Two doctors appeared, their white coats flapping around their legs in the wind, red and black bands around their arms. “What’s going on here?” demanded the first one, squat with gray hair and glasses.
“Special day pass,” Elise lied. Frieda looked as though she might faint, while Ernst gritted his teeth.
“On whose orders?” said the other, also gray, but tall and thin, with a beakish nose.
“Dr. Brandt’s,” Elise replied without hesitation.
Father Licht opened the door of the car and stepped out. With his priest’s collar and wide-brimmed cappello romano, he carried a quiet authority. “It’s for a special religious service, Herr Doktors.”
“Really,” the second doctor said. “And which service would that be?”
“The feast of St. Drithelm.”
“And which church?”
“St. Hedwig’s. I’m the priest there.”
The first doctor turned to Elise. “And who are you?”
“Nurse Aloïsa Herrmann.”
“And where is the patient’s paperwork?”
“Ach du lieber Himmel!” Frieda said, finally recovering her voice. She clapped one hand to her forehead. “I must have left it back at the nurses’ station. Shall I get it?”
“Nein, nein,” the first doctor said, waving a careless hand.
“Enjoy your saint’s day,” the other said.
“Thank you, Herr Doktors,” Father Licht called, getting back into his car.
Elise and Frieda helped Ernst into the backseat. “No time for a long goodbye,” Elise warned.
Frieda kissed her husband’s lips, then pulled herself away. He leaned back and she raised the blanket up over his head, covering his face. She stepped back, hand over her mouth, as though trying to force down screams. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, darling,” Ernst whispered.
“It’s the only way,” Elise said to her, slamming the door shut and slipping into the passenger seat. “We’ll keep him safe.”
Father Licht turned the key in the ignition, pressed down on the clutch, and shifted into reverse.
“I’ll find you …” Frieda whispered as the car rolled away. Then she doubled over, clutching her abdomen in pain, willing herself not to cry.
David and Freddie were at the Ritz Hotel for dinner, with Daphne Brooks and her girlfriend, Kay McQuire. David and Freddie looked dapper in their dinner jackets and black tie, Daphne in a sunny yellow gown that set off her blond ringlets, and Kay in trousers with a white silk blouse with the collar open at the throat and cuff links at the wrists. Her short brown hair was glossed back with Brylcreem.
“Another bottle of fizz, if you please,” David called to one of the waiters hovering nearby, as yet another cleared their dishes.
The waiter removed the empty bottle from the stand, dripping with the melted ice. “Yes, sir.”
“A girl could get used to this.” Daphne leaned back in her velvet chair and sighed with contentment. In the formal dining room of the Ritz, with its thick carpets, heavy draperies, and glittering chandeliers reflected in panels of mirrors, the war seemed—at least for the moment—worlds away.
David and Freddie exchanged glances. “Well,” David said, as the waiter returned with a newly opened bottle of champagne and began refilling their glasses, “that’s actually one of the things we wanted to talk to you about.”
Kay raised an eyebrow and took out a cigarette. Freddie reached for his Evans lighter and lit it for her. “Thanks, darling,” she said, taking a long drag.
David cleared his throat. He reached for his champagne, raising the glass to his dry lips and taking a nervous swallow. “We … have a business proposition for you.”
The two women looked at each other. “Well, you certainly have our attention,” Daphne said.
“You see,” David continued, “there now seems to be a little issue about my trust and my inheritance. Where once everything seemed quite straightforward, now there are … strings attached.”
Kay shrugged. “How could that possibly have anything to do with us?” Daphne asked.
“Good question! Here’s the thing—”
Freddie sighed. “Would you get to the point, please?”
“Oh, merciful Minerva!” David glared at him. “In a nutshell, ladies, unless I get married, I’ll forfeit my trust and my inheritance. As you well know, the blessed state of holy matrimony was never something I ever aspired to—” He stopped, looking over at Freddie.
“Stay on topic,” Freddie admonished.
“And so I was wondering—hoping, that is—that one of you two ladies might consent to enter into it—as a business arrangement—with me.” David took a deep breath. “Wherein one of you would agree to marry me and pose as my wife. All the while free to live her own life, of course. Just as I would mine.”