“No. He had the right passion for the resistance, but he was reckless, and as a man he was a piece of shit. Obviously.”
“And you? Why did you get involved?”
“Well… I agree that if we do not avert the Reich’s trajectory, if we try to annex any more land, invade another state, we will be at war again. That is a certainty.” Müller ran a hand over his cheeks, his eyes on Ilse now. His long fingers twitched his moustache before he answered.
“Also, my mother is a Jew,” he said.
Of all the reasons Müller might have given for resisting, Audrey hadn’t expected that.
“She went to England before the outbreak of the Great War. I was just a child. My father never married her,” he said. “But he cared for her. There was a load of anti-Jewish sentiment before the war, and he could see things heating up. So he sent her to live with his brother until she could get herself established on her own. My uncle is a professor of German literature at Oxford. His family has lived there for years. Longer than I have been alive, I believe. I have never met him.” He exhaled. “And he kept me here to be raised by my stepmother. I was his son and heir. My stepmother was only ever able to have one other child, my sister.”
Ilse shifted beside Audrey. “You don’t really look Jewish,” she ventured.
Müller’s face glowed in the light of the fire. “I know. I take after my father.”
“Don’t they know you’re Jewish?” Ilse asked. “The Party, I mean? Your papers—”
Müller shook his head. “My stepmother is listed on my birth certificate. My father fixed it. So there is no suspicion. And besides, who would expect a Jew to show up looking for a job in the German secret service? Much the same idea as hiding in one’s own attic whilst Nazi officers move in downstairs,” he added, inclining his head at Ilse. “Sometimes the best place to hide is the last place anyone would look.”
They were all quiet for a while, each sorting through their own thoughts.
Müller cleared his throat. “I find this a relief, truth be told, to have everything out in the open. Far less skulking around in the shadows for everyone. And now you, Fräulein Kaplan, can come down out of the attic. That can’t have been pleasant or comfortable.”
Ilse’s eyes were glassy, but she had finally found her voice. “This is my home,” she said. “I’ve been a silent prisoner in my own home. You took it over, threw parties. Put up a Christmas tree.” She gesticulated at the candlelit fir. “I’ve been grieving my family in a dark attic whilst you slept in my parents’ bed and ate at their table.”
Müller was solemn. “I am sorry,” he said. “Truly. You must believe me. I had no idea you were here. I—”
“Will you leave?” Ilse asked.
“Excuse me?”
“Will you leave, now that you know who we are? This is my home.”
Müller’s gaze flicked from Ilse to Audrey and back again. “Forgive me, but what recourse do you have for income if I leave? Who will pay to heat your home, put food on your table?” His tone was stern, but not unkind.
“Could you not access my father’s funds for us? Are they—”
“All Jewish businesses have been seized by the government,” Müller said. “Your father’s wealth is now the property of the Third Reich.”
“What about when my mother and brother return?” Ilse demanded. “What then?”
Müller swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down beneath his clean-shaven throat. “I do not think it fair or compassionate to lead you into a thicket of false hope.” He paused. “I think it is unlikely they will return. If they do, it will certainly not be anytime soon.”
Ilse fixed him with a hard stare. “Unlikely.”
“Yes.”
“But possible?”
Müller shifted one of his glossy shoes. “Possible, yes. I suppose.”
Ilse straightened. “Fine. Then I will hold on to my hope, no matter how deluded you may find it. This is my family. And if they return, I will expect you to leave.”
Audrey marveled at her friend’s uncharacteristic assertiveness, then glanced at Müller for his reaction. But he said nothing.
Ilse rose from her seat. “I’m going to have a proper bath. It’s been weeks.”
As she made her way toward the stairs, Audrey found herself locked in an internal battle. Her loyalty told her to go with Ilse, but she was desperate to know more from Müller. Everything had changed. Audrey stayed where she was.
“Is there any way for you to find out where they’ve been taken?” she asked quietly. “Ilse’s family?”
“I can try,” Müller said. “But I make no promises. To be frank, the father might be the lucky one. A bullet to the head is far more humane than what may await the rest of the family at the camps.”
Despite the heat from the fire, a shiver snuck up Audrey’s spine. “What are the camps like? You only told me they were meant to be permanent.”
Müller shot back his last dose of liquor. “That isn’t a conversation for tonight, Fräulein,” he said, and the hollowness in his eyes frightened her nearly as much as the gun in his hand had.
“I think the hope of them returning has been all that’s kept Ilse going,” she said.
“Then we shall let her keep going.” He seemed to consider something. “You clearly care deeply for your friend.”
Audrey’s heart swelled. “Yes. She’s my family.”
Müller pulled a hand through his hair again. There was conflict in his eyes, which made sense now that she knew more about her mysterious housemate. “I think now that we have come clean with one another, we need to consider what happens next,” he said.
“I agree.” Audrey was happy to move on from the topic of her feelings for Ilse.
“In the morning, you will need to call the regular police to report Vogt’s death. You’ll need to do it before I’ve finished breakfasting and left the house.”
