Chapter 15 Audrey

BERLIN, GERMANY | JANUARY 1939

Are you nervous, Fräulein?” Friedrich asked, finishing his drink.

Across from him on the divan, Audrey realized her foot was jiggling, and stilled it. “I suppose so, yes.”

“You’ve met them all before, though.”

“I know, but this is different. You’re asking them to trust me now. Not only trust me, but let me take part. I lied about who I was for months.”

“And that right there will be the sell. Your ability to take on the character. As you said, you managed to dupe Vogt and me for a long time. You might have continued to, if not for…”

“Vogt.”

“Yes.”

Tonight wasn’t all that different from the night of Vogt’s death, when Audrey and Friedrich sat across from each other, revealing themselves. She’d had difficulty believing what he was saying that night; that there was any kind of resistance against Hitler at all, let alone within the SS ranks. And now she was waiting for a group of them to arrive and decide whether she was a worthy foot soldier in a fight that felt both imperative and utterly futile.

After Ilse’s suggestion, she’d sat at the piano and let her fingers play automatically whilst her mind ruminated on how to broach it with Friedrich, and what she might be useful for, trying desperately to block out thoughts of what had just come to light with Ilse. She thought of administrative tasks, but surely the cell wouldn’t keep records of anything. Then her thoughts went to her father and his reconnaissance flights, how he had worked to gather information for the Allies from the air, details that would help the infantry on the ground to push back against the country he would come to call home after meeting the love of his life. With a stab of regret, she thought how he might have even been proud to know his daughter was taking action.

When Friedrich returned from work, she cornered him in the sitting room to ask whether she might help the resistance effort, perhaps do some reconnaissance herself. “I think your outfit could benefit from a woman,” she’d said.

Friedrich sat back in Ephraim’s chair by the fire, crossed one leg over the other. “Why would a woman be helpful?” he’d asked. His brown eyes lingered on her face, but his gaze didn’t burn like Vogt’s had. It was a brusque assessment, not predatory.

Audrey had tapped her finger on the edge of her cup, searching for the words. “Women are far less suspect. We form the background of men’s lives,” she’d said, thinking of maids and servants, whose worth was defined by how inconspicuous and small they could make themselves. She thought of how the police had turned to Friedrich for explanation of Vogt’s discovery, ignoring her entirely once a man was present. “Women exist around you, behind you. We’re rarely the subject of the painting itself.”

Friedrich had scoffed, though not unkindly. “Underestimated, you mean.”

“Precisely,” Audrey said, one eyebrow cocked, a little surprised that he had arrived at the conclusion so quickly. “I’ve never embraced that invisibility. If you need confirmation, ask Ilse. I want to be on a stage one day, performing. It’s what I love. Let me help. Whatever you need.”

Friedrich had agreed. He’d told the group that Audrey had sussed them out but was sympathetic to their cause and might be of use. He was honest with them about her dual residency and English father, but had omitted anything about Ilse. As far as they were concerned, the cover story still stood: she had been Ira Kaplan’s accountancy assistant and upon his death, accepted the housekeeping job to make ends meet.

Now, Audrey shifted her shoulders. “And what have you told them about Vogt’s death? Don’t they have questions?”

“They had no difficulty believing the story we fed the police. Vogt was such an ass, no one has particularly missed him inside the administration. Meanwhile, the police are out halfheartedly chasing the phantom assailants we conjured. Leave them to me. I do not believe it will be a problem.”

She had no choice but to trust him. This was either the best idea she’d had or the worst. Either way, it kept her mind from lingering on Ilse’s baffled face when Audrey had confessed her feelings. They’d tiptoed around each other since then, neither of them mentioning it, and their conversations had been surface-level. It made Audrey feel as though she were falling away from herself.

But she didn’t have time to dwell on it further as the other members of the resistance cell arrived. Claus, Ludwig, and Aldous each eyed Audrey with interest as they entered the room, but said nothing.

Once they were all settled with drinks, Friedrich stood, cleared his throat. “As you all know, this is Audrey James, my housekeeper. And she has approached me with a proposal to join our outfit.”

She studied them with a new curiosity, eager to know more about this group of men who were risking their careers and their very lives to resist the Führer.

“Hello,” she said, smiling.

“Nice to meet you more, uh, officially? Truthfully?” Claus said, cocking his head to one side on his thick neck.

“Audrey, Claus Von Holten,” Friedrich said. “He works in weaponry in the military training office. You know Ludwig Thurman,” he continued. “He’s from the military operations office of the SS.”

Ludwig directed a curt nod at Audrey from over near the sideboard, though he said nothing. He took a large gulp from his rocks glass.

“And Aldous Stoltz.” Friedrich nodded to the weedy man on the opposite end of the divan. Audrey had rarely heard him speak at their poker nights. “He’s, well… what would you say you are, Al?”

The man shrugged. “The kinder term is ‘conscientious objector,’ I think. We’re deemed cowards for not entering military service. But I’m lame from a bout of polio when I was a child, so they wouldn’t have me anyway. People like me are a threat to ‘national health,’ according to Goebbels. I figure I’ll be next once they’ve ejected all the Jews and homosexuals.”

Audrey’s jaw clenched at the word. How did the government even know who was a homosexual?

“So I thought it necessary to do what I could,” Aldous was saying. “My motivation isn’t entirely altruistic, Fräulein. You’ll have to forgive me.”

“And then there was Vogt, of course, whom you knew,” Ludwig said in a booming voice. “He would have been able to keep providing us intelligence from within Hitler’s own office, if the moron hadn’t gotten himself beaten to death.” He took another swig of his drink. “Probably fucked the wrong man’s wife this time.”

“Lud, language around the lady, yeah?” Friedrich said.

Audrey winced at Ludwig, hoping it would pass for a sympathetic frown.

Claus sat forward, broad shoulders rolling in. “So, Fred tells us you can contribute some particular skills to our little organization here.”

Audrey nodded. “I do hope so.”

“And what exactly is it that you can bring to the table?”

Four sets of acute male eyes bored into her own.

She straightened. “For one thing, I’m fluent in both English and German, and I’m a performer. A trained one. A good one,” she added with confidence. “And I’m a woman, which means I go unnoticed.” She summarized the arguments she had made to Friedrich.

“How much did you learn whilst serving up bread and beer, Fräulein?” Claus asked.

She could tell by the set of his face that he was genuinely curious. “Enough to know what you were doing and ask Friedrich if I could join. In addition to listening in, I can flirt my way into places where I’m not supposed to be,” she said, glancing around at them all. “Can any of you say the same?”

Claus chuckled.

“My concern, Fräulein James,” Ludwig began in his deep voice, shifting his massive weight from one foot to the other, “is what your set of skills adds up to.”

“What do you mean?”

“In my line of work, I would have serious concerns about someone who can speak multiple languages, who acts and lies to get himself into or out of sticky situations, and who possesses a proclivity for passing unnoticed. You are describing a spy.”

She felt pinned under his sharp gaze. “I’m not—”

“You are speaking to a group of exceptionally observant men. You may have underestimated us.”

“Ludwig, we have been over this,” Friedrich said sharply. “I told you, she—”

“Are you a fool?” Ludwig shot back. His eyes flashed with anger and something else, something sinister. “Did you bed her? Is that how she convinced you of her innocence?”

Audrey’s cheeks burned at the insinuation. She glanced at Friedrich, then back to Ludwig.

“You’re right,” she said, doing her best to match the intensity of his distrustful glare. “I am not precisely who he says I am.” She could feel Friedrich’s eyes on her, but ploughed on. “I was not Ira Kaplan’s accountancy secretary.” The men stared back at her with confused faces, and she realized they didn’t recognize his name. “He is the dead man whose furniture you now sit on,” she snapped. “Whose crystal you drink from. He was murdered in the street.” She needed to offer Ludwig a clearer truth to dispel his doubt, but she would not tell them about Ilse. A half-truth would have to suffice. “I was in this house when Friedrich and Vogt arrived because I am a friend of the family. I was living here when Kaplan was killed and his family taken. I grieve the loss of my friends, and I do not want others to suffer the same fate. That is why I want to join you.”

The room was silent for a moment. Audrey swallowed the lick of fear that flicked in her throat.

“And when did you learn this?” Ludwig asked Friedrich, ignoring Audrey.

“Not long after Vogt died, I suppose it was,” he said, offhand.

“Did he know the truth of her as well?”

“No.”

“How did you find out?”

“She told me,” Friedrich said, defiant. “Ludwig, we—”

“Why?” Ludwig demanded.

Audrey could tell that interrogation was a part of Ludwig’s job. She wondered how many times he had played interrogator, how persuasive he had been, what other tools he had in his arsenal for extracting the truths he sought.

“We got to talking,” Friedrich said. Audrey could tell he was agitated, casting about for a story to tell in place of the truth about Vogt and Ilse. “It became clear that we were very much on the same side. You don’t need to know the details.”

“Do we not?” Claus this time.

“No,” Friedrich said loudly. “Suffice it to say that she is on our side. And she is valuable. Have we interrogated one another about how we came to resist this regime?” he asked his comrades. “No, we haven’t. It is enough that each man is here.”

“All right,” Claus said after a while, still watching Audrey. “I’m convinced.”

“As am I,” Aldous added.

“Good,” said Friedrich, exhaling his frustration.

Ludwig would not look at her.

A moment passed in which everyone refreshed their drinks, clearly an attempt to regroup after the tension of the argument. There appeared to be consent that she could participate, but Audrey knew Ludwig would be on the lookout for the smallest misstep on her part, any reason to prove Friedrich wrong for having divulged their secrets and let her join. Why was it that women always had to work harder than men to prove themselves?

“So what did you have in mind, Fred?” Claus asked, sitting down beside Audrey now. Aldous retreated to a wing chair. “For the fräulein here.”

Friedrich took a swig of his drink. “Nothing yet. We needed to propose her involvement to you first.”

“You said she did an inventory of the house for you,” Claus said, massaging his goatee with a meaty hand.

“You thinking Weber?” Ludwig grunted at him.

“Yes,” Claus said.

But Friedrich was frowning. “We’re not throwing her to that swine,” he said firmly. “We’ll find somewhere else.”

“But that’s exactly why this might be the best way we can use her,” Claus said.

They argued for another full minute. Audrey was beginning to feel like a child, shunted to the side of an adult conversation. She watched the men talk around her again before her irritation bubbled over.

“Who is Weber?” she demanded.

They all turned to face her, as though surprised to find her still in the room.

“He manages the Department of Property Reclamation in the Ministry of Economics,” Friedrich said.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“The government branch responsible for assessing Jewish valuables and real estate and dispersing them.”

Audrey flexed her fingers. “So that’s how you got this house. They sent you here?”

He nodded, his expression apologetic.

“And you did an inventory of the property, Fräulein. Correct?” Claus asked.

“Yes,” she replied.

“We aren’t sending her to Weber,” Friedrich said again.

“Why not?” Claus pressed. “Look at her.” He extended a hand, palm up, like a ringmaster. “She’s perfect for it.”

“Why?” Audrey asked.

Claus leaned toward her. “Weber’s an easy mark for intel. He’s got loose lips and even looser morals. And he has connections to Hitler. Back in the summer and autumn, Weber was at a couple of parties and dinners put on by Hitler’s confidants—his driver, his secretaries. Vogt had good connections in Hitler’s office, but we’ve lost that conduit now. And since that previous attempt on Hitler’s life last year, his inner office has kept his schedule locked down tight. They only release the details, what, a day in advance?” He looked to Ludwig, who nodded.

“Someone tried to kill Hitler?” Audrey asked, shocked.

“A couple of times now,” Friedrich said. “But they’ve been slapdash attempts with little forethought. To plan something effective, we need enough time. We need to know where he’ll be and when, at least a few days ahead.”

“Weber must hear things,” Claus said. “With the right type of persuasion, he could be valuable.”

“But why me specifically?”

“Weber is known for his… preference for young women,” Friedrich said.

It took a beat before the penny dropped. “You want me to seduce him?” She thought of Vogt’s prostitutes, the transactions, the fact that she’d never been with a man. The encounter with Vogt was still too fresh; it coloured her nightmares red. This wasn’t what she’d thought she was signing up for. Spying was one thing, listening in, but—

“Not as such,” Claus said. “But a little flirtation, some suggestion, could go a long way. You could endear yourself to him, see what you can find out. Just get him to talk.”

She thought about what a little “suggestion” might lead to. “You mean bait him,” she said.

“Yes.”

The prospect put Audrey on edge. But her contempt for the Reich and need for action galvanized her. If this was something only she could do, then do it she would.

Ludwig spoke up. “How do we know she’s capable?” He was leaning against the wall now. He raised his glass in Audrey’s direction and the amber liquid swirled around. “She’s just a girl; she could blow the whole operation. What happens if—”

“I can do it,” Audrey interrupted, defiance shining in her eyes. She hadn’t liked him from the first poker night, and knowing he was resisting Hitler’s regime had not softened her distaste for him as it had the others.

“Excellent,” Claus said, clapping. He grinned at Audrey. “This is good. This is good.”

She returned the smile, but her eyes still sought Friedrich, whose face was dark, lips pressed together beneath his trimmed moustache. She knew him well enough now to see that he only wanted to spare her from another encounter like the fateful one with Vogt.

“But if you are to work with us, you must have a more German name,” Claus said. “They’ll never hire a buttery English girl to work at headquarters. They’ll definitely think you’re a spy.”

Audrey raised an arched eyebrow.

“An English spy.”

“But I’m half German,” she protested. “Mostly German, really. I was born here. This is my home.”

“Ira Kaplan was German, too,” Friedrich said. “A person’s name matters now. It has, in fact, come to mean everything. A man’s name can determine whether he lives or dies.”

The image of Ira’s body flashed behind her eyes. Perhaps this was the next, natural step in truly becoming the character she had invented for Friedrich and Vogt. She would assume a new name when she was outside these four walls, slip into the skin of a lioness.

“I can sort that, no problem,” Aldous piped up from the wing chair.

“How soon can you have them ready, Al?” Friedrich asked.

“A day. Maybe two.” He addressed Audrey next. “You’re sure about this?”

Audrey looked to Friedrich.

“Weber could prove highly useful,” he said. “This could be the best opportunity we’ll get to knock a wedge into his office.”

“And anything I might learn could help you?” Audrey asked.

“Yes.”

“To get rid of Hitler? To stop all of this?”

Claus sighed. “That’s the goal.”

Audrey smoothed her wool skirt, the fabric rough beneath her fingers. She thought of Ira, of the need for someone to avenge his pointless death. Of Ruth and Ephraim and who knew how many other Jews, imprisoned at these work camps. The reign of gunshots and swastikas and unbridled violence. The looming war that was certain to destroy the country she loved. Of Ilse. Her face—free and happy—shone brightest in Audrey’s mind.

“Then yes,” she said, unflinching now at the four sets of male eyes analyzing her, weighing her value and wondering if she would be worth the price. “I’m sure.”