Zofia sat at the little writing desk Tóth Asszony had allowed her to move from the living room into her bedroom. She peered up from her papers and gazed through the wispy white curtains to the courtyard below. A couple of children were kicking a ball around.
How much longer until her baby kicked? What an amazing feeling that would be. If only Ernő …
Nem, best not to think about that. Because each time she did, a knife sliced through her heart.
She examined the paper in front of her. Today’s topic was the plight of those unable to obtain either false IDs or Swedish or Swiss passports. People like her. Bram had promised. So far, he had yet to deliver.
Tóth Asszony knocked on her door and waltzed in with a tea tray, the fine china cups dotted with purple violets clinking together as the older woman’s hands shook.
Zofia leaped to take the tray and set it on the nightstand beside the narrow bed.
“I thought I’d bring you a treat. You’ve been working so hard. And you’ve been on edge. That’s not good for a woman in your condition.”
“I guess I can’t hide it anymore.”
Tóth Asszony shook her head. “We may have to alter that dress soon. I’ll be on the lookout for a few with more room as you grow.”
“Only God knows, my child. We can’t worry about that. All we can do is be prepared for whatever the Lord might have in store.”
“You’ve been so kind. Someday, I will repay you.”
With a wave of her age-spotted hand, Tóth Asszony brushed away Zofia’s words. “No need. Just take care of yourself and have a healthy baby.”
Then came the sound Zofia had dreaded hearing for the months she’d been holed up here. German voices at the door and a banging that would rouse even the deaf old woman downstairs.
Tóth Asszony nodded, her hands now steadier than a surgeon’s. Zofia’s midsection tightened in fear.
She gathered her papers, scooping up a few she dropped, and slid them into her portfolio. Then she grabbed her suitcase containing her few dresses, a handful of undergarments, and some toiletries, including the lipstick Patrik brought.
Jackboots struck the door. How much longer would the lock hold? Her pulse throbbed in her neck. If she could just take a deep breath, she might keep from fainting.
Once she had everything in order, she stepped into the large cherry wardrobe and fought her way between the fur coats to the back. With a little maneuvering and jiggling, she managed to raise the furniture’s back panel and slide into the narrow space behind it.
Wood splintered, and the door crashed in. Though muffled, Zofia made out the German voices. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know.” The old woman’s voice didn’t waver.
Thwack. Zofia bit her hand to keep from crying out. What were they doing to Tóth Asszony? Not another person suffering because of her. The same smacks of hands meeting flesh. The same harsh, guttural words. The same cries of pain and helplessness.
“We know she’s here.”
How had the Nazis discovered her location? Had they spotted her in the window one day? Maybe she should have taken more precautions. Patrik had been right. She’d been too careless.
“I don’t even know who you’re talking about. I’m an old woman who lives alone. My husband has been dead for years, and I have no children. I don’t even own a cat.”
Another smack. Zofia’s own eyes watered. God, protect her. Please, don’t let them hurt her.
“Spread out. I can feel she’s here.”
Silence for a moment, then the crashing of drawers being yanked open and turned upside down, the tinkle of glass breaking, the ripping of a mattress being torn open.
The voices progressed toward her, now in the same room as Zofia’s hiding place. Not much in here for them to destroy, just a bed, the empty, drawer-less desk, and the wardrobe.
The cabinet’s doors clicked open. “Nothing in here but a bunch of coats.” The soldier’s words cracked, as if his voice was changing.
“Move it.” This Nazi was in charge and demanding.
Zofia locked her knees to keep from bumping around as the soldiers slid the wardrobe from the wall. She held her breath, not that she’d been inhaling much.
“Nothing, sir. No doors behind here. It’s heavy for being filled with just coats.”
“Oh, cherry is a very dense wood,” said Tóth Asszony. “That piece is sturdy and well-made. The way they used to craft furniture to last.”
Bless Tóth Asszony. For an elderly lady, she had a quick mind. Zofia would have frozen and not been able to form a word.
“She’s here,” the German soldier roared, his words not even muffled now. “We cannot let her escape through our fingers. We aren’t leaving until we locate her. Keep searching. Punch holes in the walls if you must. Ferret her out. That is an order.”
Dear God, dear God, dear God.
“Haul the old woman to the hotel. We’ll find a way to make her talk.”
Nem, this wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. There wasn’t anything incriminating in the flat. They’d seen to it.
What should she do? Should she give herself up to save Tóth Asszony? But what about her unborn child? Wasn’t his life worth rescuing? What was the right thing to do?
Buzzing filled her ears. She went numb.
With the toe of her shoe, she slid open the panel.
Éva sat in the café overlooking the Danube Promenade and spun the china teacup in the saucer. The scene before her was grim. Allied bombing raids had reduced some sections of the city to rubble. Across the street, one building was nothing more than a pile of stones. A huge crater gaped in the next lot.
She stared into the rosy liquid, the steam rising and warming her cool cheeks. Despite the summer sunshine, she pulled her gray cardigan sweater around her shoulders.
Then came a sight that stole her breath. Still a head taller than everyone else, still straight and regal in his bearing, still confident in his stride, came Patrik.
Why had she agreed to meet him? This was crazy. Zofia may very well be alive, but Patrik had been involved in her disappearance. In all likelihood, he knew exactly where she was and refused to disclose her location to her family.
That answered her question. Though Ernő had warned her against detective work, she had to know the answers. For once and for all, she needed the truth.
She clasped her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking. Her heart drummed—whether from nerves or excitement, it was impossible to tell. Patrik sauntered through the door, and right away, a smile lit his long, thin, aristocratic face. He wandered to the table, neat as always in a green and yellow sweater vest and a white dress shirt. “Éva.” His voice was husky, and he cleared his throat. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you.”
The words “You too” teetered on the edge of her tongue. Unsure of their veracity, she pulled them back. “Won’t you have a seat?”
He slid out the straight-backed wooden chair and settled across from her. “I’m glad to see you’ve recovered well from your accident.”
“Köszönöm.” She paused, then stared him in the eye. “What I want from you is answers.”
The waiter came and took Patrik’s order for a cup of ersatz coffee, then left them alone.
“I told Ernő what I know. I’m in the process of tracking down Zofia.”
“That’s a lie.” Like all the lies men who loved her told her.
His brown eyes widened at her announcement.
She leaned forward, nose to nose with the man she had almost married. Her traitorous heart somersaulted in her chest. “I want to know how you’re connected to her disappearance. What did you know about it? How, exactly, were you involved?
“Don’t tell me that note wasn’t from her. Ernő showed me. She tried to disguise her handwriting but wasn’t successful. I’ve seen it too much on receipts and orders for the studio. I know the note came from her. And that you’re connected. It’s time you gave us some real answers.”
He gazed out the window. “Those are questions I can’t answer.”
“Look at me.”
He did so, his brown eyes soft. Maybe even sorrowful. “What is it you want from me?”
“The truth. After what Károly did to me, the way he betrayed me and Zofia as well, for you to do the same thing to us is …” The word eluded her.
She would never forget finding those papers in Károly’s flat after word reached them that he’d been killed on the Eastern Front. Papers filled with hate for the Jews. For people like Zofia. Filled with love for Hitler and his ilk. For the pure race.
How could she have loved someone who harbored such hate in the depths of his soul?
She studied Patrik’s eyes, as if she could discern from them what lay hidden inside him. Was his heart as black as Károly’s?
Károly’s diary had revealed his involvement in the rape and murder of an eighteen-year-old Jewish girl and her eighty-year-old grandmother. When he was sent to the front, he was planning even more atrocities, each more vicious than the last. Éva hadn’t been able to discern the truth then. Would she recognize it even if Patrik told it to her?
Which way was up and which way was down these days?
She didn’t break her gaze with Patrik. If only she knew. If only she could tell.
When she first met Patrik, she had resisted his charms. She hadn’t spoken to him when he’d come to the music studio, had refused to go out with him. But the more he talked to her, the more at ease he put her, until he washed away the bad taste Károly had left.
Until she believed she could trust a man again.
Had she been wrong to do so?
He had brought her from the brink of despair and hopelessness. Now he drove her toward it again.
The waiter brought Patrik’s coffee, and he took a long sip. “Much as I long to, a múzsám, I can’t give you what you want.”
“Why not? Whatever happened to the truth setting you free?”
He picked up his napkin and rubbed at an imaginary spot on the white tablecloth.
She sighed and glanced at the tin ceiling, studying the complicated swirls so much like her life. “Why can’t you tell me the truth? Actually, it’s not that you can’t tell me, is it? It’s that you won’t.”
“The truth would do anything but set you free. Or anyone else, for that matter. Despite how it appears, the situation is much more complicated.”
“Enlighten me. I’m an intelligent woman.”
“By complicated, I mean there are certain things I can’t share with you.”
“Why don’t you start with the night she vanished. Everything was fine until she didn’t show up for dinner. Except for you. You were nervous about something.”
“And as you recall, I was with you the entire time.”
“But Reka saw you.”
“Why are we rehashing this?”
“Because I’m racking my brain, going insane attempting to figure out what happened, how you are involved and with whom. Because of your bullheadedness, you are blocking me at every turn.”
“Are you here for yourself or for Ernő?”
“For all of us, of course. Me, Ernő, my parents, Zofia, everyone who loves her. You know how close we were.”
“Were. That’s the key word, isn’t it?”
She nodded, breathing hard, a knife stabbing her chest. “What disturbs me the most is …” She drew in a deep breath, every muscle in her body quaking. She might even be sick. “Is that I saw you with that German.”
Patrik crinkled his forehead. “What German?”
“You know full well.” She spun the teacup another rotation.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The day I had my accident, I followed you. Saw you talking, laughing, being chummy with a soldier. I know you’re involved with them.”
For a long moment, he worked his mouth. He knew what she was talking about.
“You shouldn’t have done that. See what happened to you?”
“You’re not answering my question. Who are you involved with?”
“As soon as I have information I’m able to share, I will. Right now, you need to trust me. Trust that I wouldn’t keep this from you if I didn’t have to, and that I only have your best interest at heart. Trust that I’m doing this because I love you.”
She gave a single-note laugh. “That’s something that will never happen. You corrupted everything good about our relationship. I believed us to be close enough that we could share anything. Everything. I cannot love a man who could do less.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them. “I understand. I truly do. Someday everything will be clear.”
“See, I knew it. You are withholding information.”
“Please, Éva, don’t make this more difficult than it already is.”
“I’m making it difficult? You’re the one refusing to share the whereabouts of someone we dearly love. Possibly acting as a traitor to us and to our country.” She pushed away her teacup, the water gone cold.
“We’ve been through this.”
She clenched her hands. Why did it have to come to such a point? “Then we have nothing more to say to each other. Asking for this meeting was a mistake on my part. Köszönöm for coming.”
He pulled his black leather wallet from the back pocket of his dress pants and withdrew several pengő. “The tea is my treat.”
“That’s not necessary.” Why did he have to be such a gentleman?
“My feelings for you, Éva, haven’t changed and never will. I’ll love you forever. All I pray is that you’ll be able to forgive me.” This time he made eye contact with her.
Those feelings she suppressed for these months stirred inside her. She fought to maintain her composure. Several long seconds passed before she managed to find her voice. “That’s not possible. I cannot love a man who lies.”
“I’ll earn that trust back.”
“I don’t see how. Please, leave now.” She swallowed hard to keep the tears at bay. “Don’t contact me until you have concrete information about Zofia. And when you can share with me how you and she fit into this puzzle.”
Before she knew what was happening, he kissed the back of her hand and slipped from the café.
If only he would slip so easily from her heart.