Page 43 of The Girl with a Secret
“Important enough to keep you in fine clothes and out of harm’s way, yes,” her father replied coolly. “I suppose it’s easy for you to be so smugly self-righteous now, Rosa, but let me remind you,you’rein the back of this van with me.”
His words caused a dam to break inside her, the emotions rushing out. She doubled over, her arms wrapped around her waist. “I never wanted any of this,” she wept, the tears streaking down her cheeks unchecked. “Not any of it, ever. You should have kept me out of it?—”
“With your mother out of her head half the time on sedatives?” Her father tutted again. “I needed a hostess, and don’t pretend, my dear, that you didn’t enjoy it, at least a little. The attention, the admiration. You lapped up every second. I saw you myself.”
“I didn’t…” Rosa whispered. She scrunched her eyes shut, as if she could block out her father’s voice, the damning memories. She hadn’tlapped it up, but yes, she’d enjoyed Ernst’s admiring smile, the way his gaze had lingered…
Her father let out a huff of disbelieving laughter. Rosa pressed her hot, tear-streaked face into her knees, desperately wishing everything had been different. That she had.
“Everything I did,” her father said after a moment, his tone turning quiet and steely, “was to keep you and your mother safe.”
Rosa lifted her head. “And yourself,” she felt compelled to point out. “You’ve always thought of yourself.” In her mind’s eye, she pictured her father back at their villa on the Wannsee—dressed in black tie, holding a glass of champagne, smiling tolerantly at the Nazi officers who amused themselves by humoring their pet Jew, until it had become impolitic and theneven dangerous to continue to do so. That was when her father had decided it was time to leave.
“Yes, and myself,” her father agreed tautly. “Really, is that so wrong, Rosa?”
She clenched her hands into fists, bunching them in her lap.Wasit wrong? She felt as if she didn’t know anything anymore; all she could feel right then was fear, cold and creeping, drowning everything else out, an iciness in her soul, a scream in her head. “This was meant to be our new start,” she whispered. “Away from Berlin. From… from everything there.”
Her father was silent for a moment. When Rosa dared to look at him, she saw how old he looked, his gaze distant and reflective. Then he straightened, smiled with his usual jocularity. “Well, it’s not as if they have anything on us,” he resumed in the plummy tone she knew too well. “We’ve done nothing wrong, and we’re certainly not spies. We have to be released. It’s only a matter of time, Rosa, I’m quite sure of it.” He pursed his lips. “And I’ll have something to say about the way we’ve been treated!”
Half an hour later, Rosa found herself in a classroom at the Oratory School in Brompton, attached to the magnificent church, where an interrogation unit had been set up. Her father had been separated from her as soon as they had exited the Black Maria; wildly, Rosa had wondered when—and even if—she would ever see him again.
She’d briefly glimpsed the massive, ornate dome of the church before she’d been ushered into the school and brought to a hallway that had clearly been requisitioned for women who had been arrested. Classrooms had been turned into interrogation rooms, and various women—suspects—sat in chairs along the walls, waiting for their turn to be questioned.Rosa saw that some looked terrified, others resigned; some were dressed in their finest clothes, others shabbily, in garments that were well-worn and patched. There was a mother with two young children, one of them weeping quietly as she put her arms around her, and another woman who glared at everyone whose eye she chanced to meet. Some spoke German, in low, fearful voices; others spoke flawless English. Yet they were all here; they were all under suspicion… just as she was.
Rosa waited on a wooden chair outside one of the classrooms, her body twanging with tension, her eyes gritty with fatigue, her mind racing down dead-ends. What was happening to her father? What would her mother do, if both she and her father were, heaven forbid, taken somewhere? What about her job, her life? What aboutPeter? She shuddered to think how he might react, knowing she’d been called in for questioning. Having to tell him why…
Finally, after an endless hour, she was called into one of the classrooms.
Two stony-faced men in plain clothes sat at the front, a typed sheet that Rosa couldn’t read lying on the desk before them. Managing to murmur a greeting, she perched on the edge of a chair set on the opposite of the desk, tucking her hands under her thighs. Already she felt queasy, lightheaded, her heart beginning to hammer.
Then the questions began—one after the other, relentless, merciless.Did she support the German nation and its military and political aspirations? Had she been in contact with anyone of Nazi sympathies since she’d arrived in Great Britain? Had she given money to any organization that supported Nazi endeavors? Was she willing to engage in war work that would be to the detriment of her native country?
“I amJewish…” Rosa said, her tone turning more desperate with each answer, her German accent becoming morepronounced, in her agitation. “I have no allegiance to Germany… none at all… I left it because I didn’t want to be there… youknowwhat the Nazis have been doing to Jews…” Her voice trailed away as one of the officers folded his hands on top of the table in a way that made her fear for what he would say next.
“You see, Miss Herzelfeld,” he remarked in a tone that was decidedly cool, “we are in a bit of a quandary. For while it is indeed true that you are Jewish, we have reason to believe that during your time in Berlin, you fraternized with high-ranking officers of the German government, and even the SS.” He glanced down at the paper before him. “I have it on good authority that you were, in fact, a charming hostess for your father’s parties, at which many Nazi officials were present.”
Rosa felt the blood drain from her face as she stared at the steely-eyed man. She could think of nothing to say.
The man raised his eyebrows. “Would you say that is an accurate statement?”
“I…” She licked her lips. Her English had improved greatly over the last year, but right then, she struggled to form sentences, tothink. “My father had no choice but to treat Nazi officers,” she finally said in little more than a whisper. “Medically. He could not refuse them, not as a Jew. You must know this.”
“Yes, he treated them for venereal diseases.” The officer’s lips twisted as his iron gaze settled on her. “He was known for his discretion, it seemed, which might have been why he was so in demand. But that does not answer the question of why the men he treated for such confidential conditions were subsequently entertained atyour home.”
Rosa steeled herself not to look away from his gaze, both curious and condemning.What kind of Jew did such a thing?He might as well have asked the question out loud.
“They… they liked him,” she admitted in a low voice. She didn’t know what else to say. “At least, he amused them,” she made herself continue, after a moment. “For a little while, when a Nazi could… could still associate with a Jew, without… without repercussions. He was like a… a pet to them. Nothing more.” She looked down at her lap. “It was a way to survive,” she finished in a low voice. “That was all.”
An excruciating silence settled on the room, stretched between them like something about to snap. Then the other officer remarked acidly, “And yet many Jews, in fact just aboutallother Jews, did not use such means as away to survive.” The words rang through the room, falling into the stillness.
Once again, Rosa had no reply to make. How could she defend her father?Herself? She hadn’t wanted to hear his excuses back in the Black Maria—why should this man, now? Misery swamped her, along with a terrible, endless guilt. “He was trying to protect us,” she said at last, knowing how feeble she sounded. How feeble shefelt.
“Protect you.” The officer sounded derisive.
Rosa blinked hard and made herself stay silent. Her explanations, such as they were, seemed only likely to condemn her—and her father—all the more.
The second officer glanced down at the paper in front of him. “Did you ever meet Adolf Eichmann?” he asked abruptly.
Eichmann, coming back to haunt them! Her father had been so stupidly proud of that connection, of what it could do for them.
