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significance kept eluding him of so many contradictory events taking place just a stone’s throw away. Nevertheless, he appeared unmoved as he pored over
Die Nation
, the only Swiss newspaper to persist in its anti-Nazi stance. On the whole the press took a back seat, leaning a little this way, then that. Shilly-shallying. Nothing new about human misery, sir, we have to put our foot down, we’re being inundated by refugees and it can’t go on; watch out, folks, let’s not rub our bad-tempered neighbour the wrong way; careful now, steady on. The hirelings of the press were forever glancing over their shoulders, unless holed up in their bunkers of shrewd impartiality. The journalists of
Die Nation
were the exception. Oscar had great respect for the editor, whom he had met in Berne. A driven man, who despised most of his fellow Swiss. He had visited the border crossings, had seen Jews being turned away without mercy. Anyone having witnessed that would never again rest easy, he hadsaid. Murder at one remove: Death in a Swiss customs officer’s cap. His newspaper stood alone in daring to attack the government. Oscar did not always see eye to eye with the editor, although he too was critical of Swiss politics on various counts. In spite of the border restrictions, however, people still managed to get into the country. Oscar knew this; he worked closely with the people who smuggled them in, he knew the routes, the dangers, and the courage of certain Swiss men and women. On many a moonless night he had stood waiting for a small group to come over from France. Often in vain. Waiting was hardly a heroic activity, but each time just a few of them made it over the border it felt like a major victory.
    His ruminations came to an abrupt halt. Something had stirred in the periphery of his vision. Then he recognised him. It was the way the man was lighting his cigarette, his head bent low as though scanning the ground at his feet. The same gesture had struck him at the restaurant in Geneva, during his lunch with Emma and Carl. He had been unaware of the man with the newspaper until that curious ducking of the head to light a cigarette. And so here he was again, on the far side of the terrace, engrossed in a magazine, a man like any other taking a rest after a stroll.
    Oscar was unperturbed. Being followed was a frequentoccurrence, he was used to it. At first he had found it intimidating and irksome, but in due course he was able to tell quite quickly whether or not someone was watching him. In Geneva, though, he was taken by surprise, engrossed as he was in the anticipation of seeing Emma and Carl again. He had promised himself he would provide Kate with a detailed description of how they looked, what they said, and how they were managing in Berlin. But as things stood, a letter was probably not an option. Oscar glanced at the shadow-man and considered actually beckoning him. Often an effective way of making the person back off in confusion. Could the word “Barbarossa” have been overheard? There had not been many people in the restaurant, and the sneak had been sitting at the next table. But no, Emma had spoken softly and rapidly, or rather, she had whispered. Whispering was suspicious, obviously, even if the man had been out of earshot. It would merit a brief report:
O.V. with daughter in G. Whispered exchange in absence of C.B. Followed to L. then lost contact. 28.5.41.
He would shake the man off, no trouble at all. He was trained in vanishing. This time he would fall back on the tried and trusted method of putting his hat and empty briefcase on the table, asking the waiter for the men’s room, going into the hotel, settling his bill there, and then making his exit by the backdoor. The Beau Rivage hotel had several back doors, so making a getaway without being spotted was not a problem. Not that it was necessary, beating a retreat, but he wanted to take some positive action. His vexation about the German watcher was greater than