Liese focused on the satin-striped wallpaper rather than her father’s narrowed eyes and held her ground. ‘You’re making a mistake, Papa, and you have to listen. Otto is right. Things aren’t just difficult; they’re falling apart. If we don’t do something, as unimaginable as it sounds, we’ll lose everything. I was there today, at the store. It was horrible. Bruckner hates us.’
‘Does he? And that matters to me why?’ Paul’s voice was like velvet, his eyes like a panther’s.
Part of Liese wanted to move away from him; to apologise and be his dutiful little girl again. When she didn’t, Paul’s voice took on a sneering edge that knotted her stomach.
‘Oh, I see where this is going. You think the views of a shop manager matter more than mine. You think because a clerk says jump that Paul Elfmann should jump. Are you a communist now? Is that it? Has Michael recruited you for his little gang? Do you want to see everything I’ve worked for taken away and redistributed to the masses?’
‘No, of course not!’
Liese gathered herself up, determined not to be silenced.
‘I love the salon as much as you do. It’s my whole life, as much as it is yours. I don’t want to lose it – the thought terrifies me. But you keep saying we’re different and I’m not so sure anymore that we are. We’re Jews, Papa. Whether you agree with that or not, it’s what the Party says we are. We have to face what that means.’
You have to face what that means. You have to be my father, do the right thing and protect us.
She didn’t have the language to explain that to him. When he shook his head and sighed, she knew it wouldn’t matter if she had.
‘To think I had such hopes for you, that I was growing proud of you. Maybe it’s time I looked for a successor with a bit of backbone, who won’t panic at the first whisper of a problem and let me down.’
The first whisper of a problem? Was he truly so deluded?
‘When have I ever let you down? Who could have worked harder to learn from you than me? I’m not the one at fault here—’
‘Leave it, Liese. I know you mean well, but this doesn’t help.’
‘But I can’t stay silent, I can’t do nothing. This is my future too…’
But Otto’s hand was on her elbow and she was out in the hall before she could find the right argument.
‘He wouldn’t listen then.’
Michael. He must have come into the building while she was fighting her father.
Liese pressed against the door, holding it ajar, and waved him away.
‘I don’t need another one of your sermons.’
Instead of leaving, he slipped in beside her. ‘What’s happened?’
Part of her wanted to chase him away; part of her needed the old Michael. He was, after all, one of the Haus Elfmann family: surely if anyone could understand the shock of this, it was him?
She turned round to face him, so she was sure he was listening. Maybe if she was honest and didn’t take up a position, or let him get angry and take up an opposing one, they could find a way through this together.
‘It was awful today. At Hertie. They won’t deal with us. Their new man treated us like we were worthless. And then, on the way home, it was as if I’d never looked properly at the streets before. I don’t think we’re different anymore, Michael; I was foolish to ever say it. And I don’t think we’re safe. Uncle Otto tried to tell Father that and I tried to tell him and, no, he won’t listen. I don’t know what it is, if it’s arrogance or some blind faith in Haus Elfmann’s standing. I don’t think even your father knows what to do.’
Michael’s response wasn’t a tirade or a lecture, but neither was it the reassurance she had hoped for.
‘I knew this would happen. I told Father not to go when Bruckner’s letter came, but he thought he knew better. He thought The Fixer could stride in and call the shots.’
‘You knew they’d cancelled the order?’ Liese’s tongue felt too thick for her mouth. ‘Why on earth didn’t you tell me?’
Michael scratched his head as if the idea had never occurred to him.
‘Would you have listened to me any more than he did?’
‘Of course I…’ But he raised an eyebrow and she couldn’t finish the sentence. ‘No. I don’t suppose I would. But I’m listening now.’
She leaned back against the wall. Inside Paul’s office, the argument was still raging.
‘I wish I hadn’t been there today. Seeing your father so powerless; being treated as though we were worthless. Bruckner was so comfortable doing it. And yet Father was just as comfortable dismissing everything Uncle Otto and I said. He’s convinced Haus Elfmann is above all this mess.’
She paused, remembering the ease with which Bruckner had insulted them.
‘It’s going to get worse, isn’t it? Father is wrong: no Jew is safe, are they – no matter what they’ve achieved? No matter how loyal they feel to Germany?’
Michael shook his head.
‘Then is Otto right, should we leave?’
‘It’s one option. Starting up somewhere else. But Paul will have to move fast because that window is closing. Applications to emigrate are getting harder and more complicated and the cost is escalating.’
‘You said that’s one option. What are the others?’
‘You could join us and fight back. Or do nothing, like your father wants, and pretend nothing will come.’
Liese rubbed her forehead, where a headache was gathering.
‘You make it sound like we’ve got choices, but not one pathway you’ve offered guarantees that the salon – or we – will be safe. Tell me there’s another one that does.’
Behind the door, Otto was still pleading for Paul to see sense.
Michael slipped an arm round Liese’s shoulders. She already knew he had nothing to say.
Four
Karen
Aldershot, August 1976
Frimley base, training cadets 9 a.m.–6 p.m. Mess dinner (Aldershot) 7–10 p.m. Mrs Hubbard available from 1.30 p.m. if required.
Karen crumpled the note and threw it into the bin. Why did he keep doing this? Writing these ridiculous notes, providing a schedule of his whereabouts, as if she couldn’t guess where he was. It was not as if his days varied. It was not as if she cared.
Have a lovely day, Karen darling. I’ve left you £5: go shopping; treat yourself.
That would be a nice change.
Perhaps she should write back, treat him to her day: bed till whenever; lazing around till it’s time to serve chips and get leered at; smoking; playing Thin Lizzy full blast with the windows wide open. That might give him enough insight into her life to leave her alone.
And what was this ‘Mrs Hubbard is available’? Why on earth did he think that was news? She was always available, always sticking her nose in. And this idea that Karen still spent her summer holidays with their neighbour: didn’t he know that she’d finished with that charade long ago? The effort of remembering the quirks and ignoring the digs from the endless troop of grandchildren had lost its allure by the time she was fourteen. ‘Send her round whenever you like’ had faded to a polite fiction. Didn’t he know anything?