“How meticulous of you.”
Audrey attempted a smile. “I try to be thorough, Herr Müller.”
He stared at her for a moment with a quizzical eye. She wasn’t in her nightdress, which was suspicious.
“Well, good night, sir,” she said, sliding past him toward the staircase.
“Your milk,” he said.
She stopped. “I’m sorry?”
“You said you came down for a glass of warm milk.”
“Oh, yes. Thank you.”
She hurried to the kitchen to prepare the drink she didn’t want. As she opened the icebox, she heard Müller’s soft footsteps behind her.
Just leave me alone, she thought.
“I couldn’t sleep, either,” he said. “I will take some too. Please.”
“I could get you a drink, if you prefer.”
“No, thank you. Milk will be fine.”
Audrey lit a match to start the stove element, and Müller took a seat at the small scrubbed wooden prep table in the kitchen. He crossed one leg over the other, the tassel on his slipper waving gently with the movement.
“How have you been enjoying your position so far, Fräulein?” he asked as Audrey emptied a bottle of milk into a small pot.
“Oh, very well, sir,” she said. “I was pleased to have found new employment so soon after…” She trailed off.
“Were you close with Ira Kaplan?” His tone was conversational, but Audrey knew better.
“Not particularly, sir. I only worked for him for a little under a year. I was already looking for another position when all this transpired.”
He nodded slowly. “I see. And you collected papers from his home so often that you were granted a key? I would have thought a man of his wealth could employ a maid to receive them at the door.”
Audrey swallowed. “I’m not sure, sir,” she said, tossing a modest smile at him. “I just did as I was told.”
He watched her for a while until the milk was hot. Audrey poured it into two porcelain cups and handed one to Müller. “Here you are. If that’s all, I’ll be heading back upstairs—”
“Sit with me, Fräulein,” he said.
“I’m just the housekeeper, sir,” she replied. “I don’t think it’s proper for—”
“I insist.”
Audrey obeyed, and took a seat across from him, feeling flushed.
“Are you quite all right?”
“Oh yes. Just a bit warm standing over the stove.” She waved a hand over her steaming cup. She needed to redirect the conversation, and fast. “So what exactly do you do at the—”
“I must admit that I discovered certain discrepancies during my initial inspection of the house that first day,” he said, cutting across her. “For instance, all the bedrooms were missing blankets from the beds, save for the room you are currently occupying.”
Audrey shrugged. “I cannot speak to that, sir. You said the place was looted. Perhaps—”
“And I have wondered for some time who put the blanket up in front of the broken window.” He twitched his head back in the direction of the sitting room.
Her pulse quickened, but she attempted nonchalance, tracing the rim of her mug with her finger. “Perhaps someone was, what… squatting, is it called?” she suggested. “If the house appeared vacant?”
Herr Müller’s face was impassive, but his eyes scrutinized her. “Perhaps. It is possible. Although if an intruder had been doing so, they arrived and left in the time between the Jews’ exit and our arrival two days later. That seems an odd ploy.”
“Speaking of the Jews’ exit,” she said, seizing an opening, “if the remaining Kaplan family was detained, what happens when they return? I assume their detention is somehow temporary?”
Müller’s eyes were hard. “They will have been sent to one of the camps. Buchenwald. Dachau. Sachsenhausen. They are intended as permanent institutions for the prisoners. All part of the Führer’s scheme for the purification of Germany, Fräulein.”
“Permanent? Surely you—”
“You know, I am not convinced that you are as flighty as you pretend to be. I do not believe a dull mind could ever develop the skill you have as a pianist.” He set his cup down on the table with a thud. “That was most surprising. And you say you were an accounting secretary, so your maths must be above average, particularly for a woman. May I ask why the ruse?”
Audrey took another sip of her milk, willing her cheeks to cool. “Sometimes it is easier, or more advantageous, for a woman to pretend to be less intelligent than she truly is, Herr Müller.”
“Advantageous, how?”
She hesitated, then decided to offer a kernel of truth. “For example,” she said, delivering an expression of mild concern that she hoped would elicit sympathy, “I feign ignorance of Herr Vogt’s advances on me, because it serves me to avoid its manifestation.”
Müller shifted in his seat. “Your concern is not without foundation,” he said quietly.
