August 5, 1943

"Anna, Mr. Lazar needs you at the hotel today." My boss's smiling face greeted me with this news as soon as I reached the shop this morning. I usually don't mind going to Mr. Lazar's tailor shop; in fact, I never mind. He hasn't asked for me for weeks. Of all days, he had to pick this one.

I should explain. Mr. Lazar is part of our synagogue, and he owns the tailor shop inside the largest hotel in Budapest. Mr. Jonas supplies merchandise for him to sell, and sometimes, when business is good at the hotel or if one of the regular tailors is out, he loans me to Mr. Lazar. It's a compliment. My sewing skills are very good.

"Is it absolutely necessary?" I asked, realizing that I had no way to contact Mr. Jarvis and let him know I would be gone when he came.

Mr. Jonas raised an eyebrow. "I can't imagine what could possibly make you want to stay in our quiet little corner of the world when you could escape to the glittering lights of downtown."

"Very well," I said, not wanting to arouse more suspicion and be forced to provide an explanation.

Mr. Jonas gave me cab fare—an extravagance, but he's a kind man, and we live in dangerous times. Normally, I would have enjoyed a ride across the city in the early morning, but today all I could think about was my disappointment and how confused Edwin would be.

My thoughts quieted when I reached the lobby of the hotel, occupied instead by immediate concerns. As I walked past the row of desks, the hotel employees nodded and smiled. They all knew me. My shoes clattered against the shiny floor, and I straightened the jacket of my navy blue suit and squared my shoulders. Mr. Lazar's shop is a smart sort of place.

I opened the glass double doors and walked in with intention. "Good morning!" said Mr. Lazar immediately. He was standing behind the counter, a sure sign that he was understaffed. "I'm glad you've come. No one has a way with customers like you do."

I smiled, but I wanted to scream. Apparently, I wasn't even needed for my tailoring skills. Instead of having another pleasant conversation with Mr. Jarvis, I was to stand behind Mr. Lazar's counter and try to sell wares while hotel guests waited for their clothing to be repaired. Still, the Lazars were friends, and I didn't want to be unkind. I took my place, and Mr. Lazar went to the back of the store to supervise the completion of neverending tailoring orders.

At Mr. Jonas's shop, no one minds my reading, but I don't bring books to the hotel. No matter how slow the day is, I stand and smile and try to look as if I enjoy nothing more than waiting behind a counter with nothing to do.

Except, that's not how it went at all. I'd been there barely ten minutes when the lobby door opened and my first customer came in. He was tall, slim, and wore an amused expression that turned to confusion immediately.

"Are there two of you?" he asked.

"Ed-win," I intoned carefully, aware that I was simultaneously blushing and grinning. "There is only one of me, but I am very—what do you say?—sneaky."

"So I see," he answered, smiling as he approached the counter. "I've brought a pair of trousers with a loose hem."

I leaned my face closer to him across the wooden surface in front of me and spoke softly. "If you keep them for another two hours, I'll hem them during my lunchbreak."

He nodded. "I'll meet you on the benches in front of the hotel." He departed, and I watched his back. He had very nice shoulders. I wondered if I had been forward. I didn't much care.

One of the advantages of Lazar's shop is that it closes from 12:00 to 1:00 for lunch. As soon as the boss had come out to dismiss me, I grabbed my handbag with the small sewing kit inside and dashed out to meet Mr. Jarvis without even thinking of food. Thankfully, Edwin is apparently more practical than I am. I found him seated on a bench with a large basket of edibles by his side.

"Hello," he said, rising.

"Hello," I answered, holding my hands out for the trousers he held and taking my seat on the same bench.

"I hope you don't mind a picnic," he continued. "I thought you'd be hungry while you work."

I took out my needle and thread and began to sew. "This won't take more than ten minutes, and then I'd be very pleased to eat a picnic with you, Mr. Jarvis."

"I'm very grateful," he answered, "but still wondering why you're here."

I looked up from my sewing for a moment. "My father is a rabbi. The owner of the shop where we met is from our synagogue, as is the owner of the tailor's shop in the hotel."

"We—take care of each other," I added, "especially now."

"I see," he said.

"What do you do when you're in England?" I asked, my eyes firmly on my stitches. "Are you always a soldier?"

"Far from it," he replied. "I trained as a butler." I was surprised enough to drop my needle. I'd only ever known butlers through stories, and I thought of them as rotund figures with permanently distant expressions.

"I've never seen a butler before," I said, looking up.

"What do you think?" he asked, smiling.

"I'm wondering if you're as good at cooking as Mr. Jeeves from the PG Wodehouse stories."

His face lit up. "There may be few things in my life that I can say with absolute certainty, Miss Anna, but I can tell you that I am, indeed, very good at cooking, especially souffles."

I laughed. "I would like to try some of your cooking some time."

"I'd like that too," he said.

We kept talking about nothing until I finished his slacks, and then we spent the next half hour eating the picnic, which contained an overabundance of delicacies that made me begin to suspect—well, when a man spends that kind of money on a picnic just because he runs into a girl in a hotel tailor's shop—she starts to get ideas about how he might be feeling about her.

But I'm getting sleepy, so I'll stop speculating for now.