he used to know in Berlin.

Ernest smiled, surprised at the frank way she stared at him.

Sassoon chuckled. “Laura Margolis, meet Ernest Reismann, a pianist and a photographer. Ernest, Laura is a social worker, a representative of the Jewish Distribution Center in New York.”

Ernest shook her hand. It was rough, calloused. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Margolis.” He had never heard of the distribution center in New York.

“Who did this to you, Ernest?” She was looking at his hand.

“Hitler Youth. A long time ago.”

She nodded. “Are you married, Ernest?”

“No.”

“Wonderful. How old are you? Twenty-eight?”

“Twenty.”

“You look much older than that. Or is that my wishful thinking? If you were twenty years older, I would insist you be my husband.”

Ernest grinned. She was outspoken; he rather liked her.

“I’m serious. It’s a cruel world. I fly all over the world, first Cuba and now Shanghai, looking for a husband. Now I see good material, but you’re too young. Are you a refugee, too, Ernest?” She dusted his sleeve as if he were her son.

“I’ve settled in.”

“Good to know. We’re doing our best to help the most recent arrivals here, eight thousand of them, all in dire need of help. Many are old, have no skills. Some are in poor health. They can’t find jobs, and they’re crowded in the Heime with deplorable sanitary conditions.”

He had heard of the Heime in the Hongkou district, which had the lowest rent. “I see fewer refugees coming from Europe these days,” he said.

“That, I’m afraid, is bad news. I hear the Nazis are implementing more abominable plans against the Jews and many Jews are teetering on the brink of death. Do you have family in Germany?”

Her eyes, brimming with sympathy, tugged at Ernest’s heart. “My parents were waiting for visas when I left.”

“I’m sure they got the visas and escaped. But the situation in Shanghai is quite concerning, and we don’t know how things will work out. Right now, the JDC can still wire us the kitchen funding for the refugees, but if war breaks out, communication to New York will be cut off.”

“If there’s anything I can do, Miss Margolis, I’d like to help.”

“You are a mensch. I’ll remember that.” She tucked the red scarf under her black coat. “I better get going. I really appreciate your contribution to the loan, Sir Sassoon. Half a million dollars! I get nervous just thinking about it and can barely get any sleep.”

“I’ll walk you out. Ernest, would you wait here?” Sassoon took his cane. “This way. Laura, it was my pleasure. But I warn you, make a contingency plan. It’s best you depart Shanghai and return to New York as well.”

“I can’t leave Shanghai while people are hungry.” The two went out to the hallway.

Ernest stood. The Nazis are implementing more abominable plans against the Jews. Did his parents escape on time? He was still thinking about that when he heard Sassoon’s voice.

“A dauntless woman, Miss Margolis. I quite like her. Sit, Ernest. Sit.” Sassoon limped to the coffee table where a tray with a decanter was set. “Cigar?”

Ernest took it. His fingers were trembling, and he couldn’t focus, worried about his parents.

“Ernest, I’m flying out tomorrow to attend a meeting in New York. But I’m not deserting Shanghai, if that’s what you’re wondering. I’ve given up India for Shanghai. I shall not give up Shanghai for anything.”

Ernest cleared his throat. “I’m planning on leaving, too. When will you return, sir?”

“In a month. When do you leave, Ernest?”

He hesitated. “In three days. To Hong Kong.”

“So soon? I was going to ask you a favor.”

“What favor?”

Sassoon’s shrewd eyes locked on him. “You know my hobby. The photos in my studio are a treasure to me. I developed them in the darkroom myself. In usual circumstances, I wouldn’t worry about leaving the city for a month, but with the Japanese and the talk of war, I fear the security won’t be as tight as it should be. So, Ernest, I was hoping you’d keep an eye on my collection for me.”

Her photos. Fury balled in his stomach. “You shouldn’t have taken them in the first place. You put all the women’s lives and their reputations at risk.”

“Do not judge me. I never thought of this day. This is my penthouse, my building, my Shanghai.”

Ernest wanted to smack him. If war broke out, no place would be safe. Even this penthouse.