Page 64 of The Girl with a Secret
Ernst let out a restless sigh, his long fingers toying with the stem of his champagne coupe. “Yes, I suppose. I never had anything against the Jews themselves, you know. They were just people to me, really. But there was a party line?—”
“Yes,” she said softly. “I know.”
“If I was to succeed?—”
“Yes.”
He leaned forward, looking hopeful. “You understand?”
Rosa took a careful breath. “Tell me something,” she said softly. “What happened on Kristallnacht?”
Ernst stared at her for a moment, his brow furrowed with perplexity, and then his expression fell and he slowly shook his head. “Rosa…”
“I’d like to know.” He’d ended things between them immediately after, but Rosa had already felt the fragility of their relationship, if she could have even called it that. Their meetings had been sporadic, hidden, no more than moments snatched, and those with seeming reluctance, as Ernst had cared more and more about his career.
He let out a long, low breath. “I expect you already do. It was a wild night. Emotions were running high…”
“No, they weren’t,” Rosa returned sharply. He made it sound as if it had been a raucous party! “Jews were hiding in theirhomes, Ernst, their shops boarded up as they feared for their very lives?—”
“I was under order, Rosa. Surely you understand that?”
“To dowhat?”
He shrugged, seeming a bit restive. “To rough people up. Break a few windows. You know what happened that night.”
Rosa glanced down at her barely touched glass of champagne. “You came to our villa that night,” she said slowly. “I was waiting for you.”
“I remember.”
They’d already heard the news of what was happening through all of Berlin, and indeed all of Germany. They’d seen the smoke from the fires polluting the sky; the Fasanenstrasse synagogue had been burned to the ground. Thousands of Jews had lost their businesses, hundreds arrested, like Sophie’s father. She thought of his frightened face and something in her hardened.
“What did you do that night?” she asked Ernst. “I know it doesn’t really matter anymore, but I’ve always wanted to know.” Even now, she could remember how he’d come to her at the villa, taken her in his arms. There had been a wild glitter in his eyes, his knuckles scraped and bloody. She’d pretended not to see, not to know.
He frowned, a petulant downturn to his mouth that alarmed Rosa, because this was not how he was meant to respond. This was not how she was meant to act. If Pennell could hear her now, he’d probably be furious. Still, she wanted his response.
“Ernst,” she said quietly.
“I can’t remember exactly,” he replied, shrugging. “We went down the Kurfürstendamm, breaking windows. One old Jew started to make a fuss, and I hit him, I think. He fell, cracked his head.” He gazed at her now with hard, defiant eyes. “I think I might have killed him. What of it?”
Rosa just shook her head. She felt sick inside, with shame and grief. She’d believed herself inlovewith this man once, and why? Because he’d smiled at her and told her pretty things?
“Why bring all that up now, Rosa?” Ernst demanded.
“I just wanted to know,” she said quietly. “That’s all.”
“Do you know what happened to me after you left?” he asked in a low voice, leaning over the table. “I was kicked out of the SS. Oh, they said it was a transfer, but I knew the truth. Instead of rising in the ranks, I had to start all over in the Luftwaffe. And you know why? Because of you. Associating with a Jew. One of the other officers at your father’s house must have told them my name. Any chance to push someone else down, get ahead.” He shook his head, his mouth twisting bitterly.
Rosa had no idea what to say. Was she sorry for him? No, she found she couldn’t be. And yet… some small part of her still had the urge to relent. To forgive, or at least to understand. Was Ernst simply a product of his time, his upbringing, as anyone was? His father had hated Jews, Rosa recalled. Ernst had shared that as a point in his favor; he wasn’t like his old man, he’d told her. He didn’t care about the Jews either way, but if he was going to make his mark, then she had to understand…
Briefly, Rosa closed her eyes. What a fool she’d been. What a misguided, lovesick fool.
“Are you happy here, Rosa?” Ernst asked. “You seem to be doing well for yourself.”
“Yes, I am.” And with that, Rosa told him all her lies, surprised at how easily they tripped from her tongue—she was a typist, she lived in a flat with a few other girls, she went out every weekend, dancing the night away.
“I thought London would look worse,” Ernst admitted, frowning. “Back home, we were told that the city was almost entirely destroyed, but I didn’t see any bomb damage anywhere.”
Rosa shrugged. “Oh, here and there, I suppose,” she replied airily. “A little bit. But your bombers keep missing the city. And we’ve shot down so many of your planes.”
