“Yes,” she says, with forced composure. “That would be lovely.”
Audrey eyes her a little longer, her mouth pinched. She shifts the leg supported by her cane. “I’ve lost a lot of people over the years, including my mother. She died when I was born. I lost both my parents young. I am sorry for your loss. It’s never easy.”
Without waiting for Kate’s response, Audrey turns back down the hall, leaving Sue alone in the doorway.
“She’s all bark, you know,” Sue mutters. “Apologies for the deception, but she needs help and is too damn stubborn to admit it. But here we are. Have you had a chance to poke around the town a bit?”
Kate shakes her head. “Not yet, no. I came straight here from London this morning.”
“I think you’ll like it. Certainly not the same pace as London, mind.” Her grin reaches her eyes. “It does get a wee bit slow between now and springtime, but the shops and pubs are still open. Folks come up here for the castle and the gardens during the high season, and we get swamped.”
“I noticed the house seemed rather quiet.”
“Aye, everybody’s cleared off for the season.”
There’s a beat of silence whilst Kate absorbs this. “So… there are no guests at all during the winter?”
Sue shakes her head. “Nah. Audrey likes it quiet for a spell, ’specially as she gets on, and there’s not many tourists in the winter lookin’ for lodgings anyhow.”
“So it will just be the three of us here all winter?”
“Two; I live in town, and come in to clean. I’ll come by every couple o’ weeks. Like to take the time to be with me grandkids in the winter, anyway. Works out nice for me.”
Kate gets the sense Sue wants her to ask about the grandchildren, but she’s still processing what Sue said.
“Now then, yer room,” Sue continues, brushing past Kate, who finally releases Ozzie. He rushes around sniffing furniture legs. “We have the full cable package. Audrey does love that new baking competition show.” Kate smiles. At least they have one thing in common. “The Wi-Fi password is Sophie. There’s a DVD player there for you too; the DVD collection is down in the sitting room. Just help yourself and be sure to return them when you’re finished.”
Kate wonders silently if either Audrey or Sue has ever heard of Netflix.
They move into the toilet and Sue demonstrates how to coax the faucet to life as Ozzie scoots around their legs, continuing his olfactory tour of the premises.
“And that’s about it,” Sue says when they emerge back into the main room. “Oh, here’s yer keys. That one’s for yer room, this one here’s for the front door. Welcome to the Oakwood, Miss Mercer.”
“Thank you,” Kate says, taking the keys.
Sue heads for the door, then rests her hand on the frame, one conspiratorial eyebrow raised. “If I speak truth, Audrey needs the comp’ny as much as the help. Health’s not what it once was, I’m afraid. She’s done all the admin herself for years, since she took it over from her auntie. But it’s too much now, and with me gone most of the winter… she needed someone. She’s a big ol’ box o’ secrets, that one, but if you can find the right key, there’s a heart o’ gold inside it.” Sue winks before turning down the hallway.
Kate watches her go, wondering about the losses Audrey mentioned. As she steps back into the room, her eyes fall on the name stenciled to the door: Rose. She closes it, glances down at her arm as the knob clicks. Her arms are identical to her mother’s—from shoulder to fingertips. She’s jarred by the memory of feeling those arms around her as she sat in Rose’s lap as a child, relaxing against her chest as her hair tickled Kate’s cheek.
Later that night, Kate brushes her teeth and pops her bite plate in. Some mornings she wakes up unsure whether she’s going to be able to pry her own jaw open. She undresses, then turns off the lights and crawls into the unfamiliar bed, gently shoving Ozzie over to make space. She stares at the ceiling until she finally drifts off into a fitful sleep filled with uneasy dreams of black roses beading with water from the rain. Of dark and deserted roads that stretch out indefinitely, leading nowhere. Silent and cold.
Chapter 5
Audrey
BERLIN, GERMANY | NOVEMBER 1938
Ouch!” Audrey swore under her breath. She quickly withdrew her hand from the stream of hot water pouring from the bathtub faucet. She turned the cold tap to temper it and then fumbled with the jar of salts on the tub ledge.
Behind her, Ilse leaned against the doorway with a vacant expression.
“Come here,” Audrey said gently.
Ilse startled as though surprised to see her there, then moved into the bathroom.
She had cried herself sick at the dress shop, and in the hour it had taken for them to get back to the house, her spirit seemed to have left her body. A sort of mental paralysis had overtaken her, which, in a way, allowed Audrey to guide her easily onto the bus. The vehicle had been full of commuters with shopping bags, children, small dogs. People laughing and chatting to their travel companions, carrying on with cheerful nonchalance. When they’d finally arrived back home and Audrey slid the lock into place behind them, Ilse had looked around, disoriented.
“Let’s get you into the bath,” Audrey had said. It was the first thing she thought of, to help fight the lingering shakes and thaw the numbness that had settled over her friend.
Now Audrey reached for Ilse and helped her with the buttons on her dress. Something flipped in her gut at the sight of Ilse’s breasts, and she averted her eyes as Ilse stepped into the tub. They’d been so close for so long, had seen each other dress, but something about Ilse’s nakedness was particularly vulnerable in this moment. Audrey half-expected to see her shattered heart through the layers of skin, as red and raw as her eyes.
Audrey had always responded well to stressful situations and pressure—she was never nervous onstage—though she hadn’t experienced anything like this before. So far, her adrenaline was helping her manage Ilse, but beneath it simmered the shock and grief, the encroaching sense of panic at the questions that swirled in her mind.
“Thank you,” Ilse muttered, staring straight ahead at the porcelain tub.
“You’re welcome. When you’re ready, come down, and we’ll…” What happens now? “I’ll make some tea,” Audrey finished, then left the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.
Downstairs, the lamps were off, but a dim afternoon light cast a grey aura over the sitting room. Audrey could still smell the lingering aroma of potato soup from lunch. She glanced behind her into the dining room. Ira, Ruth, and Ephraim had all sat around that table together only hours ago, discussing their shopping needs. But the house was silent now. They were all gone, taken, in one way or another, in a matter of minutes. It was unfathomable. Audrey expected them to appear suddenly, around the corner from the foyer or through the doors to the dining room.
Matya hadn’t worked today, given her mother’s illness. Audrey wondered vaguely how they would continue to pay her, and then the questions all began to flow at once. Her mind flicked through the realities of their situation like pages in a book, marking the ones that would require solutions in the short term, wondering what the answers could possibly be in the long run.
How would they pay for anything at all, with Ira dead, and Ruth gone? Would Ilse be able to access their bank account? What did it mean if Ruth was missing, or in custody, but not dead? And—Audrey felt bile rise in her throat at the idea—what if she was? And Ephraim, too? Where did people go once they were rounded up? Audrey had heard Ira speak of holding sites, but had no idea what they entailed or where they were located. How could they find out where Ruth and Ephraim had been taken? And what had they done with Ira’s body?
I fear this is only the beginning, the saleswoman had said. The beginning of what? Things were already horrible.
As she waited for the kettle to boil, Audrey leaned against the counter, struggling to fend off mental images of the afternoon’s events. Her world was spinning, and her instinct was to clutch the mundane, grasping at trivialities that were familiar and stable. To convince herself that some things hadn’t changed, no matter how inconsequential. So she made the tea, and set a small tray with some biscuits and Ilse’s favourite blackberry jam to try to tempt her to eat. A while later she heard the tub drain above, and braced herself for the conversation she knew they must have.
