Our Only Shield. Michael J. Goodspeed

conceal his interest in her and stared approvingly. No doubt about it, she was a pretty girl. For a second, Neumann wished Maida were like that. Maida was pretty enough, but she didn’t have the sense of purpose or confidence like this one. How many of the Dutch women here would be like that?

      Annika looked back and caught his eye for a fraction of a second, then she turned away in anger. He smiled and tipped his Tyrolean hat. Two middle-aged German army officers deep in conversation emerged from the second car and walked up the stairs. One of them took a long look at Annika and smirked as he brushed past. Neumann followed them and called out loudly to them in German, “Gentlemen, if they’re all that pretty, we’re going to enjoy this war.” They laughed as they went through the front door. Annika glared back at them and marched down the steps to her bicycle.

      At home, she took a deep breath and telephoned Oscar. But as soon as he came on the line she began to sob. “The Germans have arrested Saul and Uncle Samuël, and our own police won’t even tell me if they have him in custody, or where he is or how he is doing. I don’t know what to do. I’m frightened.”

      Oscar was quiet for a second. “I don’t know what to say, Annika, but you can’t stay alone now. You have to come and stay with Nina and me.”

      “I can’t go. If Saul is released, I have to be home, or if there is any word of his condition, I have to be here.”

      Oscar hesitated again before he spoke. He was doing his best to be precise but sympathetic. “I’ll speak to your neighbours, Annika; if anything happens, they’ll get word to us. But for now, you should be with us. Nina and I will be right over.”

      By the time Oscar arrived at her apartment, Annika had made up her mind. She wasn’t leaving. “No, Oscar. It’s very kind of you and Nina, but I belong here. Whatever it is, Saul hasn’t done anything wrong and he’ll be released shortly. I have to be here for him when he gets out.”

      Oscar and Nina exchanged glances. Oscar spoke softly, choosing his words carefully. “Annika, I understand completely how you feel, and I don’t want to say anything to alarm you, but I think it would be wrong to underestimate the danger we’re all in. The Germans have just conquered our country. They are in no mood to be nice to anyone, especially when they are in the process of imposing control on a newly conquered territory. I’ve heard that there have been a lot of arrests. All the diamond merchants have had their property seized. Politicians, newspaper editors … God knows who else has been rounded up.”

      Nina, who had been quiet up to this point, added, “And remember, Annika, in Germany the Nazis routinely arrest the entire families of political prisoners. We have to assume that Saul has been taken as some kind of political prisoner, or even as a hostage when they arrested your uncle. They’re just as likely to come back and arrest you as well. It’s best if you aren’t living here, for a few days at least. You can’t help Saul here.”

      Annika put her hand over her mouth and said nothing.

      All that was three weeks ago now, and Annika had had no word of Saul since. She couldn’t wait any more. There was no point sitting around waiting. She’d had enough. She was going back to the police station to demand Saul’s release.

      * * *

      7 June 1940

      WINSTON CHURCHILL was angry, or at least he certainly appeared to be angry. It was often difficult to tell. He had an unlit cigar in his hand and reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. He was working on his speech to be given in the House of Commons in a week’s time. He paced the floor of the dining room at Chequers, the prime minister’s country house. Two expressionless middle-aged women in tweed skirts and jackets sat in opposite corners of the room with stenographer’s pads on their laps. Churchill’s private secretary suppressed a yawn. Sir John Peck was sitting at the long, polished mahogany table with a leather satchel of state papers by his side. Churchill’s glass tumbler of single malt Scotch sat on the table in front of him. Peck noticed that tonight, like so many other nights, Churchill always had a drink at hand. Despite this, he rarely saw him drinking.