The English Girl: A Novel

quarter, at the home of a woman named Tziona Levin. Though Gabriel referred to Tziona as his doda , his aunt, she was actually the closest thing he had to a sibling. She didn’t seem at all surprised when he appeared on her doorstep accompanied by a beautiful young woman whom the entire world believed to be dead. She knew that Gabriel had a habit of returning to Israel with lost objects.
    “How’s your work?” she asked over coffee in her sunlit garden.
    “Never better,” replied Gabriel, with a glance at Madeline.
    “I was talking about your art, Gabriel.”
    “I just finished restoring a lovely Bassano.”
    “You should be focused on your own work,” she said reproachfully.
    “I am,” he responded vaguely, and Tziona let it drop. When they had finished their coffee, she took them into her studio to see her newest paintings. Then, at Gabriel’s request, she unlocked her storage room. Inside were hundreds of paintings and sketches by Gabriel’s mother, including several works depicting a tall man wearing the uniform of the SS.
    “I thought I told you to burn these,” Gabriel said.
    “You did,” Tziona admitted, “but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
    “Who is he?” asked Madeline, staring at the paintings.
    “His name was Erich Radek,” Gabriel answered. “He ran a secret Nazi program called Aktion 1005. Its goal was to conceal all evidence that the Holocaust had taken place.”
    “Why did your mother paint him?”
    “He nearly killed her on the death march from Auschwitz in January 1945.”
    Madeline raised one eyebrow quizzically. “Wasn’t Radek the one who was captured in Vienna a few years ago and brought to Israel for trial?”
    “For the record,” replied Gabriel, “Erich Radek volunteered to come to Israel.”
    “Yes,” said Madeline dubiously. “And I was kidnapped by French criminals from Marseilles.”
    The next day they drove to Eilat. The Office had rented a large private villa not far from the Jordanian border. Madeline passed her days lying next to the swimming pool, reading and rereading a stack of classic English novels. Gabriel realized that she was preparing herself to return to the country that wasn’t truly hers. She was no one, he thought. She was not quite a real person. And, not for the first time, he wondered whether she might be better off living in Israel than in the United Kingdom. It was a question he put to her on the final night of their stay in the south. They were seated atop an outcropping of rock in the Negev, watching the sun sinking into the badlands of the Sinai.
    “It’s tempting,” she said.
    “But?”
    “It’s not my home,” she answered. “It would be like Russia. I’d be a stranger here.”
    “It’s going to be hard, Madeline. Much harder than you think. The British will put you through the wringer until they’re certain of your loyalties. And then they’ll lock you away somewhere the Russians will never find you. You’ll never be able to go back to your old life. Never,” he repeated. “It’s going to be miserable.”
    “I know,” she said distantly.
    Actually, she didn’t know, thought Gabriel, but perhaps it was better that way. The sun hung just above the horizon. The desert air was suddenly cold enough to make her shiver.
    “Should we be getting back?” he asked.
    “Not yet,” she answered.
    He removed his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “I’m going to tell you something I probably shouldn’t,” he said. “I’m going to be the chief of Israeli intelligence soon.”
    “Congratulations.”
    “Condolences are probably in order,” replied Gabriel. “But it means I have the power to look after you. I’ll give you a nice place to live. A family. It’s a dysfunctional family,” he added hastily, “but it’s the only family I have. We’ll give you a country. A home. That’s what we do in Israel. We give people a home.”
    “I already have a home.”
    She said nothing more. The sun slipped below the horizon. Then she was lost to the darkness.
    “Stay,” said Gabriel. “Stay here with us.”
    “I can’t stay,” she said. “I’m Madeline. I’m an English girl.”
    T he next night was the gala opening of the Pillars of Solomon exhibit at the Israel Museum in Jerusalem. The president and prime minister were in attendance, as were the members of the Cabinet, most of the Knesset, and numerous important writers, artists, and entertainers. Chiara was among those who spoke at the