gleamed like dull garnets with milky-white strands racing through it. The inside panels showed a farmer sowing seed and a lederhosen-clad man with a scythe. A simple country existence was not what she’d imagined Hitler celebrating in his home.
If living the high life with Nazis in occupied Paris wasn’t enough to peg her with treason, afternoon tea with Der Führer was the final loop of a noose around her neck. How were they ever to come out of this alive?
Turning around, she caught Barrett lowering himself onto one of the red-and-gold floral-printed chairs.
“Don’t sit!” He stopped inches from the cushion, panic freezing his face. Kat dropped her arm back to her side from where it had involuntarily flung out as if to stop him. “It’s not proper to sit without first being invited to do so by the host.”
Frowning, he straightened. “You really expect me to engage in social niceties, considering who our host is?”
Kat nodded. “Just because we are surrounded by bad ilk does not mean we lower ourselves to their level.”
“Whatever level he’s operating on, he’s taking his sweet time.”
“Perhaps he’s too busy bombing Russia to notice the clock.” The bitterness rolled too easily off her tongue, as if the evilness hanging in the air had soaked into her skin. She’d scrub herself raw as soon as they returned to the hotel. “Apologies. That was tasteless.”
“You don’t ever have to apologize to me, especially when I’m of the same opinion.” Slipping his hands over her shoulders, he gently drew her closer. He smelled of soap and fresh air from the lake. “We’ll get through this. Quiet-like or guns blazing, we’ll get through this. Promise.”
“Will we? I doubt the confidence you stock in this situation.”
“Trust your instincts. They’re more spot-on than you give them credit for.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. Like a break in the heavens from a storm, her roiling stomach calmed. In the worst of situations, how did he always know how to keep her steady? They had been coerced into a mission that neither one of them wanted, but their time together had shifted the relationship from one of service into one she feared defining, such was the fragility of feelings burgeoning each passing day. How much more difficult it would be to leave him.
“Ugh. It’s so hot outside.” Ellie breezed past the door from the terrace with Eric right behind her. Slight perspiration marked the armpits of her stitched pink dress. “I’m positively dripping.”
Tension lined Eric’s mouth. “The Führer does not like cigarettes inside. The smell soaks into the furniture and ruins the paintings.”
“Well, unless he likes cleaning up sweaty puddles he might want to reconsider that little rule.” Ellie slipped her silver cigarette holder back inside her handbag and looked around the room with confusion. “Where is everyone? The invitation was for four o’clock, wasn’t it?”
Kat shrugged. “No one has come back in since you stepped out on the terrace. We’ve been admiring the artwork.”
Eric’s eyes lit up. “Ja, the Führer has a precise eye for art and a sensational ear for music. I have had the privilege of viewing a few of his sketches. He’s mentioned allowing me to exhibit one in Paris.”
Kat forced her mouth into a smile. “That’s wonderful. I’m sure it’ll draw dozens of crowds.”
Eric wagged his finger back and forth. “Nein. Not dozens, but thousands.”
Before he could wax on about Hitler’s pathetic attempts at painting, a woman in a worn dirndl came through the east door. The white blouse with puffy sleeves, navy skirt, and red-checked apron suggested she belonged at a biergarten and not afternoon tea. With fluffy golden-brown hair, a doughy nose too large for her face, and a small smile, she was pleasant looking but not overly pretty.
“Eric, schön sie wiederzusehen.”
Taking her outstretched hand, Eric clicked his shiny boot heels and bent over her hand while speaking in German. He gestured to his guests. “Eleanor Whitford, Kathleen Whitford, und Barrett Anderson.”
The woman nodded to each of them in turn. “Guten tag und wilkommen. Eva Braun. Apologize tardiness. Misunderstanding kitchen. Outside tea?”
Ellie’s face twitched at the broken English instructions to go back outside, but she dutifully followed Eva to the prepared table under a large blue umbrella. A lush green valley with the mountains of neighboring Austria spread before them like a painting from the genius brushstrokes of a Renaissance master.
“Spectacular view,” Barrett said, accepting the tea Eva poured for him.
Eva uncovered a tray of delicate pastries and glanced expectantly behind her. “Ja. Herr Hitler—”