Chapter 14 Audrey 
BERLIN, GERMANY | DECEMBER 1938
Audrey woke suddenly the following morning, as though a loud noise had roused her. She opened her eyes into the darkness of the winter dawn, blinking several times until she made sense of where she was.
It was her old room, the Kaplans’ guest room, and all was quiet. Ilse was still asleep beside her, her form rising and falling softly beneath the quilt. For one short-lived moment, Audrey forgot why they were in the guest room together, but then the events of the previous night crashed over her like an icy wave.
Vogt’s breath on her face.
Ilse raising the lamp.
Müller’s revelation and the Red Orchestra…
It was all too much. Curling her body in closer to Ilse’s, she pulled the blanket up around her neck and took a steadying breath.
“Kill him?” she’d asked Müller last night, incredulous.
“Yes,” he’d replied. “He’s a madman. He’s going to destroy Germany, and who knows how many other countries along with it. He’s driving us into another great war within Europe, make no mistake.”
“But how do you kill someone like that?” she’d asked him. “It seems impossible.”
The whole regime of the Third Reich was so grand in scale, they breathed Hitler like an intoxicant. He was larger than life.
Müller had smirked, eyes hard. “He is not a god, Fräulein. He is only a man. Flesh and bone and blood, just like you or me. Any man can be destroyed. All you need is the right weapon.”
But where did that leave Audrey and Ilse? Audrey looked at her friend. They hadn’t lain awake whispering the way they would have years ago. There was much more to talk about now than there ever had been before, but it was all so complicated, so violent, that it was difficult to find the words.
At least Ilse would be free to move about the house now. She had been clear she wouldn’t leave Germany without knowing Ruth and Ephraim’s fate, but they couldn’t live in the house with Müller indefinitely; they couldn’t wait around for the end of Hitler’s rule.
Action. That’s what was needed. A plan.
Audrey could provide emotional support to Ilse in the best way she knew how, but her role in their relationship had always veered toward what she could do. That was the sphere in which she was most comfortable, where she knew herself best. But what to do now? Audrey felt as though she had only just secured her footing from the tectonic shift of that fateful day at the department store, and now here they were again, scrambling to steady themselves on a ship that kept pitching in stormy seas.
The Kaplan fortune had been stolen by the Reich, but Audrey would have access to her father’s money in England. If they could only get to London, they could live in the Kensington house together until—Audrey’s throat tightened at the thought—Ilse eventually married. Her mind turned over possibilities, then she remembered something Müller had said the night before.
Tucking the quilt around Ilse, she slid out of bed and dressed quietly. In the hall, she caught the aroma of coffee. It was early, but Müller was already up.
She found him sitting in the kitchen, steam curling from his cup, but before she could say good morning, he spoke.
“You should call the police straightaway. Before the post or the milk arrives. It’s still dark, but once it’s light, someone else will find him.”
“Oh.” Audrey’s stomach turned, remembering Vogt’s body outside. She hoped she would never see anything that grisly again. “Yes. Of course.”
“Don’t forget the theatrics,” he said with a wry smile.
Audrey went to the telephone room and dialed the number for the police. As the line rang, she tapped into the mindset of a woman who had just found her employer dead on the pavement outside the house. With false alarm in her voice, she reported Vogt’s body, then hung up and returned to the kitchen.
“It’s done,” she told Müller. “They’re on their way over though. We haven’t long.”
“They will interview you, ask questions,” Müller said. “Stick to the story. You know almost nothing. You retired before Vogt returned home last night, and you came out to get the milk this morning and found him outside the house. Leave it at that.”
“All right,” Audrey said.
“I will take care of the rest.”
He’d made toast in her absence, something she’d never seen him do. He pushed a plate and pot of jam toward her. Gingerly, she took a seat across from him, another first, and tucked into her breakfast. He and Vogt had always sat at the dining table to eat, she in the kitchen or—unbeknownst to them—upstairs with Ilse. Their relationship had altered overnight, the entire dynamic of the house tilted onto an unfamiliar angle.
She took a sip of her coffee. It was good and strong. “You make it better than I do,” she admitted with a reluctant smile.
“You’re not much of a cook, really, Fräulein, I am sorry to say.”
Audrey barked a laugh, then pinched her lips shut. Everything felt too serious for amusement right now. “I’m not, no, Herr Müller. Difficult to bluff that one, I’m afraid. But I did my best.”
“I think you can call me Friedrich now,” he said, finishing his coffee. “I would be far more comfortable if we dispensed with the formalities at this juncture.”
“All right.” She nibbled her toast. “I know we haven’t much time, but I wonder if I could ask you something.”
He watched her, but said nothing, which she took as an invitation.
“Last night, did you say Aldous is a forger?”
Müller nodded. “His father owns a print shop, so he has easy access to the required materials.”
“Do you think he could forge a passport for Ilse? So I could get her back to London?”
Müller sat back in his chair. “I could approach him about it.”
“Even for a Jew? He’d have to know, wouldn’t he?”
“Yes. I do not think he would care, but I will need to consider this. However, it seemed clear to me last night that Fräulein Kaplan will not leave until she knows for certain what has become of her family.”
Audrey sighed. “But you said you would try to find them.”
“And I will. You have my word. Though it may take some time, and I told you both, I suspect the outcome will not be what she hopes for.”
“Thank you.” In the meantime, she would continue to chip away at Ilse’s resolve to stay, even if her efforts proved futile. Audrey paused, surveyed Müller. His hair was speckled grey at the temples, one ear slightly higher than the other. “What’s it like for you?” she ventured. “Doing what you do. Your double life?”
He chewed his cheek, his moustache twisting to the side. “It’s…” He shook his head. “It is impossible. I betray myself every day. Do you know what that’s like?”
Audrey held his gaze and thought of Ilse. She knew that her feelings were more than friendship. Every day she tamped them down, fought them. Sometimes it felt as though she were wearing someone else’s skin.
“In a way, yes,” she said.
They sat for a while, and the kitchen was silent but for the tick of the clock near the door until a loud knock sounded from the foyer.
After the police left, Audrey went back upstairs to check on Ilse. She’d slept late, and Audrey was glad of it. Ilse hadn’t had anything resembling a decent night’s sleep in weeks, up in the chilly attic with no proper mattress.
“Ilse?” she murmured, opening the curtains with a swish. Weak winter sunlight filled the cool room.
Ilse rolled over. “Hi.”
Despite the chaos of last night, she looked more rested than she had in a long time. She was such a beautiful person, though she never thought so herself.
When Audrey perched on the end of the bed, Ilse sat up, adjusted the neck of her ivory nightgown. “What is it?” she asked.
Audrey told her about the police interview, which was short and to the point. As Müller had instructed, she’d kept it straightforward, and after they’d taken her statement, the police spoke with him for several more minutes, cutting Audrey out of the conversation entirely. She was only the help, after all.
“Müller thinks they bought it,” she said. “Vogt had a reputation, and a bar fight gone sour is entirely in line with his normal behaviour.” Audrey’s thoughts were full of Vogt, and she wondered how long it would take to shake the unpleasant images that flashed in her mind every time she closed her eyes. “Hopefully that’s it. I’m so sorry, again, that you had to do that. And thank you. It never should have happened.”
“No,” Ilse agreed. “But it did get us here, didn’t it? I don’t have to hide anymore. When Mama and Ephraim come back, Müller will move out, and…” Her lip began to tremble. “And that wouldn’t have been possible if the situation hadn’t pushed Müller to reveal himself. I’m grateful for that, at least.”
“Ilse…” Audrey met Ilse’s eyes, imploring. “Müller says one of the men in the resistance cell—Aldous—is a forger. He can falsify passports.”
“No. Audrey, I told you, I can’t. I need to know they’re okay. I need to stay. And now it’s more feasible for me to do so. I needn’t freeze and hide.”
Audrey took a deep breath. It was the answer she expected. She was restless to know what had become of Ruth and Ephraim, too, but her primary concern was Ilse’s safety, and remaining in Berlin under Hitler’s rule when there was a chance to get her to England felt like a gamble against a house that was holding all the cards.
“Müller says he’s going to try to find out where they were taken,” she said. “He gave me his word.”
Ilse brightened. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“And then maybe they can come home? He could have them released?”
Audrey thought of Müller’s warnings as she looked down at the bedcovers—an old quilt sewn by Ruth’s mother. It was a mercy, perhaps, that she had died a few years ago. She never had to witness the destruction of her family tree. “I don’t know, Ilse. You could ask him.”
“I will,” she said. “So, what do we do today, then? Or tomorrow, or the next day.” Ilse choked out a sarcastic laugh. “I could take over some of the domestic tasks, if you like. I know you hate all of it, and it would give me something to do.”
Audrey was glad to see any vestige of humour in her. “I won’t say no to that. You’re a better cook than I am, anyway.”
“I let Matya teach me. You never listened when Sophie tried.”
Audrey smiled, but the thought of Sophie clenched at her heart. “I miss her. I wonder often how her family is faring. I hope they’ll be safe from this madness in Belgium.”
Ilse nodded sadly. “And you? You could finish your studies at the konservatorium,” she said.
Audrey looked up, surprised. “Maybe someday, but not now. It doesn’t feel right, after everything that’s happened.”
“Well… Audrey, you can still return to England. I’m safe here now, to some degree, with Müller. You can go, if you need to. I told you before, when your father passed—”
“Do you want me to go? Why do you keep—”
“You know I don’t. You know I want you with me. I’d be terrified without you, truly. But I also feel like I can’t ask you to stay now that things have changed so much.”
Audrey fought the urge to lean forward and kiss her. “Ilse, I’ve told you, I cannot leave you. For the same reason you can’t leave until you know what’s happened to your mama and Ephraim. I will not leave you here. I—” Audrey stood and began to pace the creaking floorboards, fists clenched, the nails digging into her palms. “I love you, Ilse.”
“I love you too. But what’s—?”
“No.” Audrey stopped, her breathing shallow. The words erupted from her in a burst. “I love you.”
Ilse’s brow furrowed, and then understanding spread slowly across her features, like wine seeping into a tablecloth. Her shoulders dropped, and she exhaled slowly.
“Oh.”
The heat of the moment was overwhelming, and Audrey needed to douse it. They could not talk about this. They couldn’t. She needed to control it, pretend that nothing had just passed between them.
“Audrey—” Ilse began, her voice soft, but Audrey cut across her.
“I need to do something useful, if you’re going to do the housekeeping,” she said, pacing the room once more as she tried to steer the conversation away from the eye of the storm. “I can’t play the goddamn piano all day, waiting for this to end.”
“What—what do you mean?” Ilse shook her head slowly, as though working to follow Audrey’s train of thought.
“I don’t know. But I need some sort of occupation.”
Ilse looked at Audrey as though she were made of glass. “Could you help Müller in some way? Does their group need any kind of… I don’t know… assistance?”
Audrey seized the suggestion, grateful that Ilse was following her lead. “Such as?”
Ilse shrugged. “Reconnaissance? Maybe you could help with that, with your skills. You were prepared to do it at the bank, right? Pretend to be someone else? You could put your theatrical training to use here. If you’re staying,” she added with a shadow of hesitation.
Audrey cleared her gummy throat, nodded. “I’ll—I’ll talk to him today. See if I can be of help.” She needed to leave, to be alone with her spinning thoughts. “I’ll see you downstairs later.”
“Audrey, we should talk—”
“No,” Audrey said, forcing a smile through her lips to stop them trembling. “Because there’s nothing to talk about, is there?”
Ilse dropped her gaze, her voice hollow. “No. I suppose there isn’t.”