Page 40 of The Girl with a Secret
Rosa had swallowed, forcing herself to meet Peter’s gaze. “Yes, I do. He’s my… father.”
“Yourfather!” Peter had looked completely flummoxed. Rosa had gone to some troublenotto mention her parents, because of how complicated it all had been. Now, with her father just a few feet away, she’d had to. “But he…” Peter had begun, before he’d stopped. “I’m sorry,” he’d said after a moment, his tone oddly formal as he’d glanced down at the table. “You must think me terribly rude.”
“No,” Rosa had replied with a trembling laugh. “Just honest.”
A silence had fallen between them then unlike any other, tense and unhappy. Rosa had always felt comfortable in Peter’s company, at ease with him and herself, but right then she’d felt awkward, apologetic, as if she were hiding secrets. And hadn’t she been? She might have just been honest about her father, but not about herself.
Peter, she’d noticed wretchedly, hadn’t even been able to look at her.
“Rosa—” he’d begun after a moment, but before he could continue, the loud, shrill shriek of an air-raid siren, rising insistently, pierced the air. Rosa had stared at him, her eyes widening with horrified realization, as the sound died away before relentlessly starting again.
“It’s happening already…” she’d gasped. She could barely believe it.
“It might just be a practice,” Peter had replied, but he looked worried. Already, people had scrambled up from their chairs as they looked around wildly. No one, including her father, had seemed to know where to go.
“To the cellar!” someone had called from the back of the café, and everyone had hurried after them, half-stumbling down the narrow stairs to crowd into the dank, dark space while the air-raid siren had continued, its note rising and then falling, over and over again.
No one had spoken as they’d stood in the cramped cellar, squinting in the darkness, the only sound the ragged draw and tear of panicked breathing, and the distant shriek of the siren. Rosa had stood with her arms wrapped around herself, her legs starting to cramp, her ears straining for the whine of fighter planes, the muffled thud of a bomb exploding—at least, that’s what she’dthoughtit might sound like, but the truth was she had absolutely no idea. Peter stood next to her, tense and still, but she could not see her father in the dark, crowded space.
Finally, someone had ventured to speak. “I don’t hear any bombs.”
For some reason, this had been followed by a titter of nervous laughter that had rippled around the room and made everyone breathe a bit more easily. Eventually, after what had felt like an endless amount of time but, in reality, had most likely only been a few minutes, the all-clear sounded—a long, single note that stretched on and on, causing everyone to squint about uncertainly at each other, until someone had realized what it was, and again they’d laughed, a bit abashedly, as if they all should have been old hands at this, already.
When they’d emerged from the cellar, Rosa’s father had seen her and strode over, wrapping her in his arms before Rosa could say a word. She’d returned the hug gratefully, yet with some reluctance, sensing Peter’s gaze upon them. Peter had swiftly made some excuse about needing to return home, while Rosa’s father had regarded him indifferently, and Rosa had let him go. She’d feared their friendship had been forever changed, and not for the better.
“I told you, you shouldn’t have gone out,” her father had said sternly.
“Actually, it was Mother who said that,” she’d replied, “and you went out, as well, obviously.”
Her father had harrumphed, and they hadn’t spoken again as they’d returned home; the streets had been filled with milling crowds, everyone anxious and yet also strangely excited, wondering if any bombs had actually fallen. Later, they’d learned it had been, as Peter had thought, just a practice.
Rosa hadn’t seen Peter for several weeks after that, an absence that had tried her sorely. They’d developed the habit of going out for coffee after English classes, but Peter had stopped going to the lessons at the Jewish Day Center now that his university lectures had begun again. As for their outings—to the cinema or for a walk—those were not even a possibility. The cinemas might have reopened after only a week of closure, but Rosa hadn’t been brave enough to seek Peter out herself, and he didn’t seek her out, either, which had made her days feel emptier than ever, nothing more than work and home and back again. She hadn’t realized just how much his companionship had meant to her, how his presence had filled both her days and her thoughts, until he as good as disappeared—from the former, if not the latter.
Then, in early October, he had suddenly appeared in front of the Lyons teashop as she was leaving at the end of the day.
Rosa had stopped in surprise and hope, and Peter had given her a ruefully apologetic smile.
“Friends again?” he’d asked, and she’d felt a rush of both gratitude and joy that he was back in her life. She realized she was glad that he hadn’t pretended he’d simply been busy with his university lectures. The knowledge of her father, who he was and what he’d done, would, Rosa had suspected, always be between them, but on that day, they’d made a silent pact not todiscuss it, and it was one Rosa was willing to live with. Looking at Peter then, she had only felt relieved—and happy.
They’d gone out for a meal at a cheap café, and caught up on each other’s news, although, in truth, Rosa hadn’t had much. She’d finally heard from Sophie, who was now working at the Jewish Community Center in Washington DC, using her German in a way Rosa wasn’t, at least not yet. She still hadn’t heard from Hannah or Rachel, a fact which had worried her. What if they were never able to get in touch? She’d kept her emerald with her everywhere, after the experience with Suttons; she’d even slept with it, under her pillow or clutched in her hand. Her relationship with her mother had remained strained over the incident, although they were at least cordial to each other.
“Have you been interviewed by the Enemy Alien Board yet?” Peter had asked. As soon as war had been declared, a government board had been set up to interrogate every German refugee in Great Britain, to make sure they did not pose a danger to society, and more importantly, to the war effort. There were tribunals being formed all over the country, with several in London, to classify all Germans as either Category A, B, or C, with C being the least dangerous, and those classed as A to be interned elsewhere, possibly for the duration of the entire war. It made Rosa feel as if their acceptance into this country had been nothing more than a sham; she knew many Jews felt the same. Why, after months or even years of living in England, were they now being treated not just as aliens, but enemies?
“Not yet,” she had told Peter. “Have you?”
He’d nodded. “Yes, just a few days ago. They didn’t ask much, once they learned I was Jewish.” He’d paused, and then said quite deliberately, “I’m sure it will be the same for you and your family.”
Rosa had glanced down at her half-eaten meal, her appetite vanished. “You can’t know that,” she’d said quietly, like aconfession. With just a little digging, a tribunal could discover that her father had treated Nazis, that he’d hosted Adolf Eichmann in his own house! It wouldn’t be so hard, especially since some émigrés, including Peter himself, already knew, or at least suspected, something of what her father had done. Rosa’s parents, however, had remained resolutely dismissive of such a possibility, and Rosa clung to their conviction with hope.
“No,” Peter had agreed after a moment, “I don’t know. But your father surely isn’t adangerto the government, Rosa, no matter what Nazis he gave Salvarsan tablets to for their syphilis.” His voice had held a slight edge that Rosa had done her best to ignore.
“I hope not,” she’d replied quietly, and thankfully, they’d left it at that.
It had been a relief to make up with Peter, even if things, Rosa knew, hadn’t been quite as they once were, and perhaps never would be.
As the months had gone by, the tension and anxiety caused by Great Britain’s declaration of war subsided into a wary watchfulness, and then an almost bored indifference, as life had gone on, mostly as normal, much to everyone’s surprise and relief.
Although Great Britain had a naval blockade against Germany in place, there had been no major military action, and no real disruption to daily life in London—every morning, Rosa showed at the teashop, and every evening she left with reddened, work-chafed hands and aching feet. She still cooked, cleaned, and spent her spare afternoons either exploring the city or practicing her English, meeting up with Peter every so often. They remained friends, but nothing more, and Rosa wasachingly conscious of the slightly chilly distance that existed between them, even as they continued to spend time together.
