Henrik, as the new man, talked little and listened much, a skill he’d learned from being Hemming.
In the room sat conservatives and communists, physicians and journalists, all putting aside their differences to work together for the good of the Danish people.
Henrik was in the right place.
39
FRIDAY, OCTOBER1, 1943
Tonight the Nazis would come for Laila. Else sat in the boardinghouse living room with an unread book in her lap. Three students played cards. Hemming whittled as if nothing bothered him—but with a stiff set to his shoulders.
Some fifty people were hiding at Lyd-af-Lys. Would the Nazis raid the villa? Any informers in Vedbæk could have seen the flow of refugees or heard Janne buying and borrowing food and supplies.
A car engine rumbled on the street below, and Else sucked in a breath and caught Hemming’s eye. After curfew, only Germans and the police would be out.
But the rumble faded, and Else forced her muscles to relax.
If only she could sit with Hemming. At least she’d been able to talk with him at the villa this afternoon when she’d escorted her shoe repairman and his wife into hiding.
With Bohr, Wolff, and others gone, the institute was in shambles. On Thursday, Wolff’s team voted unanimously to take the rest of the week off to spread the word.
Else’s grandparents had opened their home to two elderly couples and had persuaded friends to shelter refugees too.
“Good night, everyone,” a student said.
Else jerked up her gaze. Annika, Dorthe, and Bent were pushing in their chairs.
Her watch read 11:15. She’d never be able to sleep, but she could at least rest.
She planned to sleep in her clothes with her Danish identification papers in her pocket in case the Germans confused her with Laila. Hemming had promised to sleep on the landing on the men’s floor so he could hear any problems. So he could protect her and the others.
Else rose with book in hand. “Good night, Hemming.”
“Good night.” The timbre of his voice filled in the cracks in her strength.
She headed out to the landing and up the stairs.
A motor grumbled outside, then cut. Car doors slammed.
Else whirled around in the same spot where she and Hemming had kissed. On the landing, he held up a hand to calm her.
Someone banged on the door and rang the bell over and over.
Upstairs, Fru Riber came out onto the landing and leaned over the banister in her bathrobe. “Goodness. Who’s making such a racket at this time of night?”
“I’ll get the door.” Hemming thumped downstairs.
“Open up!” a man yelled in Danish, pounding the door.
Would they break it down? Gripping the banister, Else eased down half a flight.
“I’m coming,” Hemming said in his big, booming voice, and he opened the door.
Two men stood on the sidewalk, one in a black Schalburg Corps uniform and the other in the green-gray uniform, peaked cap, and tall black boots of the German security police.
The Schalburg man addressed Hemming. “We are here for the Jewess Laila Berend.”
“Why?” Hemming stood in the doorway. “What is her crime?”
