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A
telephone call just before ten that morning woke Rickie up, and he took the phone which was at one end of the sofa.

It was his sister Dorothea. “How are you, Rickie? I thought it was time we had lunch together. Are you free today? Maybe at the Kronenhalle?”

“Ah, Dorothea—” He could still lunch with his sister, he supposed, but he wanted to be on hand to help Luisa if he were needed. “I’m not sure, thank you. There’s some news here. Luisa’s boss—you remember I told you about Luisa, the apprentice seamstress?”

“Of course. Luisa. With the boyfriend.”

Rickie continued. His bedroom door was shut. “Her boss died last night—fell down her apartment stairs and broke her neck.”

“Goodness, Rickie!”

“It happened around one in the morning. So Luisa slept here. She’s still here.”

Dorothea understood. They would talk later.

Rickie heard the girls stirring, called a “Good morning!” and invited them to make use of the bathroom first. He donned a dressing gown and started the coffee, then set the table. He had some sliced ham, and plenty of bread, luckily.

“I was thinking—we should walk over to the apartment, Luisa, the workplace,” Rickie said tentatively. He knew it would be easier if Luisa went with someone, and he hoped Dorrie was free. “You’ll have to tell the girls, too. They’ve all got phone numbers, I suppose.” Rickie was thinking of Monday morning, and the girls arriving just before eight, as Luisa had told him.

“I know. I’ll do it,” said Luisa.

“Renate must have a lawyer. Do you know of any relatives?”

“She has a lawyer. I’ll know his name when I see it. She said something about a sister in Romania.”

The girls made the bed (Rickie said to leave the sheets on), and the apartment was neat again when Rickie emerged from the bathroom, shaved and dressed.

“Shall we go?” said Rickie. “And can Lulu come?”

Luisa managed a smile. “Sure. Of course.”

Luisa dreaded this, a neighbor on the street saying, “Oh, Luisa, I heard the sad news!” but they encountered no one Luisa knew, even in the house. Luisa unlocked, and there was the long hall, the sitting room door and Renate’s bedroom door a little open as she had left them. Beside Renate’s bed lay the embroidered slippers that Renate had not taken time to put on last night, and which would not have saved her if she had. Everything looked familiar, yet this morning everything was different, eerie and frozen.

Rickie calmly took charge, with support from Dorrie.

Luisa knew where the brown leather business address book lay in the workroom, and she telephoned Vera first.

“I can’t believe it!” said Vera.

Luisa explained. “She was angry with a friend of mine—scolding, you know—not watching where she was going.” If she didn’t say it, the neighbors would.

Elsie reacted in the same manner, shocked nearly speechless.

“We’ll have to finish all the work that’s been ordered,” Luisa said. “So come in tomorrow, of course. Please.”

Stefanie was not in, and Luisa did not want to leave the message with her parents.

“Luisa,” Rickie said, “Renate’s lawyer. Do you want to look for his name?”

It began with an
R
, and Luisa finally recognized it in the business address book. She copied his name and number on a piece of paper, as Rickie suggested, and did the same for Renate’s bank and the man she dealt with there.

“If Renate had a will, the lawyer probably has a copy, and maybe the bank too,” Rickie said. “We may find the sister’s address there.”

Lulu was going from room to room with lively curiosity. In contrast, Luisa felt unsure of what to do next. She made her own bed, started to make Renate’s, then began taking the sheets off. Dorrie helped her. All went into the laundry basket. Luisa checked the fridge, thinking of the girls tomorrow and their coffee breaks, threw out a couple of items and put a pot in the sink to soak. Would she ever have a real meal here again?

“Can I do something?” Rickie asked. “Is the workroom ready for tomorrow morning?”

“I’m sure it’s OK, I checked it.”

Luisa looked into Renate’s room with its clutter of nail-polish bottles, mascara boxes, eau-de-cologne, hairbrushes, combs, a silver tray of hairpins. Behind two closed cupboard doors hung racks of long dresses, skirts, blouses, Luisa knew.

“Don’t think about all this today, Luisa,” said Dorrie. “Do it with one of the girls. Or they might want some of the things.”

“That’s true.” The idea made Luisa feel less depressed.

“Pack a small suitcase—for tonight,” Rickie said. “You’ll be in my studio, you know.” He had already reminded Luisa that neither he nor Mathilde ever got to the studio before nine-thirty.

Luisa did. Her pajamas, slippers, something different to wear tomorrow, a book, then another book, toothbrush.

Out into the sunlight again, Rickie carrying her case, and Luisa in charge of Lulu. They met a neighbor whose face Luisa remembered from last night.

“Oh, I’ll be back tomorrow,” Luisa replied to her question. “Eight o’clock or before.”

“You know we’re here, if we can help,” the woman said.

“Thank you!”

A few moments later, Dorrie said to Luisa, “Just think, we can
reach
you now!
I
can, Teddie can—Rickie. We can telephone you!” Dorrie burst out in a happy laugh.

The telephone was ringing when they entered Rickie’s studio.

“Who could that be on a Sunday?” Rickie murmured, thinking it might be his sister with an idea for a drink or dinner.

“Hello, Rickie!” said Teddie Stevenson. “I was just about to give up. Listen, it’s all fixed for tomorrow night. My birthday bash, you know? Seven-thirty at the Kronenhalle, reservation in my name. For at least twelve people, I said, in case I think of a couple of others at the last minute. Can you make it, Rickie? Please.”

“Yes—I’m pretty sure I can. Thank you, Teddie.”

“And Luisa’s got to be there. You can bring her, can’t you? I could, of course, but if the atmosphere’s so ugly there, even down on the street—”

“I’m sure Luisa can be there,” Rickie said, watching Luisa set her small case now in the room off the kitchenette. Dorrie was absorbed in his cartoons tacked to the wall. “There’s been a change here, Teddie. The old witch is no more—she is dead.”

“Dead? You’re kidding.”

“I am
not
.”

“What do you mean, Rickie?”

“Luisa will sleep in my studio tonight. She’s here—if you don’t believe me. Luisa!”

She came and took the phone. “Hello, Teddie. Yes, it is true.” Now Luisa squirmed and frowned. “Fell down the stairs, just outside the apartment. No, in the house. Her neck was broken.” Luisa said she supposed she could come tomorrow evening, but couldn’t be sure, and thanked Teddie for inviting her.

“You’re going to keep on
living
there? At Renate’s?”

“It’s all just happened, Teddie. I can’t answer a question like that. The girls and I too—we have to work there tomorrow as usual.”

“Gosh,” said Teddie. “C-can you put Rickie back on?”

Teddie asked Rickie to invite the fellow called Philip, if he wished. Rickie asked if he could bring Freddie instead.

“The police officer, you know? I’m not sure he’ll be free tomorrow evening.”

“Sure, Rickie, invite both. It’s a shame my article won’t be out by tomorrow, but they’re postponing it
again
.”

O
N
M
ONDAY MORNING
, though it was raining lightly (she had taken a raincoat from Rickie’s cupboard), Luisa stood at seven-thirty down on the pavement in front of Renate’s apartment house. Here came Stefanie, holding a newspaper over her head, and an oversized white plastic handbag in her other hand, smiling mischievously at Luisa.

“You’re up early. Been out all night?”

Stefanie had noticed the raincoat. “You didn’t talk with Vera?”

“No. Why?”

“Renate had a fall—Saturday night. On the staircase. She’s dead.”

“Oh, my God!” Frowning, Stefanie took the newspaper from her head. “Just suddenly dead, you mean?”

“Yes. It broke her neck.”

“What’re we going to do?”

“Not sure yet. We’ve got to finish our assignments—the orders, you know. Vera will know what to do. I’ll be there in a minute.” Luisa saw tears gather in Elsie’s eyes.

“It’s just so hard to believe,” said Elsie.

As Luisa had supposed, Vera took charge. It was like the army; Vera was next in rank to Renate, after all, and had Elsie in charge, whereas Luisa and Stefanie had been Renate’s two apprentices. First they would take care of the orders.

“Then there’s the
Frauenfachschule
to help us out, you know,” Vera went on, her dark eyes earnest, “with maybe the name of a good
Damenschneiderin
for us.”

A new mistress, boss. The idea left the girls solemn and wide-eyed.

“Now let’s get to work on what we must do,” said Vera.

Luisa plunged in with the rest. Seams, bastings and plannings, and full use of the long table. Only Stefanie was able to talk, to make a joke about the rain. For the coffee break at ten, the girls would have only the unfinished cake from Friday, Luisa thought, as she hadn’t gone to L’Eclair yesterday.

The telephone rang now; Vera answered it. One call was from a private client asking about a finishing date for a suit. Vera gave an approximate date, and Luisa thought she would have said the same. This morning Rickie was to phone Renate’s bank, then ring Luisa, and shortly before ten, Vera summoned Luisa to the phone.

Rickie told her he had spoken to a man at UBS called Gamper, who seemed well acquainted with Renate Hagnauer. “I explained that I was a friend of yours, and that you were one of Frau Hagnauer’s apprentices. He seemed shocked at the news—also seemed to know your name. Now, Luisa—”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Gamper said the bank has a copy of Renate’s will, but her lawyer handles that. We must take a certificate of death to the—to Renate’s lawyer. Did anybody give you a certificate Saturday night?”

“No. I’m sure of that.”

“Then we’ll have to get it from the hospital where they took her. Or the morgue.” Rickie sighed. “What’s your house number there, my sweet?”

“One forty-five.”

“Thanks. Luisa—I can’t do much without you, you know. You have the same address as Renate, so they’d give the certificate to you—”

Luisa explained that she couldn’t leave at eleven, as Rickie proposed, because she had to be here, and the girls took just forty-five minutes for lunch, because they brought their own, and, and . . .

“But this is an emergency! If we don’t do it today, we’ll have to do it tomorrow. Who’s the girl you said could take charge?”

“Vera.”

So Luisa met Rickie at eleven at the corner of Jakob’s. He had ordered a taxi. Then to the hospital, which Rickie had traced that morning, the hospital whose ambulance had come to Renate’s dwelling. Luisa showed her identification, and with this obtained a certificate of death, signed by the doctor who had come to the house.

“Step number one,” said Rickie when this was over. “I’ll drop you back home—and myself at Jakob’s for lunch. Can I persuade you?”

Luisa shook her head. “I’d best go back. And you—lost the whole morning, I realize, Rickie.”

“I’ll survive. I’ll be in my studio all afternoon.”

By now they were in a taxi, which had been easy to get at the hospital doors.

“Would you give me that certificate, my sweet, and I’ll make a photocopy or two in my studio. Might be useful. And I’ll give the original back to you tonight. You’ll be there, won’t you?”

The Kronenhalle. It was hard to imagine, a few hours from now, being in that elegant restaurant where she and Renate had gone on rare occasions to celebrate something. She was supposed to look cheerful tonight. Teddie’s birthday. “I haven’t even a present for him.”

Rickie laughed. “Teddie can telephone you now! Come to see you—I suppose. That’s a nice present for him.”

They had arrived at Luisa’s destination.

“Pick you up at a quarter past seven?” Rickie asked. “And try to reach the lawyer this afternoon, Luisa. Make a date and I’ll try to join you—whenever it is—if you want me to come with you.”

“Of course, I do, Rickie.”

Upstairs, the girls were half finished with their lunch. They knew Luisa had been out on an essential errand, and were curious. Luisa washed her hands at the sink.

“I had to find the doctor who was here,” Luisa said, relieved to talk about it. “I had to get the death certificate.”

“Oooh—of course, that’s normal!”

“Do you know when’s the funeral yet?”

Luisa, buttering a piece of bread, felt flustered. “It’s got to be tomorrow, I suppose. I’ve got to ring the hospital again.” But Renate’s body wasn’t at the hospital, it would very likely be at an undertaker’s parlor. Luisa wanted to ring Rickie again. But wouldn’t he get fed up with doing services for her?

“Do you know, Luisa—”

“Oh Luisa, you’re supposed to telephone—a certain number. It’s by the hall phone.”

Elsie and Vera had spoken at once, and Luisa chose to listen to Vera. An office of some kind had left a number.

After two o’clock, Luisa rang this number. It was the morgue, and what funeral arrangements had she made?

“I’ll have to phone you back,” Luisa stammered, feeling at a total loss, inadequate, stupid.

But there was Vera, twenty-two years old, much more in command. Vera and Luisa consulted in Luisa’s room. Perhaps Renate had expressed a preference in her will? That was certainly possible, and the thought shocked Luisa into action.

Vera stood by Luisa at the telephone. The lawyer Rensch was busy for another half hour, Luisa was told. She washed her best foulard scarf, which had a rather masculine pattern, she thought, and took it damp to the cheerful Stefanie who was wielding the iron today. Luisa tried again for Rensch.

“Oh yes, Frau Hagnauer! A colleague told me. He had seen it in the newspaper. What a shocking thing!”

Luisa recalled that Stefanie had been about to say, at lunch, that there had been a small item about Renate in the
Tages-Anzeiger
that morning, which she had with her. Stefanie had looked for such an item and found it. Luisa didn’t want to see it, but she didn’t say so. She felt embarrassed, constricted, but she forced the question out.