The Queen's Accomplice (Maggie Hope Mystery #6)(39)

“But Mutti was a Nazi—she, she believed in all of their insanity!”

Miles gave her a warning look. Elise realized he was cautioning her—even with the loud music, the hotel suite was surely bugged. She needed to be extremely careful of what she said.

“And Margareta? Margaret Hope? My half sister?” Elise managed. She had not forgotten how she’d witnessed Maggie shooting the young German guard. And Maggie’s using her and her connections for whatever undercover British mission she was on. Maggie had lied to her. All the while pretending to be her friend.

“She’s back in Britain as well, as far as I know.”

“I see.” Elise felt nothing but disgust for her half sister.

“There will be a memorial service. We both must be there.”

Elise tried to picture her mother in London, working against the Nazis, and came up blank.

“And you?” Elise looked around her. The suite was sumptuous. “You seem to be doing well.”

“Well, they seized the house in Grunewald—for the Party’s use, of course—but put me up here.” Miles attempted a smile. “It’s still advantageous to be a famous conductor. They can’t kill me so easily or have me ‘disappear’ without an explanation. So they have created the public image of me as a bereaved widower, mourning for my beautiful patriot wife, who sacrificed herself in the line of duty. I bury my sorrow by conducting Wagner for Hitler.

“But let’s concentrate on the good,” Miles urged, taking Elise’s thin hand and pressing it to his lips. “I have my beloved daughter back.”

“For now.”

“What do you mean?”

“This isn’t a release—I’m on a nine-day leave.”

“What?” Miles was incensed. “A leave? That is not my arrangement with Himmler—”



“I need to report to Gestapo headquarters at nine tomorrow,” Elise told him, her voice low and even. “I believe my permanent release is contingent on my disavowing Father Licht, and recanting all the things we said publicly about the murder of children—the so-called compassionate death program.”

“Which you will, of course. You will do exactly what you need to, in order to stay out of that place.” Miles stared into his daughter’s face, eyes dark. “In order to stay alive.”

Elise gave a ghost of a smile. “I’ll see what they want, first.” She yawned, a huge gape she didn’t bother to cover. “But first, bed.”

—

When Philby left, Sarah and Hugh regarded each other. Hugh broke their gaze first and looked to the split logs in a rush basket by the fireplace. “I’ll start a fire.”

“Are you hungry? I can see what there is.” Sarah went through an archway to the small kitchen and peered inside the icebox. “Two eggs, a little butter, some onions and potatoes, and a few shriveled little apples—I’ll make an omelet. Oh, look, and they left us a loaf of bread and a bottle of cider!”

While Hugh built up the fire, Sarah made eggs, then brought plates, silverware, and glasses to the dining table.

“Looks lovely!”

“I’m no cook,” Sarah confessed. “I can make the odd egg dish, but I’m not one of those domestic women. And—let me make this clear right now—Sabine isn’t, either.”

“Your French accent,” Hugh said. “It’s so patrician.”

“While my English accent…is not?” Through her years in London, Sarah had kept her working-class Liverpudlian accent.

“Both of your accents are charming.”



“All right, my husband—let’s stay in character,” Sarah admonished.

Hugh grinned. “Oui, ma chéri.”

After they’d finished their meal, Sarah washed and dried the dishes while Hugh put on his coat and gloves and brought in more logs for the fire. Sarah threw on her coat, and together they went out the back door to the small garden, where a weathered wooden bench looked over the lake. The air was clear and crisp, the wind ruffling waves across the glassy slate surface of the water. As the pink and gold sunset faded, reflected by the lake, the three bright stars of Orion’s belt rose in the sky.

Sarah leaned back and their knees touched. “All right, really now—just between you and me—how do you really know Maggie? Were you in love with her?”

In the violet dusk, Hugh put his arm around Sarah’s shoulders. “Maggie? Who’s Maggie?”

In the darkness, Sarah gave a catlike, satisfied smile. Together, they sat in a charged silence as more and more stars appeared, glittering like crushed diamonds in the night sky.





Chapter Seven


“I could have been in there with you two, you know,” Maggie stated, setting her teacup down with a clink. “I know about ‘cottaging.’ The way pocket squares are folded, foot positions in the loo, so-called glory holes—all those sorts of things.”

Mark’s jaw dropped. “How the hell—I mean, how would a young lady like you know of such a thing?”

David can be quite candid when he has had a few drinks. “Never you mind.”

Maggie and Mark had returned to MI-5 and gone up to Mark’s office, eating pickled beet and margarine sandwiches, and sipping tea Frain’s secretary had provided for them. A large clock ticked the seconds loudly.