The Diplomat's Wife(93)

“I understand. I was glad that you were happy.” The sincerity of his voice shatters my heart. Happiness would have been being with him. He rolls onto his side, facing me. “So what now?”

“Now we try to get out of Berlin alive.”

“You know what I mean, Marta. What about us?”

I take a deep breath, swallow. “I’m married, Paul.”

“Do you love him?”

I look away, unable to lie. “I took vows…” I hear the echo of Emma’s words in mine.

Paul rolls away, slamming his hand against the stone wall so hard I am afraid he might have broken a bone. “Dammit, Marta. Why did things have to turn out this way?”

“I don’t know.”

“You could leave your husband, you know. Get a divorce. Women do it sometimes.” Divorce. My mind whirls. I have heard about divorce, read about it in books, but I never thought of it as something people actually did. Paul continues. “I would care for your daughter. Love her as if she were my own.”

She is yours. My eyes fill with tears and in that moment, I know I have to tell him. “Paul, there’s something that I—” My words are cut off by a banging sound coming from the front room.

Paul leaps up, pulling on his pants. “Someone’s here.” Our eyes meet uneasily. Jan is not supposed to be back so soon. Has someone else found us? Paul reaches for his gun. I pull the top of my dress closed as the door flies open and Jan rushes into the room. I cringe, knowing how ridiculous we must look, half dressed, playing cards scattered across the floor.

“Jan, we were just…” Paul begins.

But if Jan notices anything strange, she gives no indication. “Get dressed quickly,” she instructs, crossing the room toward us. “We have to leave.”

“I thought the flight wasn’t until morning,” I say.

Jan shakes her head. “It is nearly morning.” Paul and I exchange surprised glances. How much time has passed? “Anyway, the flight is out of the question now.” She holds up a newspaper. Printed across the front page under the headline are unmistakable sketches of Jan, myself and Paul.





CHAPTER 23




“I told you we should have killed that police officer,” Jan says to Paul, her voice recriminating. I take the paper from her and scan the article.

“What does it say?” Paul asks, looking over my shoulder.

Jan answers before I can. “That two foreigners liberated the notorious criminal Jan Marcelitis,” she reads, her voice wry. “And murdered an unarmed police officer in cold blood.”

“Unarmed, that’s bullsh—” Seeing my warning expression, he does not finish the sentence.

“How could this have possibly made it to the paper so soon?” I ask.

Jan shrugs. “Someone must have come in shortly after we left and rescued that officer. I doubt he could have escaped on his own. The police brought the description to the paper right away, demanded they print it. Does it matter? Going through the airport, with Immigration and Customs, is out of the question now.”

“Maybe we hole up here for a while?” Paul asks. He sounds almost hopeful, I note with surprise. But I understand. Even with everything that is happening, the urgent need to escape, part of me wants to stay in the cellar and be with Paul.

Jan shakes her head. “Impossible. The wine cellar is a good hiding place, but it’s not undetectable. I won’t put Herr Meierhof in danger by keeping you here any longer.”

I refold the newspaper, my heart sinking. “So what are we going to do?”

“I’ve come up with one other possibility. There’s a freighter ship, the SS Bremen, leaving for Britain later today from a port city north of here. If we can get you into the hull, you can stow away.”

“How long will the trip take?”

“Considerably longer than if you had been on that flight. A day, maybe two. But I think it’s our only option. I’ve arranged for a truck to take you to the port. Come on.”

Jan starts for the door. As Paul buttons his jacket, I race after her. “Jan, wait. I want to explain. Earlier, I told you that Pa—I mean, Michael and I weren’t together, that I am married to someone—”

Jan raises her hand. “You don’t owe me any explanations.”

“But I want to explain.” I hesitate. Jan has trusted us with so much; I cannot bear for her to think I have been less than honest. But I am not sure how to explain what I do not quite understand myself. “You see, Michael and I were together years ago. We were engaged, but then something happened and I thought that he was dead. I married someone else, but then a few days ago I found out that Michael is alive. So we…” I falter, realizing how improbable my explanation must sound. “Anyway, it’s complicated. But I didn’t want you to think I had lied to you.”

“Life is complicated,” Jan replies. “It is also unpredictable and short. You two obviously care for each other. But remember, there’s always a price to be paid for our choices.”

She stops speaking as Paul approaches. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” I reply quickly.

“Nothing,” Jan echoes. “Let’s go.” We follow her back into the main wine cellar, but instead of walking toward the ladder, she goes to another bookshelf. Paul and I exchange puzzled expressions as she walks to one of the wine racks and begins pushing against it with her shoulder. “This one is heavier. I need you to help me,” she says to Paul. He goes to where she stands and pushes in the same direction. Slowly, the rack begins to move to the left, revealing a small wooden door. Jan opens it. “This way, quickly.”