them. She studied him a moment, watching as he approached, and turned to York.
He looked at her, pleading, as her eyes met his. He knew how easy it would be. All she had to do was stop the policeman. She could tell him anything, fact or fiction. And York would be as good as dead. He knew that. So did she.
The policeman walked slowly, strolling, whistling softly, studying the leaves on the trees and flowers in their beds, birds that sang, butterflies that fluttered across his path. He nodded to an elderly lady carrying a bag with fresh bread peeking from the top, chatted a moment, then continued towards them.
York watched Amanda eyeing him sternly, and realized she controlled his destiny. He was helpless. He waited, his eyes trained on hers, the seconds passing with agonizing slowness.
“Good morning,” the policeman said when he reached them. “What a beautiful day. I love this weather.”
Amanda kept her eyes locked on York’s. “I do, too,” she said. “Especially after the winter we had.”
“Summer is already here,” the policeman said, slowly moving away from them. “In a few more weeks, we won’t even remember winter.”
Amanda continued staring at York. When the policeman was out of earshot, she whispered: “See how easy it would be to destroy you. That’s what you need to think about.”
He knew she was right. But she didn’t betray him. Her actions, or lack thereof, spoke volumes. “Thank you,” he said.
She nodded. “A favor to a fellow musician. Don’t expect any more.”
He took a deep breath, knowing not to press her. She needed time to think. But while she did, he was totally exposed. Max might be right. She could be the Gestapo informant, even if she did let the policeman pass without saying anything. And if she wasn’t, she could still become one, as she just hinted.
“Why don’t you think about it for a few days? Meet me at the café on Monday. We can talk then.”
“And what if I choose not to? Is my life in danger?”
“No, of course not,” he said with disbelief. “Don’t be ridiculous. If you choose not to, we can still be friends. We just limit our conversations to music.”
She laughed lightly, blushing. “I’m not sure my husband would like that.”
“Then maybe we shouldn’t invite him,” York said, feigning indignation.
She shook her head slowly, a faint twinkle in her eye. “You are persistent,” she said, surrendering just a bit. “I will grant you that. I’m flattered. I really am. But I don’t think a friendship would be a very good idea.”
He ignored her, his mind wandering. “Are you really a good photographer?”
She shrugged, not expecting the question. “Some people think so. Above average, I suppose. I absolutely love it.”
He fingered the faded photograph in his pocket, reminiscing. “I have a favor to ask you. It’s about photography.”
Her interest was piqued. “What is it?”
He grinned. “I’ll tell you on Monday. That will give you some incentive to come.”
She watched him closely, fighting the urge to let her lips curl into a smile. “And what if I don’t come?”
“You’ll wonder for the rest of your life if we have the same interest in photography that we have in music.”
He turned and abruptly walked away, beads of sweat on the back of his neck.
CHAPTER 18
Amanda Hamilton was still shaken when she left the park, stunned that she had been approached, irritated at being compromised, anxious and afraid. She had suspected the Allies would contact her, since she was born in Scotland and married to a very influential German. But somehow she thought she could elude them, hiding in a cocoon of violin concertos and photographs of buildings and birds. Now she knew that was impossible.
As she walked home, she evaluated how exposed she was. Her mind raced, flooded with a million different thoughts, some jumbled, some clear. She realized that if she denied Michael’s request, he would only make it again. She
He looked at her, pleading, as her eyes met his. He knew how easy it would be. All she had to do was stop the policeman. She could tell him anything, fact or fiction. And York would be as good as dead. He knew that. So did she.
The policeman walked slowly, strolling, whistling softly, studying the leaves on the trees and flowers in their beds, birds that sang, butterflies that fluttered across his path. He nodded to an elderly lady carrying a bag with fresh bread peeking from the top, chatted a moment, then continued towards them.
York watched Amanda eyeing him sternly, and realized she controlled his destiny. He was helpless. He waited, his eyes trained on hers, the seconds passing with agonizing slowness.
“Good morning,” the policeman said when he reached them. “What a beautiful day. I love this weather.”
Amanda kept her eyes locked on York’s. “I do, too,” she said. “Especially after the winter we had.”
“Summer is already here,” the policeman said, slowly moving away from them. “In a few more weeks, we won’t even remember winter.”
Amanda continued staring at York. When the policeman was out of earshot, she whispered: “See how easy it would be to destroy you. That’s what you need to think about.”
He knew she was right. But she didn’t betray him. Her actions, or lack thereof, spoke volumes. “Thank you,” he said.
She nodded. “A favor to a fellow musician. Don’t expect any more.”
He took a deep breath, knowing not to press her. She needed time to think. But while she did, he was totally exposed. Max might be right. She could be the Gestapo informant, even if she did let the policeman pass without saying anything. And if she wasn’t, she could still become one, as she just hinted.
“Why don’t you think about it for a few days? Meet me at the café on Monday. We can talk then.”
“And what if I choose not to? Is my life in danger?”
“No, of course not,” he said with disbelief. “Don’t be ridiculous. If you choose not to, we can still be friends. We just limit our conversations to music.”
She laughed lightly, blushing. “I’m not sure my husband would like that.”
“Then maybe we shouldn’t invite him,” York said, feigning indignation.
She shook her head slowly, a faint twinkle in her eye. “You are persistent,” she said, surrendering just a bit. “I will grant you that. I’m flattered. I really am. But I don’t think a friendship would be a very good idea.”
He ignored her, his mind wandering. “Are you really a good photographer?”
She shrugged, not expecting the question. “Some people think so. Above average, I suppose. I absolutely love it.”
He fingered the faded photograph in his pocket, reminiscing. “I have a favor to ask you. It’s about photography.”
Her interest was piqued. “What is it?”
He grinned. “I’ll tell you on Monday. That will give you some incentive to come.”
She watched him closely, fighting the urge to let her lips curl into a smile. “And what if I don’t come?”
“You’ll wonder for the rest of your life if we have the same interest in photography that we have in music.”
He turned and abruptly walked away, beads of sweat on the back of his neck.
CHAPTER 18
Amanda Hamilton was still shaken when she left the park, stunned that she had been approached, irritated at being compromised, anxious and afraid. She had suspected the Allies would contact her, since she was born in Scotland and married to a very influential German. But somehow she thought she could elude them, hiding in a cocoon of violin concertos and photographs of buildings and birds. Now she knew that was impossible.
As she walked home, she evaluated how exposed she was. Her mind raced, flooded with a million different thoughts, some jumbled, some clear. She realized that if she denied Michael’s request, he would only make it again. She
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