She stood at the door with her back to him, and he took her hand. The last time he’d chased her down and taken her hand, they’d kissed.
This time, she turned the doorknob and tugged her hand free. “Goodbye, Hemming.”
After she left, he thumped back against the wall and clapped his hands on top of his head. Of all the sacrifices he’d made, losing her would be the most difficult.
42
COPENHAGEN
MONDAY, OCTOBER11, 1943
Else slid her notebooks into her briefcase at the end of a day spent in meetings as the shrunken staff made plans. She hated acting as if she’d participate in research when she wouldn’t.
At least she hadn’t seen Gebhardt.
To avoid goodbyes, she left half an hour early. Outside in the cool and clear day, she indulged in one look back at the institute, her dream, now gone.
Else rode her bicycle home to save time. On her lunch break, she’d withdrawn money from the bank and visited Nordisk Boghandel to tell them she couldn’t transport any more refugees. Thank goodness, they had plenty of contacts.
She crossed the bridge over the chain of lakes. How she’d miss Copenhagen, her grandparents ... Hemming.
A cord of emotions twisted inside her, with strands of melancholy and mortification and defensiveness.
He’d been disappointed in her, and mortification whipped around her heart. Then defensiveness made its stand. Was it selfish to ask him to save his life? To choose her and a life together?
She pedaled alongside the lake. Confronting Hemming took courage, but once again, confronting had created strife—and right before her departure.
Her timing couldn’t have been worse, her confrontation the bad peanut at the bottom of the bag, leaving a rancid taste to linger.
At the boardinghouse, Else lifted her gaze to the garret window. Maybe they’d have time together tonight before the boat departed. She could apologize.
Else steeled her mouth. Or he could apologize.
She shoved her bike inside and parked it under the stairs.
She’d packed the night before. She’d considered bringing her suitcase to work, but it would have raised questions on a day she needed to be inconspicuous, especially in the same building as Gebhardt.
Else climbed the stairs. Fru Riber would be preparing dinner, allowing Else to slip in and out.
The door to the living room opened, and Fru Riber stepped onto the landing wearing a big grin. “Else! You’re early. What a pleasant surprise.”
Else gripped the banister, and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. After the landlady had betrayed Laila, Else had avoided her. She certainly didn’t plan to help in the kitchen today.
Fru Riber’s blue eyes sparkled a bit too much. “Come, let’s have tea.”
“Tea?” Never before had Fru Riber issued such an invitation. Why now when Else had little over an hour to get to Vedbæk? “Not today, thank you.”
Fru Riber blocked the staircase and gestured to the living room. “Be my guest. I owe you an apology.”
Else glanced up the stairs. “Let me—let me put away my things.”
“Nonsense. Come.” She scooped an arm around Else’s back and guided her into the living room. “The tea’s on the stove. I’ll get it. Would you like sugar? I have a little sugar.”
“No—no, thank you.” Else felt dazed as she lowered herself to the sofa. What was this about? Why wasn’t Fru Riber making dinner?
Fru Riber scurried into the kitchen, returned with a tray, poured tea, and handed Else the cup and saucer. Her hand shook. Then she stood by the coffee table with a strange smile and claspedher hands before her stomach. “I want you to know I didn’t give Laila’s parents’ address to the police. I gave them a fake address.”
“Oh?” Had she? If she had, she would have been quick to say so when Else and the other girls confronted her.
