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Tannenbaum, giving his companion a complicit glance. “Herr Baron, allow me to introduce to you my daughter, Alys, who has just arrived with her brother from America. Alys, this is Baron von Schroeder.”
    “A pleasure,” said Alys coldly. She neglected to give the polite curtsey that was almost compulsory when faced with members of the nobility. She didn’t like the baron’s haughty bearing.
    “A very pretty girl. Though I fear she may have caught some of the American manners.”
    Tannenbaum shot his daughter a look of outrage. The girl was sad to see that her father had barely changed in five years. Physically he was still thickset and short-legged, with hair in conspicuous retreat. And in his manner he remained as obliging toward those in power as he was firm with those under him.
    “You can’t imagine how much I regret that. Her mother died very young, and she has not had much of a social life. I’m sure you understand. If only she could spend some time in the company of people her own age, well-bred people . . .”
    The baron gave a resigned sigh.
    “Why don’t you and your daughter join us at our house on Tuesday around six? We’ll be celebrating my son Jürgen’s birthday.”
    From the knowing look the men exchanged, Alys got the sense that this had all been arranged in advance.
    “By all means, Your Excellency. It’s such a lovely gesture on your part to invite us. Allow me to accompany you to the door.”
    “But how could you be so inconsiderate?”
    “I’m sorry, Papa.”
    They were sitting in his study. One wall was covered with bookcases that Tannenbaum had filled with books bought by the yard, based on the color of their bindings.
    “You’re sorry? A ‘sorry’ doesn’t fix anything, Alys. You need to understand I’m doing some very important business with Baron Schroeder.”
    “Steel and metals?” she asked, using her mother’s old trick of taking an interest in Josef’s business whenever he flew into one of his rages. If he started talking about money he could go on for hours, and by the time he had finished he’d have forgotten why he’d been angry in the first place. But this time it didn’t work.
    “No, land. Land . . . and other things. You’ll find out when the time is right. Anyway, I hope you have a pretty dress for the party.”
    “I’ve only just arrived, Papa. I don’t really feel like going to a party where I don’t know anyone.”
    “Don’t feel like it? For the love of God, it’s a party at the house of Baron von Schroeder!”
    When she heard him say that, Alys flinched slightly. It wasn’t normal for a Jew to take the name of God in vain. Then she remembered a small detail she had not registered when she came in. There was no mezuzah on the door. She looked around her, surprised, and saw a crucifix hanging on the wall, beside a picture of her mother. She was struck dumb. She wasn’t particularly religious—she was going through that stage of adolescence in which she sometimes questioned the existence of a divinity—but her mother had been. Alys saw that cross beside her picture as an unbearable insult to her memory.
    Josef followed the direction of her gaze and momentarily had the decency to look embarrassed.
    “It’s the times we live in, Alys. It’s hard to do business with the Christians if you’re not one of them.”
    “You were doing enough business before, Papa. And I think you were doing well,” she said, gesturing to the room.
    “Things have turned ugly for our people while you’ve been away. And they’ll get worse, you’ll see.”
    “So bad that you’d give up everything, Father? Converted for . . . for money?”
    “It’s not about money, you insolent child!” said Tannenbaum, no longer sounding ashamed and thumping his fist on the desk. “A man in my position has responsibilities. You know how many workers I’m in charge of? These idiotic wretches who sign up to ridiculous Communist unions and think Moscow is heaven on earth!