The year is 1942 and Europe is at the height of World War Two. Mila Goldstein, a Dutch Jew living in occupied Holland, has signed on as an informant for the British Secret Intelligence Service (SIS). However, days before her assignment, a wounded Ge...
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YAY FOR A NEW CHAPTER!!! I am in love with this chapter! I actually wound up splitting it up, so keep a look out for part two of this scene in chapter 16 ;) Let me know what you guys think & drop some inline comments!
"Oh no," Josef said as they approached the German restaurant he had planned to take her out to. The pair had met at the back door of the War Office as soon as the last meeting of the afternoon had been dismissed, and had walked the few blocks to Katerschmaus, a small German restaurant that had opened to accommodate the influx of German soldiers now living in Den Haag. "Well," He peered through the window into the dark, empty diningroom. "Looks like they're closed for the evening," He sighed, giving the door handle one last pull before turning to face her.
"I suppose you'll have to treat me to an old fashioned German meal some other time," She shrugged, giving him a reassuring smile.
"Maybe not..." He replied, furrowing his brow in thought.
"What are you thinking?" She asked, cocking an eyebrow.
"Come with me," He replied coyly. Grabbing her hand, he led her down the street. Walking hand in hand, they traversed a few more blocks until they had arrived on the East side of town, stopping when they reached a one story, brick house.
"Where are we?"
"My house," Josef answered, fiddling with the keys in his pocket. "If I can't take you out for some good German food, we'll just make it," He continued, slipping a key into the lock and turning the knob.
"We?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You're going to help me," He smirked, opening the door, motioning for her to enter.
Climbing the front steps, she walked through the door, taking in her new surroundings. His house was quaint; the walls painted a shade of light blue. A forest green sofa sat in the middle of the room atop a thread bare rug, a dark oak coffee table stationed in front of it. The room seemed barren, the walls stripped of any decoration other than the drapes that hung over the windows. The coffee table and end tables were free from the books and photographs one would expect to see. It was as if the character of the house had been stripped, leaving only the bare necessities.
He was probably renting, she thought, running a hand over the velvety fabric of the sofa. Or, her chest tightened as a darker thought crossed her mind, this had been a house seized from a Jewish family who had been forced to move to the ghettos. Images flooded her mind of frightened people grabbing up every sentimental possession they owned, leaving the things too large to carry or too trivial to make the journey with.
"Its not much," Josef's voice called, pulling her back to reality. "But its home."
"Its lovely," She replied, forcing a smile.
"Come on," He motioned for her to follow him. "The kitchen's this way."
"So what are we going to make?" She asked, rounding the corner into the kitchen.
