Free The Exiles Return by Elisabeth de Waal Page B

Traumüller, Estate Agent and Valuer, and a cardboard notice underneath asked clients to enter without ringing the bell. The inner sanctum must be well-guarded against intruders, Kanakis thought, but probably only fairly recently – the cardboard notice looked clean.
    As he went in, there was a clatter of typewriters, and one of the three girls at work got up to ask his name. She took his card and went out of a side door to announce him, came back at once and preceded him along a passage to a room overlooking the street. This was comfortably and lavishly furnished, with tall bookcases, deep armchairs and a large writing table: more like a successful lawyer’s than an estate agent’s office. Two dark pictures in ponderous gold frames hung on the wall behind the desk where Dr Traumüller was seated. As his visitor entered the room, he rose and came forward with outstretched hand to greet him.
    ‘Herr von Kanakis, this is indeed a pleasure. I shan’t ask you whether you remember me because I believe we have never met, but I imagine you have come because you know who I am – as I know who you are.’
    ‘Certainly, that is so, Herr Doktor. And I am glad to find that I was not mistaken in your identity when I found your name in the register.’
    ‘Ah, that is how you found me! I was wondering. We have come a long way, have we not, Herr von Kanakis? But do please sit down. I mean,’ he added as he saw Kanakis glance round the room, ‘I mean, I have come a long way, as you see. Whereas you, of course – but your fame has preceded you.’
    ‘My fame, Herr Doktor? I am not aware of being famous.’
    ‘Well, your reputation, then. Of course, your late father – whom I well remember, having seen him on certain occasions when I was a small boy – was a man of considerable wealth. I got out my father’s old files, just for curiosity’s sake, after you telephoned yesterday – the files dealing with his house property. Yes, it was a substantial fortune in those days, here in Vienna. But you , Herr von Kanakis, well, there is no comparison, is there? American dimensions are on a different scale. I am told that everything in America is much bigger – the buildings, the distances, the rivers, even the birds, they say, are larger editions of our own, and we have only got to look at the cars. Still, I’m quite pleased with my own modest competence. May I offer you a drink? Enzian schnapps? You may not know it, I don’t think it was much in evidence at the time you left us. I’m sorry I have no Scotch.’
    ‘Thanks, I never drink in the morning, although Enzian sounds most enticing. I only know the flower – such a beautiful blue!’ Kanakis leant back in his chair and looked straight at Traumüller. ‘But how is it you know anything at all about me – however exaggerated your information may be – except what we both know about each other: we are our fathers’ sons?’
    ‘Well, Herr von Kanakis, Vienna is still a very small place, you know. People talk. I know a man who knows a man who … etc etc. Isn’t that how things get about? There are so many sources of information. I must have heard about you almost the day after you arrived. We are, in a manner of speaking, in the same line of business, if I may dare to compare a molehill to a mountain, Herr von Kanakis.’
    ‘I see.’
    Herr Traumüller began fiddling with a paperknife. So far he had done all the talking, and that was not his usual method of conducting an interview. Usually he invited his client to talk, to state his business, say what he wanted to buy or sell, or any other transaction he might have in mind, and then he, Traumüller, could mention the market, the current difficulties, the high interest rates. Then, when the client had reluctantly admitted the truth of these preliminaries, Traumüller would be able to suggest tactfully that he, indeed, was the man, perhaps the only man, to overcome such obstacles. He wouldn’t boast – nothing as crude as