She stared at the cuts marking his face and shivered at the prospect of worse.
‘Have you thought about that, Michael? About getting wounded or killed and what that would do to Otto? Or about how crushed he’d be if he could see you standing here, clutching your spoils like a common thief, rather than doing the honest thing and asking? When the salon crashes, you’ll be all he has. Doesn’t that matter to you at all?’
His hands twitched; his face flushed. If he had said yes of course it does, she would have emptied the drawers and given him everything.
‘No. I can’t let it. The cause is what matters. Beating the Nazis is what matters. Family is nothing next to that. And if I can see that, even though I know how much my father cares about me, surely, with the parents you’ve been saddled with, you can see it too.’
He held out his hand. Liese stared at him, reeling from his words, wondering if he was asking for more money.
‘Come with me.’
‘What?’
‘Come with me, Liese. You’re right: none of this matters. We could use your brains and your courage. I’ve seen you battling to hold this place together. Think what you could achieve if you put that energy to better use.’
‘I can’t…’
It was an automatic response. But she could. Her parents lived in a fantasy world – that didn’t mean she had to stay in there with them, feeding their delusions out of a worn-out sense of duty. She could leave with Michael right now – find a life with more meaning.
His hand was still out. She stepped towards it.
‘What would I do, if I came?’
‘So much! We need people with an eye for detail, who can think ahead and plan. You would be—’
His excitement was cut short by the front door slamming.
‘Who’s there? Why can I hear raised voices?’ Otto barrelled into the office, dropping his bag as he came. ‘Don’t tell me you two are still finding reasons to squabble? What is it this time?’
Liese jumped back from Michael’s outstretched hand, scrabbling for an answer before Michael could mention the money or announce she was planning to leave the salon and join the resistance.
‘It’s nothing. Michael was lecturing; I didn’t want to know. The usual stuff.’
Otto wasn’t listening; he was staring at his son.
‘What happened? Who did this to you? Have you been fighting?’
‘Of course I’ve been fighting. What else am I meant to do?’
Michael was still looking at Liese. ‘Are you coming?’
She wanted to say yes, she really did. But then she looked at Otto, saw how aged and brittle his face seemed when he looked at his son. Her shoulders slumped.
‘I can’t.’
Michael’s curse made Otto wince.
Liese tried to grab his arm as he stormed past.
‘You don’t understand. They need me; I can’t pretend I don’t know that. I can’t let them down.’
He shook her off and ran for the door, kicking it shut behind him with a crash that rattled the walls. Otto was left clutching at air.
‘What did he mean? Where were you going?’
‘Nowhere. It doesn’t matter.’
Otto dropped into a chair. He looked old and broken and far too vulnerable to be left.
Liese picked up Paul’s brandy and poured him a large measure.
‘You’re exhausted. Sit quietly; never mind Michael for now. Where were you? You’ve been gone for ages and it’s clearly done you no good. I thought this was meant to be a quick trip, Hamburg and back, but you’ve been gone nearly two weeks.’
Otto drained his glass and held it out for a refill.
‘There was nothing to be had in Hamburg, so I went to Munich and Stuttgart, and half a dozen towns in between. All of it hopeless. Everywhere is controlled as tightly as Berlin. Every factory and supplier is plastered with Adefa stickers and has a blacklist of Jewish businesses as broad as my arm. I couldn’t secure thread or buttons, never mind fabric. We’ll have to cast the net wider, maybe to Poland. That might keep us afloat until the French buyer comes.’
The French buyer. André Bardou, firmly holding on to his position as Paris’s trendsetter. Paul believed Bardou was still loyal and swore he would come in November with his chequebook open. Once, Liese would have been breathless at the merest hint of his arrival, poring over every detail of their brief, flirtatious meetings. Now, she doubted Otto believed in this lifeline any more than she did.
‘You’ll kill yourself, and to no purpose. Even if André is still allowed to use us, we don’t have the bodies, or the funds, to complete a collection. If he comes at all, he can take the unsold stock from last year. Or not. Other than him, we’ve virtually nothing: five dresses ordered at most. The fabric we have left can do for them.’
The question what next hung there unanswerable.
‘Let me see.’
Exhaustion made Liese clumsy. As she reached for the order book, she dislodged a handful of Reichsmarks which had fallen out of the snatched envelopes.
‘Has he been stealing from the salon? Tell me the truth.’
His voice sounded so hopeless.
Liese bent to scoop up the notes rather than face him.
‘No. Of course not. I gave him some money. I thought he might find a better use for it than me wasting it on stock.’
Otto sighed. ‘I know you’re covering for him. He’s been taking money from me for months, for this fight he’s pledged his life to, I presume. I pretend not to notice. If I tackle him, he’ll leave and then what chance do I have to protect him?’ His voice broke on a sob. ‘He’s going to end up dead. He’s a Jew and a communist, and not quiet about either: what does he think is going to happen to him? We haven’t seen anything here yet compared to what’s coming; the Party still has its gloves on. That won’t last, not now they’ve had a free run in Austria. Attacks, expulsions, mass arrests, and none of it challenged. They’re not taking Jewish businesses there – they’re taking Jews.’
He was crying freely now, without noticing the tears.
‘Why wouldn’t your father listen to me? Why wouldn’t he leave? I should have gone; I should have taken Michael away when he threw in his lot with the KPD, but how could I abandon your father? The pair of them have torn me in two.’ His face had caved into shadows and bone.
Liese clutched his hand, but there was nothing she could say to soothe him.
‘Michael is going to get killed. If I don’t do something, if I don’t get him out, my boy won’t last the year.’
How many lies did Paul think André could stomach? Liese twisted her napkin under the table as her father batted the Frenchman’s questions away.
‘Have times been tough since the Führer moved against Austria? For some perhaps, but not Haus Elfmann. You’ve heard rumours that say otherwise? Our competitors trying to discredit us – you know how this industry works. The last show? Such a triumph, such a shame that you missed it.’
On and on he went, piling up his tall tales until Liese was convinced she would suffocate. Otto had stopped trying to intervene, André had grown steadily quieter; Paul gave no sign that he’d noticed either. He’d been deftly not noticing a thing since they’d stepped out of the November chill and into the warmth of the Hotel Adlon. Liese, however, was raw with discomfort.