“Er, thank you.” Maggie rose, feeling flustered and confused. Who was this man, really? And how much did she owe him? “I really have to get back to the office now. Big case to solve. Interrogation to get to. Oh, I forgot—Peter Frain sends his regards. By the way, I’m not sure if you know, but Elise is coming to London.”
“Elise?” he asked, momentarily confused.
“Clara Hess’s daughter with Miles Hess. My younger half sister.”
“Ah.” A shadow crossed his face.
All Maggie wanted to do was leave. “Well, congratulations again on your sobriety,” she said. “Good luck!” she called, forcing her mouth into a smile and trying to sound enthused.
He raised one hand from the book as she left. “Good luck to you, too, Margaret.”
—
When the nurse’s aide came in, Edmund barely glanced at her, immersed once again in his book. She was wearing the uniform of a volunteer—a light blue dress with a white cap and apron, each with a thick red cross. They were often in and out of his room. “And how are you doing, Mr. Hope?” came a resonant and smoky voice. “Do you need an extra pillow?”
At the sound of the voice, Edmund looked up in shock. The nurse had dull brown hair pulled back in a tight bun, not cascades of glossy blond waves. And instead of the fashionable made-up look befitting a German opera diva, her face was bare. And she looked older, with lines around her mouth, and a deep slash between her eyebrows.
But he’d know that voice anywhere. It haunted his dreams. “Clara,” he whispered, putting up his hands, as though for protection.
“Our daughter’s looking well,” she said matter-of-factly, nodding in the direction Maggie had exited. “She’s the one thing you ever got right.”
“Clara…”
“If she’s yours, of course. I have my doubts.” She closed the door and locked it. “You tried to kill me, Edmund,” she said sweetly, walking over to his bedside. “But, as usual, you bungled it. Just like you always bungled everything. Apparently, nothing changes. Not even after twenty-seven years.”
“Who told you?” he said, eyes wild. “Peter? Peter Frain? How did you survive the fire? How did you get here?”
Clara leaned over him with the pillow, looking deep into his eyes and baring even white teeth in a smile before covering his face with it. She pressed it down, hard, making sure he couldn’t breathe. “You never wanted me to sing, Edmund,” she said as he struggled. “Do you know how gorgeous my voice is? In Europe, the elite threw me bouquets. But you didn’t even like me to sing to the wireless around the house.
“Goodbye, Edmund.”
When at last his body stilled, and she was certain he was dead, she straightened and tucked the pillow back under her arm. With her free hand, she smoothed back wisps of brown hair that had come free. “See you in hell, darling.”
Chapter Fourteen
Elise met Fausten at the Ufa-Palast am Zoo on Auguste-Viktoria-Platz in Charlottenburg. He was standing in front of the enormous classical theater, redesigned by Albert Speer. Passersby gave him and his uniform anxious looks. “I didn’t think you’d come,” he said, as she approached.
“I didn’t think so either. But here I am.”
He nodded and opened the door for her, handing their tickets to the usherette.
Inside the cavernous theater, the plush velvet seats smelled of cigarette smoke and wet wool. It was frigid. The newsreel was playing the Ufa-Tonwoche, the propaganda short that always ran before the main film.
Elise and Fausten slid into their seats by the flickering light of the glowing screen. Silver light shimmered through the darkness as the film Jud Sü?, about Karl Alexander, the Duke of Württemberg, who borrows money from a Jew, ruining his city, his court, and ultimately himself, began.
“The Jews are coming into town,” the narrator’s voice, a deep booming bass, intoned. “They cross our land like snails. Keep in mind, dear Christian, a real Jew is your worst enemy.”
Elise pulled her coat tighter around her.
“I advise you to burn their synagogues and schools,” the voice continued. “Get rid of their teachings, which are full of lies. Pray to your God….”
Elise stood. “I’m leaving.”
“It’s just started…” Fausten whispered.
“I’m not going to sit through this—” she said, making her way up the aisle.
Fausten followed, took her arm and steered her to the door to the lobby. “Shhhh…” he warned.
“—cheap propaganda,” she finished on the frost-covered pavement outside.
“Cheap?” Fausten retorted. “That film cost two million Reichsmarks!”
Ignoring him, Elise began to walk.
“Veit Harlan really is an excellent director,” Fausten added, catching up with her.
“But have you read Lion Feuchtwanger? This film is nothing like the book. Jews have been persecuted throughout history! And this is thousands of years of anti-Semitism distilled into pure…hatred. But I have a few other, more pungent words in mind.”
Fausten shook his head. “No, the Jews have brought misfortune upon themselves.”
“No! That’s stupid, lying propaganda—teaching us all to think of them as animals or lower—as things—to kill them more easily.”
“It is true! And a lesson for us all.”
“Not the Jews I know. Knew.”
Fausten sighed. “Yes, there is always one good Jew, isn’t there? And even this one didn’t seem so bad, at first—but then look what happened….”
“You don’t have to be like this, you know.” Elise kept walking. “I know you don’t really believe all of these lies. You don’t have to be one of them.”
“And yet I do, as I’m quite fond of this thing we call life. And I must advise you to be a good Aryan woman now as well. The brutal reality is if you don’t denounce Father Licht by the end of your leave, you’ll be sent back to the camp.”
“I know.” The words and their meaning hung in the air.
“So,” Fausten said, “what are you going to do?”
A long black saloon car pulled up, then stopped short with a squeal of brakes.
The back door swung open. “Get in the car,” came a man’s voice from the shadows inside.
“What?” Elise looked confused.
“Get in,” the man in the car repeated.
“Now, see here—” Fausten began.
There was the click of a gun’s safety catch. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll let her go, Nazi pig.”
Then, in a lower voice, “We’re with the Resistance, Elise. We’re helping you escape, don’t you see? We’re getting you out of here. But first you must get in the car.”
“No!” Elise cried. “No, I can’t!”
The man in the shadows of the car’s interior sighed. “This is not the time to be a hero.”
“This is exactly the time to be a hero,” Elise turned to Fausten. “Aren’t you going to do anything? Arrest them?”
Fausten looked at her, eyes grave. “I think you should go with them,” he said slowly. “Leave here.”
“What?”
“Go. You are too good for this part of the world.”
“And that’s why I need to go back to Ravensbrück!”
“No, you would be wasted there. You would die.”
Fausten’s eyes locked with those of the man in the car. Without another word, he took Elise’s arm and guided her inside.
“No!” she cried, shaking him off. She tried to run, but she slipped and fell on one knee, crying out as the pain ricocheted through her body. Fausten caught up with her easily as the car inched forward; he clamped his hand over her mouth while the man in the car grabbed at her waist and pulled her in.
“No!” Elise cried after Fausten. “Come on, arrest me! Arrest me, you Nazi bastard! If you let me escape, they’ll send you to the Eastern Front!”
Fausten turned on the heel of his gleaming black boot and stalked away, a black figure against the dazzling snow.
“Let me go,” Elise sobbed. “I need to go back. Do you know what they’ll do to my father if I go missing?”
Her captor was silent a moment, as if considering how much to tell her. “We’re working with your father. He was instrumental in setting up this escape.”
“What? They’ll kill him!”