“Perfect.” Else unwound her scarf. “I’ll change, then I’ll come down to help.”
“I need to warm up first.” Laila dashed to the woodstove.
“All right.” Else turned back to the stairway and almost ran into a ... Viking? “Oh! Excuse me.”
“Excuse me.” The man backed up, filling the doorframe. Easily a foot taller than Else’s five foot five, he boasted a full reddish-gold beard, a sharp nose, and deep-set eyes of brilliant blue. Instead of Viking garb, a poorly cut worker’s jacket draped his large frame.
He still stood in her way, looking a bit lost, so she gave him a polite smile. “Are you here to fix something?”
He paused.“Nej.”
Fru Riber darted over. “My apologies. I didn’t have a chance to introduce you ladies to our new boarder. This is Henning Andersen.He’s a shipyard worker, but don’t worry. He’s in the garret room, and he’ll give you no trouble.” That was half promise, half warning.
The poor man’s eyebrows rose.
Well, Else was no snob. She extended her hand. “I’m Else Jensen. Henning Andersen, was it?”
“Nej, Hemming.” He drew out theMand engulfed her hand in his, rough and chapped.
“Ah, Hemming. After the mythological shapeshifter.”
Golden eyebrows jolted high, he dropped her hand, and his gaze slid away. “After my grandfather.”
Fru Riber patted Else’s shoulder. “Else is a professor. Remember that.”
“I’m not a professor yet.” She gave Herre Andersen an apologetic smile. “I’m doing my postdoctoral studies in theoretical physics.”
His eyes widened.
Perhaps she was a snob after all. Why not cite her PhD from the University of California and state that she worked withtheNiels Bohr? “I’m a scientist,” she translated.
“Oh,” he said. “Ja.”
Fru Riber made a shooing motion. “Out of her way. Your old landlady said you were quiet and polite. I expect you to act that way.”
“Ja, Fru.” He bowed his head and stepped aside.
“I am glad to meet you, Herre Andersen.” Else smiled and headed upstairs.
As she climbed, the day’s heaviness settled back in place. A lot of good a PhD and a position at the world-renowned institute would do if she became an eternal assistant.
Like pungent, fuming aqua regia, failure to advance would dissolve her dream of Nobel gold.
3
COPENHAGEN
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY27, 1943
Henrik stacked his crew’s leftover lumber in the timber shed. He grunted his farewell to the other men and rolled the empty handcart outside.
The sun’s last rays spilled orange over the city, over the harbor, and over Ahlefeldt Shipbuilding Company.
Henrik tugged his cap low and headed to the carpenter shop, past men shutting down equipment. Workshops and rolling cranes surrounded the ways and docks where cargo ships were constructed and repaired.
To his right rose the stately brick office building, where he’d once worked on the luxurious top floor. More accurately, he hadn’t worked at all.
If Frederik Ahlefeldt deigned to look down on his workers below, would he be able to see past Henrik’s beard and scruffy clothing? What would Far think if he learned his only son and heir had performed menial work at the shipyard for almost three years?
