I look back at Marek. Images race through my mind: Marek sitting at the head of the table beside Alek at Shabbat dinner each week, laughing and talking. Later they would huddle over papers in the back room of the apartment, plotting in hushed whispers. Then I see Marek again that last night at the cabin when I confronted him as he prepared to flee. He was supposed to lead the resistance after Alek was gone. I know, of course, that there was nothing more we could have done. The movement was in tatters after the café bombing; even a great leader like Alek could not have carried on. But Marek left the rest of us behind at the moment we needed him most. Does he feel guilty, as I do, at having survived when so many others did not?

Enough, I think, forcing my anger down. I wait until the bartender has set the glasses in front of us and walked away once more. “You thought I was dead. Isn’t that what you were about to say?”

He nods. “The bridge…We heard that Richwalder shot you.”

“He did. I survived that and Nazi prison, too.” There is a note of pride in my voice. Marek had never been a supporter of women helping with the resistance, other than as occasional decoys. He thought us weak, inconsequential. Now, watching his stunned expression, I cannot help but feel smug.

“Did they ask…?”

“About the resistance? They suspected my involvement and spent months trying to beat it out of me. I didn’t tell them anything,” I add quickly.

Relief crosses his face, as though the Nazis are still in power and might be able to hurt him if they knew the truth. “And now? Surely you didn’t go back to Poland after all that happened.”

“No. I live in London, actually.”

“England? But how? And what are you doing here?”

“It’s a long story.” I pause, looking around the bar for Renata. Has something happened to her? “I’m afraid we don’t have much time.”

Marek’s forehead wrinkles. “I don’t understand.”

“Marek, I…” I take a deep breath. “I’ve been sent to find you.”

His eyes widen. “Sent? By whom?”

“The British government.” Marek’s jaw drops. “I work for the Foreign Office. They sent me because I know you. I need you to connect me with a certain leader in the anticommunist underground.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he interrupts coldly. “I’m an employee of the state. I would never associate with such people.”

I lower my voice. “Marek, there’s no time for games. We know that you are closely involved in the anticommunist movement and we desperately need to make contact with a man named Jan Marcel—”

“Shh!” Marek hisses. “Don’t say his name. Not here.” His head snaps toward the door as though he expects the police to burst in at any moment.

“We need to reach him because he has a cipher that is critical in discovering which of our operatives is really working for the Soviets. In exchange we are offering—”

“Stop.” He raises his hand, cutting me off again. “You shouldn’t have come here, Marta. I can’t help you. It’s too dangerous, especially now.” He stands up, drains his beer. “I’m sorry.”

“Marek, please. You don’t understand. We want to help you, too. I have valuable information, money. I just need to reach this man—”

“The West? Help?” Marek’s cheeks redden. “Like they did in 1939?”

I hesitate. An image flashes through my mind of looking up at the sky from inside the ghetto. Where were the planes from Britain and America? Why didn’t they bomb the camps or at least the train lines running to them, to stop some of the killing machines? I take a deep breath. “I know. I was there. The Allies didn’t come as soon as they could have and by the time they did it was too late for so many. But it’s different this time. That’s why I’m here, Marek, why I left my family to come see you. We laid down our lives together. You know me and trust me. The help this time is real.” My words tumble out on top of one another, a plea for him to listen. “I made sure of that.” Watching his face, I realize how implausible my words must sound, the notion that I am in a position to make such assurances.

“Who’s the woman you’re with?” he asks suspiciously. “The one who gave me the note.”

“She’s my escort from the embassy. She can be trusted.”

Marek looks down, studying his fingernails. “I’m sorry, Marta. I can’t help you. I wish I could. I know you went through hell in prison to protect the rest of us and I’m glad that you survived. But I can’t risk it.”

I put my hand on his forearm. “Marek, please. I want to help.”

He pulls back. “Go home, Marta. This isn’t your fight anymore.” He tosses a few coins on the bar, then turns and walks away.

I sit motionless, watching his back as he retreats. Marek will not talk to me. I stand up. Perhaps if I try to speak with him once more, I can persuade him. But he has returned to his table at the back of the bar, and sits among the other men, not looking up. Approaching him would attract too much attention.

I make my way to the front door and up the steps. Outside, Renata stands by the curb, smoking a cigarette. “I was wondering where you had gone,” I remark.

“When I went to drop off the note, I thought I saw someone I knew from the university. I didn’t want to be recognized, or have to answer questions about why I am here. So I slipped out the back door.” She drops the cigarette, grinds it out with her heel. “So how did it go?”

“Terribly.”

“He wouldn’t talk to you?” I shake my head. “I’m not surprised. They’re a very secretive bunch, especially these days.”

“But if we can’t get him to help us…”

“We’ll think of something else,” Renata replies. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

I follow Renata toward the car, my shoulders low with defeat. I didn’t even have the chance to ask Marek if he had any news about Emma and Jacob, or the others from the resistance.

As we near the corner, a shadowy figure emerges suddenly from an alley. Before I can react, Renata grabs my arm, pulling me with her as she leaps backward. A man in a dark trench coat and hat stands and faces us, blocking our path. Fear rises in me and I wonder if we are going to be robbed.

“What do you want?” Renata demands.

I notice a lock of gray hair sticking out from beneath the man’s hat. “You’re the man from the bar,” I say aloud. “You were sitting with Marek.” Renata turns to look at me, surprised.

The man nods. “Marek asked me to deliver a message. Come to Riegrovy Park tomorrow at noon.”

I turn to Renata. “Do you know where that is?”

“Yes. It’s just south of the city. But it’s a big park,” she says to the man. “Where should we meet him?”

“By the fountain. But not you.” He gestures toward me with his head. “Marek said she is to come alone.”

“But—” Renata begins.

The man cuts her off. “Come alone,” he says to me. “Marek will be there, if it’s safe.” Before I can respond, he disappears into the alleyway once more.

CHAPTER 17

I pull back the worn window curtain and peer out at the rain-soaked street below. The pavement is crowded with passersby walking quickly, huddled under dark umbrellas on their way to work. I imagine Simon leaving for the office, Rachel looking out of the window after him. Today is her second day without me. Though I know she is well-cared-for by Delia, my heart tugs at the notion of not being there yet another morning when she awakes.

I let the curtain fall again and walk to the mirror, studying my reflection for the hundredth time: dark skirt, cream blouse. Barely able to sleep in the cold, strange room, I awoke early, washed and dressed, painstakingly taming my curls into a low knot. I wanted to look like someone Marek, and hopefully Marcelitis, could take seriously. But the eyes that look back from behind my glasses are hesitant; what am I doing here? I smooth my hair once more, wishing I had thought to bring an umbrella. Then I pick up my coat and bag and walk from the hotel room, locking the door behind me.