“I’ve noticed—well, I’ve noticed some food missing. Bread, mostly, but some meat and cheese, too. Some fruit. Just a little here and there, but I wanted to let you know. I don’t want me or the staff to be accused of stealing …”
Clara looked up from her menus. “It’s nothing you need concern yourself with,” she said to the older woman. Then, “You may go.”
When the heavy door clicked shut behind Cook, Clara allowed herself a smile. “Oh, Mausi,” she said. “Stealing crumbs now, are we? But not as clever as you think. And certainly not as clever as I am.”
She picked up the black phone’s receiver and dialed. “Hello, Joseph,” she purred.
On the other end of the line, static cracked and then a man’s voice said, “Liebling—how wonderful to hear from you!”
“I just wanted to check in, to see what you’ve learned about our Margareta Hoffman.”
“She left Berlin.”
“What do you mean, she’s left Berlin?”
The line crackled and Goebbels cleared his throat. “The last we know is that she took a typing test for Göring. Wasn’t hired.”
“And then?”
“Then she … vanished. She’s probably left the country by now.”
“What about Gottlieb Lehrer? Surely he must know her whereabouts?”
“A ‘lover’s quarrel,’ ” Goebbels said. “They fought and she left. He allegedly hasn’t heard from her since.”
Clara was silent, her hands snaking around the metal telephone cord.
“Clara? Are you there?”
“She could still be here, in Berlin.”
“Why’s this girl so important to you?”
“Let’s call it a hunch. I don’t believe she is who she says she is.”
“Well, I hope you have more than a ‘hunch’ about Operation Aegir.”
Clara took a sharp breath. The truth was that she hadn’t heard from her contact in some time, and she had no news. “Going well, quite well, of course.”
“Because if it starts to go south—like that Windsor affair—well, Clara, I don’t need to tell you that you’re on thin ice with Canaris, especially these days.… Even I might not be able to save you this time.”
“Of course it will go as planned,” Clara snapped. Then, in silkier tones, “Now, about the opera tonight—you’ll be there, yes?”
“What’s the first thing you’re going to do when the war ends?” John whispered to Ernst.
The doctor inspected the incision. “You’re healing nicely,” Ernst said, pulling John’s shirt back down. “After the war is over, I will find my wife, Frieda. And then we will find somewhere to live. Somewhere safe.”
John sat up. Ernst looked over at him. “Are you married?”
“Not married, but as soon as I get home, I’m going to remedy that. My girl—Maggie—she’s the only thing that’s getting me through this mess.”
“Good for you. We’re in the same boat, then.”
“I know she’s back home, waiting for me, praying for me. That’s what keeps me going.”
That night, in her small, tidy room on the top floor of the villa at Wannsee, Maggie finally had a chance to think.
Since she’d returned to London from training, everything had happened so quickly—the mission, the jump, coming to Berlin, meeting up with Gottlieb … Not to mention meeting her mother and learning she had a half sister.
Maggie brushed her hair, turned out the light, and crawled into bed. Although the bed was soft and the linen pillowcases smelled like lavender, it was hard to feel sleepy as she lay wondering who’d slept there before, where that person was now.
But they’d warned her against that. Think in German, breathe in German, sleep in German, be German.… It was sweltering and the room was stuffy. Maggie tossed and turned. It would be easier if I wasn’t sleeping in a bed I suspect belonged to a deported Jew, Maggie thought. SOE didn’t cover this.
She realized she wasn’t angry with Gottlieb. No, Gottlieb was one of the brave few working against the Nazis. He’d taken an enormous risk in taking her in, and even though she was gone, her association with him did put him, and his group, in continued danger. It will be worth it, Gottlieb, Maggie thought. I know it. Then, It will be worth it—right?
The room was dark, blackout curtains pulled tightly shut. All Maggie could hear was the wind in the birch trees near the window and, distantly, the drone of planes. She remembered Princess Lilibet and Princess Margaret at Windsor Castle—they’d been able to identify each plane by the sound of its engine, saying “theirs” or “ours” as the aircraft passed overhead.