Perhaps.
But the cats are the ones with claws. And even the most patient among them will eventually tire of the chase.
Audrey exited the smoky haze of the cocktail lounge at The Adlon Hotel that evening in a state of excitement. The Roths, it transpired, were Gerta and Ernst Roth—and Ernst was Adolf Hitler’s personal driver. Her introduction to him had been brief, but she was clearly being initiated into Weber’s social circle. Hopefully, eventually, it might all lead to something the resistance cell could use.
She could still feel the weight of Weber’s heavy arm slung around her shoulders, pressing on the back of her neck. His dangling fingers had caressed her as he ordered drinks she didn’t want and tried not to finish. She had tried to edge toward the other women, but they were overbearing and chatty and didn’t ask Audrey many questions about herself. Had they befriended Johanna? Did they wonder at all where she had gone, and Ursula before her, or were Weber’s escorts interchangeable? Had they ever met Weber’s wife?
Audrey’s heart rate quickened as she approached the looming Brandenburg Gate. Five enormous bright red Nazi flags draped between the columns, illuminated by the great spotlights that shone up from below. She hurried along, feeling as though she were walking under the gleaming blades of a guillotine that might fall at any moment. But her gaze was pulled sideways as she passed one of the columns. A leaflet was stuck to the wall, one corner flickering in the breeze.
WIDERSTEHE
RESIST
Audrey’s breath hitched. She glanced in all directions. A few evening commuters milled around, and what appeared to be a pair of tourists, necks cricked as they gazed and pointed up at the gate. But there was no one near her. Adrenaline tore through her like a scythe and she snatched the leaflet from the column, stuffing it into her coat pocket. Then she picked up her pace, low heels clicking on the pavement as she headed south down the Ebertstrasse.
Turning onto the Kaplans’ dark street, she tried not to break into a run. She was nearly at the steps when a voice spoke from the shadows to her right.
“There you are, Fräulein James.”
Audrey’s heart shot into her throat. Frau Richter was standing on the front porch of her childhood home, pipe smoke curling above her head. Audrey’s breathing calmed a little. Since returning to Berlin three years ago, Audrey had spoken to Frau Richter a handful of times, but never her husband. He wasn’t well, Ruth had said, and Audrey had only ever encountered his wife, bespectacled and smoking, on the porch of their home, watering the herb planters or putting the cat out.
“Guten Abend, Frau Richter,” Audrey said now with a nod of her tense neck. “I hope you’re well.”
Frau Richter descended the steps with more agility than Audrey would have guessed, and walked over to her. Audrey cursed her inwardly. All she wanted right now was to get home and show the leaflet to Friedrich before it burned a hole through her pocket or got her thrown in prison.
“I know about you, Fräulein,” the old woman said.
“Frau Richter,” Audrey said with a forced smile, “I really do need to get—”
Her face was a foot from Audrey, who took an instinctive step back.
“I know about you,” she said again, and her smoke-scented breath puffed in Audrey’s face. “You’re a traitor.”
Audrey froze, nerves frayed. Her gloved hand clenched the leaflet in her pocket. “I don’t—”
“You’re a sympathizer,” Frau Richter hissed. She tossed her head in the direction of the Kaplans’ house across the street, but kept her eyes on Audrey’s. “After all they did for you. They were good people. Good people. And you go and work for these…” She pinched her mouth in disgust. “I saw you with a baby. Last month. That one of theirs? You a nanny to some jackboot now?” She spat. “In Ruth and Ira’s house? You should be ashamed of yourself. Ashamed.”
Turning on her heel, Frau Richter retreated inside and slammed her door, the sound echoing in the silence of the little side street.
Audrey was speechless. Frau Richter was loyal to the Kaplans, not the German government. The realization made Audrey want to go after her, defend herself, tell her it wasn’t what it seemed. But it wasn’t worth the risk. She could trust no one but Friedrich and Ilse. Hopefully, in time, Frau Richter would learn the truth.
She unlocked the Kaplans’ door and once inside, withdrew the crumpled paper from her pocket, smoothed it out against the textured burgundy wallpaper of the front hall.
Aufruf an alle Deutsche! Audrey read, scanning the page. Appeal to all Germans!
It was heavy with text and appeared to be some sort of student manifesto from the University of Munich. The White Rose, they called themselves.
Isn’t it true that every honest German is ashamed of his government these days? Who among us has any conception of the dimensions of shame that will befall us and our children when one day the veil has fallen from our eyes and the most horrible of crimes—crimes that infinitely outdistance every human measure—reach the light of day?
Friedrich needed to see this. Audrey stopped at the foot of the stairs, listening to his and Ilse’s voices drift down. She found them sitting on the floor of Ilse’s room, Ilse feeding Daniel a bottle, a pile of multicoloured wooden blocks on the rug between them. She had retrieved a box of Ephraim’s old toys from the attic, and it had been bittersweet to see them bringing joy to another child.
Audrey hung back, just outside the door.
“May I feed him?” Friedrich held out his hands.
“Of course,” Ilse said.
Friedrich maneuvered him into a suitable position on his lap. Daniel stared up at him, chin pulsing in and out as he sucked happily at the bottle clutched in his chubby palms.
To Audrey’s surprise, Friedrich had welcomed Daniel, and in the past weeks, Ilse’s resentment at Friedrich’s presence in her home had lost its serrated edge. Audrey had told herself that this change in demeanour toward Friedrich was because of Daniel, that becoming a mother had transformed everything for Ilse as it redefined her purpose. But seeing the two of them together like this—a little family that Audrey observed from the outside—reminded her of the growing distance between them. It was as though she and Ilse had been a pair of magnets, and one had now turned the other way. They could get close, but some unseen force kept them apart.
Audrey had to admit, though, that Ilse was in her element now. The isolation had taken a toll on her, and it was only in seeing her come alive again with passion and purpose that Audrey fully understood how close Ilse had come to disappearing. She had nursed Daniel back to health, pouring her love into him as though she were feeding some deep hunger within herself too. The past months had aged her, in a beautiful but stark way. Now she seemed a different person than the one Audrey had always known, an entirely new version of her-self.
Audrey continued to watch from the doorway, unnoticed.
Ilse smiled now. “I know it’s more risk, but you really don’t mind having him here, do you?” she asked Friedrich.
“No, I don’t mind. I’d like a family of my own one day. But…”
Ilse waited. “But what?”
“We’ll see how things turn out, after all this,” he said. “It helps me to not look too far ahead into the future just now.”
He gave a shrug, as though the thought of his own potential demise was inconsequential, but Audrey understood. They had to simultaneously believe that a good future was possible whilst knowing that death could snatch it away in the process of trying to preserve it. The same things that were worth living for were the same things that were—ultimately—worth dying for.
Friedrich’s eyes moved from Daniel to Ilse again, dancing to a song Audrey recognized. Friedrich and Ilse lit each other up, and a knot twisted in Audrey’s throat.
She cleared it, and all three of their faces turned to her in surprise.
