She was flushed, her skin prickling. She hoped he couldn't notice in the lamplight. "I found it myself. In a shop two Christmases ago, when we went to Bavaria."
"Really?" He snapped it open. "Hope," he read. "Now there's an appropriate sentiment for this stage of the war." He turned the locket over and the small pebble fell into his palm. "And a piece of grit left inside! Sloppy, no?" He tossed it onto the carpet where it was lost in the dark, watching the frantic flicker of her eyes. "Yet I don't remember this piece. And I remember everything."
The thud of bombs was growing in volume. She closed her eyes. "Jürgen, please, let's go to the cellar where it's safe."
"This wouldn't have caught my attention except for the visitor you had today. Some mysterious older man. And then you put on your outdoor coat and disappear in a hurry, not returning until dark. Why was that, Greta?"
"I think you're mistaken."
"Not according to Ingrid." He smiled thinly. "Ingrid, who knows better than to keep secrets from me."
"Ingrid is a silly gossip who exaggerates."
He laughed. "I think it's called telling the truth, my dear."
"If she is talking behind my back I want her fired!"
"When you have no power, Greta, everyone betrays you. Everyone." He dangled the penguin in front of her face. "A mysterious visitor, a new bauble, the disorder of packing. My darling wife, what is going on?"
Another bomb, closer this time. The window rattled.
"How dare you pry into my private business!"
"How dare you keep things from me." He swung the penguin again from his fingers, studying her carefully. She watched as if hypnotized, thinking desperately. She dared not betray Owen.
"It… it's from my father," she finally stammered. "He came today. A quick visit as he passes through." Ingrid, she knew, might have passed on a description that Jürgen would recognize as fitting Kohl.
"Ah." He flipped the piece up and bunched it in his fist, then looked hard at her. "Otto in Berlin? How surprising. I thought he'd disappeared in France."
"He just showed up. I was startled. He gave the locket to me. He said he got it in… Paris. That it reminded him of me, of the expedition. He's worried about the bombing and invited me to… to accompany him on a trip. A business trip. I was going to ask you about it at breakfast."
Drexler's face was impassive. "I see."
"There's no secret, Jürgen…"
"Ingrid thought there was."
"You know how she jumps to conclusions— "
"Silence!" He probed. "And were you going to come back from this trip?"
She looked at him then a long time, summoning her courage. This was the point of no return, wasn't it? This was the time to finally tell the truth, to him and to herself. "No. I'm leaving you, Jürgen." She tried to keep her voice steady, but it caught. He still thinks Owen is dead, she reminded herself.
"So." His face betrayed the hollowness that Antarctica had left in their relationship. "You're leaving me. Here, now, at a time when Germany is in such crisis."
"I don't love you anymore." Her voice was a whisper but she realized suddenly that the statement was true. "I never learned to love you as a wife should and I want to get out from under the threat of the bombs. There's nothing in our marriage to hold me here. Papa knows that. He's known for a long time."
Drexler looked as if he was in physical pain. "When? When will you leave?"
"Tomorrow, I think."
"My God. How long have you been planning this?"
"I haven't planned it. It… just… happened. I'm sorry, Jürgen. You should leave Berlin too. But not with me."
"I can't abandon the Reich." His tone was still stunned. "I'll never abandon the Reich. You know that."
She nodded. "I know. And I won't sacrifice my life for it. Not anymore. I want my life back, Jürgen. I want me back. We each thought we could change the other and we failed."
His eyes roamed the room as if looking for a clue. "But I still love you." It was plaintive. There was another boom and the window rattled nervously. The bombs were getting closer.
"I'm sorry, Jürgen. Please, let's go to the cellar. If that window shatters we could be hurt."
He nodded but didn't move. "Is this why Otto sneaked back? To get you?"
She shrugged.
He was thinking aloud. "Yet why would a coward like Otto Kohl risk coming back to Berlin? To fetch a daughter he's ignored his whole life? Somehow I doubt it. To fetch some ill-gotten money? His war profiteering? That, I could understand."
"Jürgen, the bombs…" There was another explosion, nearer, and the window rattled again.
"And how did he get here?"
"Jürgen, I don't know. Please…"
"And he buys you jewelry…?" He looked at the penguin, puzzled. Then he slipped it in his pocket. "Well. Would you have informed me at all if we hadn't had this little confrontation? I doubt it. Left even a note? Probably not."
She cast her eyes downward.
"I might have followed, you know."
"Jürgen, please. This is hard. I don't want to hurt you. Just let me go."
"Ah, of course. Just say goodbye to six years of marriage. Poof! Well. It's charming, this little reunion of yours with Papa, but I feel left out— as I'm sure you can see. Otto Kohl magically materializes? Very odd. I think I want Otto to come for dinner tomorrow night. My curiosity has been aroused. We'll discuss the future then, yes?"
Greta swallowed and nodded. She'd be gone by then.
"And you'll let me go?"
Another bomb went off, and he stood. "I've never wanted a woman who doesn't want me." His voice was strained as he said it. "Hurry then! Let's go to the cellar."
The next morning there was a stranger in Greta's kitchen. He wore a black SS uniform and was reading the newspaper as if he owned the place. His chair was positioned near the rear door.
"Who's this?" Greta demanded.
The security policeman gave no answer. Ingrid, making an elaborate show of polishing the teapot, glanced at the man as if noticing him for the first time. "Your husband invited him here for your security," she said. She avoided Greta's eye.
"I need no special security."
"Herr Drexler said you do." Now the maid looked at her smugly, as if this had been just what she expected. Greta could have strangled her.
"Oh really? And where is Herr Drexler?"
"He's gone out."
"Then I'm going out too." She marched to the front foyer to fetch her coat. There was a second SS man there, his chair by the door. He watched her impassively as she put the coat on, saying nothing. When she moved toward the door he stood politely, braced.
"I'm sorry, Frau Drexler. Your husband has deemed it unsafe to go outside today. We've been asked to ensure your protection in this house."
"Nonsense. I have an appointment. Get out of the way."
"I'm sorry, Frau Drexler."
She hesitated. "Am I a prisoner in my own home?"
"I'm sorry, Frau Drexler. May I take your coat?"
She stood in the foyer, frightened and furious. The night had been dreadful and she was tired. Jürgen had said nothing more during the air raid but appeared to be brooding. Instead of going to his bed after the bombing he'd gone to his study and began working the telephone, searching for intact lines. She'd been furious with him for keeping her locket but feared that an argument over the jewelry might betray Owen. So she'd gone to her own room but couldn't sleep, worrying how much he'd guessed. Their own telephone had rung early in the morning and Jürgen answered immediately. Now he was gone.
If she missed the noon rendezvous, Papa and Owen might dare come here…
Did Jürgen really think her so hapless?
She surrendered her coat to the sentry. "Well. In that case." Greta retreated to the dining room and ate breakfast alone. What did Jürgen know? What would Jürgen do? She went to the study to check the cache of Reichsmarks and gold coin they'd stored for an emergency. It was gone, of course.