Part 39 (2/2)

Sunny shuffled closer to Franz to make room on the couch for Ernst. Enjoying the pressure of her husband's thigh against hers, she squeezed his hand tighter.

Ernst eyed them with a sly grin, but said only, ”You spoke with the baron after all, then, Franz?”

”How did you hear?”

”Gerhard.” Ernst shook his head gravely. ”The boy is petrified that he will be found out. And he just might be, if he doesn't stop acting so jittery.”

”Rea.s.sure him, Ernst. Von Puttkamer believes our watchers spotted his men in the ghetto.”

Ernst nodded. ”I take it that the baron was not amused by what you had to show him?”

”I would say not, no.”

”I caught his last radio broadcast,” Ernst said. ”Von Puttkamer was even more venomous than usual. This time he was complaining about Jewish doctors: 'Blood sucking snakes, the lot of them.' Though I imagine he had one in particular in mind.”

Franz shrugged. ”As long as he leaves us alone.”

”Do you think he will?”

”He promised as much. In front of Ghoya, for what that is worth. I hope the photographs will be enough of a deterrent.”

Ernst wagged his head from side to side, unconvinced, before turning to Sunny. He draped an arm lightly over her shoulders. ”Tell me, how is your poor friend coping?”

”Jia-Li is heartsick. Ruined.” Sunny held up a hand. ”But at least she is somewhere safe.”

”That would have meant everything to Charlie.” Ernst exhaled sadly.

They lapsed into silence. Finally, Franz admitted, ”I'm sure Charlie's men will be crushed to hear of his death.”

”But how will they find out? No one can get word to them.” Ernst pinched the bridge of his nose. ”I am beginning to doubt that I will ever see Shan again.”

”One day, Ernst,” Sunny said. ”You will find him.”

”You think so?”

She patted his knee and smiled warmly. ”I am sure of it.”

Embarra.s.sed, Ernst cleared his throat. ”Such melancholic nonsense. I almost forgot why I've come.” He dug into his pocket. Sunny expected to see a pack of cigarettes emerge, but instead he extracted an envelope. ”I am here on official business. As Simon's mailman.”

Esther rushed over, wiping her hands on her ap.r.o.n, and plucked the letter from Ernst's hand. ”Excuse my manners, please. It's my first letter in a week.” She sliced it open and turned away from them. As she read, her shoulders began to tremble. At first, Sunny thought she was crying, but then she heard an unexpected sound.

Hannah stood and hurried over to her aunt. ”What is it, Tante Essie?”

Esther turned back to the table, laughing as tears rolled down her cheeks. ”Simon is being Simon.”

”What does he say?” Hannah demanded. ”Tell us.”

”He has agreed to remain at Ernst's provided that . . .” Esther stopped to consult the letter. ”Someone sends him a decent pair of earplugs.”

Ernst rolled his eyes. ”So he needs quiet from me? Ach! I put up with all his talk about that ridiculous baseball. And then the big band music . . .” He made a face. ”All day long with the same nonsense.”

Esther's grin grew. ”And with the Allies advancing in Italy and Russia, Simon is convinced that the war will be over by the end of this year.” She returned her attention to the letter again. ”He writes, 'Forget Jerusalem, next year in the Bronx!'”

Franz and Hannah shared a chuckle, but Ernst shook his head in bewilderment. ”It's an old expression,” Esther explained. ”At the end of Jewish holy days, we say 'Next year in Jerusalem' to signify optimism for the coming year.”

”Only one more year, can you imagine?” Sunny asked of no one in particular.

Franz laid his other hand on top of hers. ”Simon is a dreamer, darling.”

She kissed his cheek, letting her nose linger on the soft stubble. ”Every so often even dreamers get it right.”

”Look!” Hannah cried as she pointed across the table.

Sunny turned to see Jakob wobbling upright. He took a tentative step, then another, and two more in rapid succession before toppling down onto the floor. He appeared stunned by his accomplishment, then broke into a giggle that sent a wave of laughter through the room.

”Your first steps!” Esther cried, rus.h.i.+ng over to scoop Jakob up in her arms and smother his face with kisses. ”Oh, Schatzi, wait till Papa hears.”

Sunny ached with joy and longing. She nestled her head into Franz's neck. ”I don't care where I am next year as long as I am with my family. And perhaps . . .”

A smile lit up her husband's face as he brushed his lips over hers. ”Perhaps a playmate for Jakob?”

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS.

As usual, I have more people to thank than s.p.a.ce available to name them all, but I'm compelled to single out a few.

As rewarding as I find the process, the challenges of writing a novel-particularly one where I feel such an obligation to be historically accurate-can be mightily intimidating. I wouldn't even have attempted the feat without the uncomplaining support of my friends and family, in particular my wife, Cheryl, my mother, Judy, and my daughters, Chelsea and Ashley.

Of course, I need more than just moral support. As with all my previous novels, I relied heavily on the insights and input of Kit Schindell, a wonderfully skilled freelance editor. I am also grateful to my agents, Henry Morrison and Danny Baror, for their wisdom and guidance.

I am delighted to continue my relations.h.i.+p with the team at HarperCollins. It's a pleasure to collaborate with consummate professionals like Leo MacDonald, Iris Tupholme, Julia Barrett, Allegra Robinson and Cory Beatty. And I cannot express grat.i.tude enough to my terrific editor, Lorissa Sengara, who guided me through the entire process, from glimmer of an idea to final polished draft, bettering the product each step of the way.

Finally, I have to acknowledge the people who lived and died in Shanghai during the Second World War. 1943 was a year of hards.h.i.+p and sorrow for most of the city's residents, particularly the Chinese, the Shanghailanders and the Jewish refugees. Yet, the resilience, bravery and selfness so many of them demonstrated is inspiring. I hope this novel conveys a sense of my deep admiration for them.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.

DANIEL KALLA is the internationally bestselling author of Pandemic, Resistance, Rage Therapy, Blood Lies, Cold Plague, Of Flesh and Blood and The Far Side of the Sky. His novels have been translated into ten languages. He practises emergency medicine in Vancouver, B.C., where he lives with his family.

WEB:FACEBOOK: Daniel Kalla, Author TWITTER: @DanielKalla.

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