At the cafe.
The man and the woman sit side by side, laptops open. They mean business. They also mean mushroom pizza. She takes a bite.
‘The thing is,’ she says, between mouthfuls, ‘is that people want a decent breakfast. They will be extremely upset if they don’t get one. Can the hotel do that?’
The man licks the tips of his fingers and lowers them to the keyboard. He assures her that the breakfast provided will indeed be decent. Of this there can be no doubt.
‘Good,’ she says. ‘And the tour guide. We don’t want the same one as last year. Lots of our participants got bored and wandered off. And some of them are quite important, you know.’
He nods sagely. A new, superior tour guide is promised. He taps busily into the laptop. He slurps at his coke.
‘After all,’ she sniffs, ‘we can’t have anybody stranded in Birkenau.’