Page 44 of The Girl with a Secret
Rosa swallowed audibly. “Yes… once,” she admitted. Or twice.
“He came to your home, I believe?” The man’s expression was pitiless. “To one of these parties, where you acted as hostess?”
Only when her mother had been indisposed, yet Rosa could hardly explain aboutthat—the sedative her mother took to block out the pain of her husband’s infidelity, the evenings where she lay in bed and sobbed, refusing to come downstairs to grace her traitorous husband’s arm, and so Rosa had taken her place. It hadn’t been very often, she thought, and yet she knew it had been often enough.
And, in truth, her father had sometimes preferred her to be by his side on such occasions, young and charming, and most importantly, not jealous of any attention he gave elsewhere. Even more damningly, Rosa hadlikedbeing preferred, even if she’d dreaded the parties themselves—the knife-edge they all seemed to be balancing on. More than once, one of the Nazis’ mocking laughter had taken a dangerously cruel edge, a wild glitter had entered their eyes. There had been the awful sense that the evening could end in arrest, or worse.
“Yes,” she admitted, in little more than a breath of sound. “He did. But I did not always act as hostess?—”
“Eichmann is currently the head of the department of Jewish Affairs in Berlin,” the officer cut across her, forcing her to fall silent. “In particular with regards to emigration.” He let a certain weight settle on the word, along with the implication that Eichmann had helped them, and for all Rosa knew, he might have.
“Eichmann was posted to Vienna before we left,” she replied. She had no idea if her possession of this knowledge would harm or exonerate her, but she did know that the man had not been in Berlin by the time they’d emigrated, even if he was now. “I met him years ago, before all of this…”
“In 1938, I believe, right before he left for Vienna, to aid with emigration affairs there.”
She bit her lip, hard enough to taste blood, its metallic tang flooding her mouth. How did they know somuch? Had theybeen keeping track of them since they’d arrived? And how could they have possibly found out when the wretched Eichmann had come to their house? None of it boded well for her or her father, not at all. “I can’t remember exactly when,” she answered after a moment, struggling to hold onto her dignity. “But yes, around then, I suppose. What does it matter? Neither of us liked the man. At all. We would have preferred to have nothing to do with him.”
Her protests were utterly ignored, and the officer continued as if she hadn’t spoken, his tone both cordial and relentless, “Did Eichmann aid your own emigration? Perhaps he felt he owed your father a favor, or maybe he just wished to repay a certain kindness?” His eyebrows lifted while Rosa stared at him miserably. “According to our sources, your father was able to take a great deal of money with him, which, as I’m sure you know, is very unusual for Jewish refugees. The German government put strict regulations on what Jews could take out of the country.” He paused while Rosa pressed her lips together, determined not to rise to his bait. It felt like anything she might say would incriminate her. “It suggests he was aided by an official…” he continued. “An important official.”
“I… I don’t know…” And if he was, she wondered, was that wrong? Surely, they weren’t the only Jews who had tried to play the system. Who, really, could blame them?
The man cocked his head. “Come now, Miss Herzelfeld. You must know something about it. All that money? You seem a sensible girl.” He smiled thinly. In the circumstances, it hardly felt like a compliment.
“I believe he did attempt to take money out,” Rosa admitted after a moment, her voice scratchy, the words coming painfully. “I… I don’t know if Eichmann aided him in that regard. But, in any case, my father never received the funds here in England. Surely you must know that?” She lifted her chin, despisingherself for being so cringing and weak. She had nothing to hide, she told herself. She was not a Nazi sympathizer, and she certainly wasn’t a spy.
Yes, she’d entertained Nazi officials in her home, along with her father—and her mother, who had somehow escaped this dreadful interrogation—but she hadn’t enjoyed it, she hadn’t curried favor, and she had no love of any Nazi—no, notany—now. She’d simply done what she’d had to, in order to survive, just as she’d told the officers. Was that so wrong?
Belatedly, Rosa realized she was echoing what her father had asked her just hours ago, and she hated herself for it. She wasn’t like him, she told herself, shewasn’t.
She straightened, forcing herself to meet the officer’s gaze. “I wouldn’t be working sixty hours a week at a Lyons teashop,” she told the man with some asperity, “if my father had received that money.”
“I know the money didn’t go into his account,” the officer returned evenly. “Where itdidgo is another matter.”
Rosa stared at him as realization trickled icily through her. “You think the money was used for some Nazi cause? That my father gave it away… toNazis?” she surmised in a hollow voice. The idea was laughable, as well as utterly offensive. “But we’reJewish.”
“Jews who fraternized with some of the highest-ranking Nazis in all of Germany.” The man gave her a cold smile. “Strange, that.”
Again, Rosa had no real reply to make. She knew they hadn’t been the only Jews to make a deal with the devil, but itwasstrange. It was strange, and it was terrible, and when it came down to it, in a moment like this, she knew she had no real defense.
“I think we have enough information here,” the man announced as he stood up, the interrogation clearly over.
Rosa looked at him fearfully, her hands gripping the side of her chair. “What…” She had to clear her throat and start again. “What have you decided?”
“You are being reclassed as Category B,” the man replied, “which is enough to have you interned for the foreseeable future. You will be taken from here to Holloway Prison, and from there to a suitable location.”
“Prison…” Rosa gaped at him before she lurched forward, one hand outstretched, as if to grab his sleeve, although she did not possess the courage to actually touch him. “Please,” she begged. “I’m Jewish, I hate the Nazis. I will do anything—anything—for this war. I’m not a spy. I don’t know where the money is…” Her words became garbled, spoken half in German, which surely did not help her cause. Tears ran down her cheeks unchecked. “Nein… bitte…”
The officer looked down at her coolly; Rosa saw no pity in his eyes at all. “Good day, Miss Herzelfeld,” he replied, and the two of them walked out of the room, leaving Rosa alone, sagging in her seat.
She’d barely had time to take a shaky breath and wipe her damp cheeks before a stony-faced woman entered.
“You’re to come with me.”
Rosa stood up on shaky legs; she felt as if she could collapse in a heap. “Where am I going?” she asked in a thready voice.
“Holloway.”
“Now?” Her head felt as if it were spinning. “Please—may I go back to my flat first? I don’t have any of my things. My clothes…”
