Audrey looked up, surprised. “Maybe someday, but not now. It doesn’t feel right, after everything that’s happened.”
“Well… Audrey, you can still return to England. I’m safe here now, to some degree, with Müller. You can go, if you need to. I told you before, when your father passed—”
“Do you want me to go? Why do you keep—”
“You know I don’t. You know I want you with me. I’d be terrified without you, truly. But I also feel like I can’t ask you to stay now that things have changed so much.”
Audrey fought the urge to lean forward and kiss her. “Ilse, I’ve told you, I cannot leave you. For the same reason you can’t leave until you know what’s happened to your mama and Ephraim. I will not leave you here. I—” Audrey stood and began to pace the creaking floorboards, fists clenched, the nails digging into her palms. “I love you, Ilse.”
“I love you too. But what’s—?”
“No.” Audrey stopped, her breathing shallow. The words erupted from her in a burst. “I love you.”
Ilse’s brow furrowed, and then understanding spread slowly across her features, like wine seeping into a tablecloth. Her shoulders dropped, and she exhaled slowly.
“Oh.”
The heat of the moment was overwhelming, and Audrey needed to douse it. They could not talk about this. They couldn’t. She needed to control it, pretend that nothing had just passed between them.
“Audrey—” Ilse began, her voice soft, but Audrey cut across her.
“I need to do something useful, if you’re going to do the housekeeping,” she said, pacing the room once more as she tried to steer the conversation away from the eye of the storm. “I can’t play the goddamn piano all day, waiting for this to end.”
“What—what do you mean?” Ilse shook her head slowly, as though working to follow Audrey’s train of thought.
“I don’t know. But I need some sort of occupation.”
Ilse looked at Audrey as though she were made of glass. “Could you help Müller in some way? Does their group need any kind of… I don’t know… assistance?”
Audrey seized the suggestion, grateful that Ilse was following her lead. “Such as?”
Ilse shrugged. “Reconnaissance? Maybe you could help with that, with your skills. You were prepared to do it at the bank, right? Pretend to be someone else? You could put your theatrical training to use here. If you’re staying,” she added with a shadow of hesitation.
Audrey cleared her gummy throat, nodded. “I’ll—I’ll talk to him today. See if I can be of help.” She needed to leave, to be alone with her spinning thoughts. “I’ll see you downstairs later.”
“Audrey, we should talk—”
“No,” Audrey said, forcing a smile through her lips to stop them trembling. “Because there’s nothing to talk about, is there?”
Ilse dropped her gaze, her voice hollow. “No. I suppose there isn’t.”
Chapter 15
Audrey
BERLIN, GERMANY | JANUARY 1939
Are you nervous, Fräulein?” Friedrich asked, finishing his drink.
Across from him on the divan, Audrey realized her foot was jiggling, and stilled it. “I suppose so, yes.”
“You’ve met them all before, though.”
“I know, but this is different. You’re asking them to trust me now. Not only trust me, but let me take part. I lied about who I was for months.”
“And that right there will be the sell. Your ability to take on the character. As you said, you managed to dupe Vogt and me for a long time. You might have continued to, if not for…”
“Vogt.”
“Yes.”
Tonight wasn’t all that different from the night of Vogt’s death, when Audrey and Friedrich sat across from each other, revealing themselves. She’d had difficulty believing what he was saying that night; that there was any kind of resistance against Hitler at all, let alone within the SS ranks. And now she was waiting for a group of them to arrive and decide whether she was a worthy foot soldier in a fight that felt both imperative and utterly futile.
After Ilse’s suggestion, she’d sat at the piano and let her fingers play automatically whilst her mind ruminated on how to broach it with Friedrich, and what she might be useful for, trying desperately to block out thoughts of what had just come to light with Ilse. She thought of administrative tasks, but surely the cell wouldn’t keep records of anything. Then her thoughts went to her father and his reconnaissance flights, how he had worked to gather information for the Allies from the air, details that would help the infantry on the ground to push back against the country he would come to call home after meeting the love of his life. With a stab of regret, she thought how he might have even been proud to know his daughter was taking action.
When Friedrich returned from work, she cornered him in the sitting room to ask whether she might help the resistance effort, perhaps do some reconnaissance herself. “I think your outfit could benefit from a woman,” she’d said.
Friedrich sat back in Ephraim’s chair by the fire, crossed one leg over the other. “Why would a woman be helpful?” he’d asked. His brown eyes lingered on her face, but his gaze didn’t burn like Vogt’s had. It was a brusque assessment, not predatory.
Audrey had tapped her finger on the edge of her cup, searching for the words. “Women are far less suspect. We form the background of men’s lives,” she’d said, thinking of maids and servants, whose worth was defined by how inconspicuous and small they could make themselves. She thought of how the police had turned to Friedrich for explanation of Vogt’s discovery, ignoring her entirely once a man was present. “Women exist around you, behind you. We’re rarely the subject of the painting itself.”
Friedrich had scoffed, though not unkindly. “Underestimated, you mean.”
“Precisely,” Audrey said, one eyebrow cocked, a little surprised that he had arrived at the conclusion so quickly. “I’ve never embraced that invisibility. If you need confirmation, ask Ilse. I want to be on a stage one day, performing. It’s what I love. Let me help. Whatever you need.”
Friedrich had agreed. He’d told the group that Audrey had sussed them out but was sympathetic to their cause and might be of use. He was honest with them about her dual residency and English father, but had omitted anything about Ilse. As far as they were concerned, the cover story still stood: she had been Ira Kaplan’s accountancy assistant and upon his death, accepted the housekeeping job to make ends meet.
