by Anita Abriel
Lana touched her stomach and thought how lovely it would have been to travel to the seaside with the baby. They would have built sandcastles, and when he was older Frederic would have taught him to swim.
“Frederic, what would we have named our baby?” she said aloud. She felt better when she talked to him. It made her feel close to him. “If it was a boy, perhaps Aramis like in The Three Musketeers. He would have grown up to be so brave. Or Margot for a girl because she would be as precious as a pearl. When she was older, she would have learned to sing and you would have accompanied her on the piano.” She gulped and straightened her shoulders. “I would have been so proud.”
Somewhere bells chimed, and Lana went inside. She selected a green dress and walked downstairs to the kitchen.
Guy was sitting at the table, eating a plate of eggs. He stood up when Lana entered and moved to the coffeepot.
“Good morning,” he greeted her. He wore a collared shirt and slacks. “I hope you like eggs, they’re the only thing I know how to cook.” He waved at the counter. “I can make a soft-boiled egg or an omelet. And there’s coffee, thank God.” He handed her a cup. “I stored enough coffee beans in the basement to last if the Germans stay for a decade.”
“A soft-boiled egg would be nice, thank you.” Lana sat at the table. “I didn’t thank you for my room. It’s beautiful.”
“I love this house. It’s so peaceful up here in Cap Ferrat; it’s easy to forget what’s going on below us in Nice.” He dropped an egg into boiling water. “Yesterday an older couple was eating dinner at a restaurant on Boulevard Victor Hugo. There was a group of SS officers at the next table. The husband addressed his wife as Rachel, and the officers dragged them onto the street. They were put on the train to Drancy just for having a Jewish-sounding name.”
“Did they ask for their papers?” Lana inquired in shock.
“The Germans in Nice don’t care about papers.” Guy shrugged.
Tears pricked Lana’s eyes, but she blinked them away. She couldn’t start crying every time she heard of the atrocities committed by the Nazis.
“The Germans have commandeered almost every hotel in Nice. The Gestapo are at the Hôtel Negresco, and the German navy occupy the Atlantic, and Alois Brunner and his pack of Jew hunters have taken up residence in the Hôtel Excelsior.” Guy sipped his coffee. “They conduct raids all over Nice to round up the Jews. Twice a week, the prisoners are paraded down the Promenade des Anglais to the train station.”
Guy cracked the egg and threw out the shell. He placed the plate in front of her.
“The SS officers on the Riviera are just like those in Paris; they are determined to enjoy themselves,” he continued. “They feel they’re not treated well at the casinos, and they complain about the service at the restaurants. So they’re happiest at parties.” He paused. “Parties where they receive lots of strokes for doing battle with Stalin and his army. The White Russians see Stalin as the dictator who murdered their czar and destroyed their futures. They’re happy to host. I get invited because Switzerland is a neutral country, but I’m a man, so German officers aren’t likely to share their secrets.” He handed her salt and pepper. “That’s where you come in. Lana Antanova, daughter of a Russian aristocrat.”
“I told Henri that just because my mother is Russian doesn’t mean she sympathizes with the Germans. If you think that’s why I’m here, you’re wrong. I came because—” Lana began, but Guy stopped her.
“I don’t care if your mother played blocks with the czar’s daughters when she was a toddler or bedded the entire Cossack army when she grew up. The first rule of this business is I don’t want to know why you became a member of the Resistance.” His voice was sharp. “We all have our reasons, and it’s better we keep them to ourselves. You could have a lover in a death camp in Germany, and I couldn’t care less. The quickest way to get killed is to know too much, and I intend to sit here eating eggs and drinking coffee long after this war is over.”
“I assure you my mother never slept with a Cossack.” Lana flushed.
If Henri had told Guy about her mother, would he have told him about Frederic too? She glanced down at her hands and remembered she wasn’t wearing her wedding ring.
“But you never know when you’re put in a situation where people start asking questions. Not knowing the answers can save a life.”
“I see.” Lana nodded. Guy was talking about being tortured. She ate a bite of the egg, but it wobbled in her mouth.
“The second rule is not to get emotionally involved,” he went on calmly. “I had an associate early in the war who got too close to another member of the Resistance. They began trading pillow talk.” He looked at Lana. “She was caught and interrogated by the Nazis. She collapsed under pressure and revealed her associate’s name. He was captured, and they were both hanged.”
“I’m sorry,” Lana said, and realized she already said those words in the last twenty-four hours.
“The rumor is that they were holding hands when they died.” Guy buttered his toast. “The only way to remain safe is to keep your lips sealed.”
“We have to be able to trust someone.” Lana thought of Henri. She wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t believed in what he was doing.
“Say you got stuck on the roof of this house. Would you jump, or would you try to find a way inside through a window?”
“I’d try to climb through a window,” she said confidently. “If I jumped, I could break my neck.”
“Exactly. Trust your instincts and you’ll do fine.” He stood up. “Now let’s go over our story. Henri mentioned that you were married and that your husband died.”
Lana looked up abruptly. So Henri had told Guy about Frederic. But why? She felt at a disadvantage; she knew nothing about Guy.
“Don’t look so surprised, Henri only shared it with me because it fits your cover.” Guy noticed her concerned expression. “Your reason for being on the Riviera is even more sympathetic. An attractive young widow spending a few months in Nice to get over an unspeakable loss. But we have to be careful. The Germans are suspicious by nature, and it’s always possible I’m under surveillance. After all, I’m wealthy and I have a Swiss passport. Why shouldn’t I be hiding Jews and then transporting them across the border?”
“Under surveillance here?” Lana put down her fork. The egg seemed to have gotten stuck in her throat.
“There’s nothing to worry about, I do a complete sweep of the house and grounds once a week. And I’ll show you where I keep the pistol in the hall closet. Just in case you get unwanted visitors when I’m not home.”
“Thank you.” Lana gulped, resolving not to show Guy her nervousness.
“We met in Montreux in 1938. You were on holiday with your parents.”
“I’m only twenty-four,” Lana interjected. “I would have been nineteen. Don’t you think I would have been too young to capture your attention?”
“I’m only eight years older than you, and I’m sure you were a beauty at nineteen,” Guy said reflectively. “It was a brief summer affair. We knew it wouldn’t last: you had to go back to university in Paris, and I had business to run in Switzerland. I bumped into you a few weeks ago in Paris after the death of your husband. Our old attraction was rekindled, and I asked you to come stay with me at my villa in Cap Ferrat.”
“Frederic died such a short time ago.” Lana worried. “Won’t people frown that I’m already living with another man?”
Guy glanced at her with a new appreciation. “That’s a good question. Perhaps in regular times, but all of Europe is at war. You wanted to escape the dreariness of Paris, and I offered you a solution,” he said with a small smile. “I’ll be the envy of anyone we meet. I make a trip to Paris, and a few weeks later a beautiful Russian countess arrives to share my bed.”
Lana tried to hide her blush. She had been a married woman; she knew all about sex. But it still embarrassed her to discuss it.
“Don’t worry, the rules are more relaxed on th
e Riviera.” He noticed her cheeks turning red. “You’ll find many members of the social set have questionable morals.”
“I suppose that’s all right, then.” Lana hesitated.
“I’m glad that’s settled.” Guy put down his coffee cup and walked to the door. He turned around, and his smile was electric. “I have to go into Nice. I’ll see you tonight.”
Lana glanced at the clock. It was only noon. She thought again about the pistol in the hall closet and Guy’s weekly surveillance sweep.
“I don’t want to sit here all day. Can I come with you?”
Guy’s eyes traveled over her dress as if he was wondering if she would be any trouble.
“I suppose so,” he agreed. “But don’t ask me any questions in the car. I think up my best ideas when I drive.”
* * *
Lana wouldn’t have tried talking to Guy even if he hadn’t discouraged it. He took the turns so abruptly, it made driving with Pierre seem relaxing.
“Where did you learn to drive?” she asked when they reached the center of Nice.
Guy had a convertible, and her hair had flown all over her cheeks.
“Who said anyone taught me?” He grinned. “Driving is like so many things: it’s all about trusting your instincts.” He noticed two German officers looking at Lana. “I have a meeting, but will you be all right by yourself?”
“Don’t worry, I’m used to Germans nodding at me when I walk by. In Paris German officers are everywhere.” Lana followed his gaze. For a moment she longed for the way her stomach had lurched when Guy’s car rounded a bend. It was better than the loathing she felt when she locked eyes with the officers in their brown uniforms and red armbands.
“If you say so. Meet me here at two p.m.” He put on his hat. “Try to stay out of trouble. I don’t want to spend the afternoon at the police station. It cost me two bottles of vodka the last time I had to bail someone out.”
Lana was about to ask whom he had bailed out, but Guy was already across the street. She turned away from the German officers and strolled along the sidewalk.
Along the promenade lined by palm trees, Lana passed stone buildings with striped canopies. It seemed so incongruous that the Riviera was at war. The shops were open; she passed a menswear store with beautifully tailored suits in the window. But there weren’t any tourists licking ice cream cones or taking photos. And the German army trucks parked with the blue of the Mediterranean behind them made it frighteningly real.
The group of German officers moved closer to her, and she wanted to get away. On the corner was a pharmacy. She ducked inside. She had always loved pharmacies. When she was a girl her mother would send her to buy cough syrup or tissues. She’d admire the lipsticks and imagine her own brand displayed at the cash register: silver tubes with the name LANA scrawled on the side.
She bought postcards for her mother and Sister Therese and returned to the street. The officers had moved on, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Then, suddenly, she heard quick footsteps, dogs barking. Soldiers called out in German, and Lana heard people scuffling. She turned and saw a woman carrying a basket. A small dog cowered at her feet.
“Open your basket,” a soldier snapped.
“But why? I haven’t done anything wrong,” the woman protested.
“We’ve been instructed to search anything that looks suspicious,” he informed her. “I saw you slip something into the basket.”
“Whatever you saw, you’re wrong. It’s only cod for dinner,” the woman answered. “If I open the basket, your uniforms will smell like fish.”
“Open it.” The soldier poked it with the rifle. “Or I will do it for you.”
The woman peeled back the cover, and the soldier peered inside. He reached in and took out a gold chain with a Star of David.
“I’m not Jewish,” the woman pleaded. “I found it on the road, and I was going to sell it. My husband is ill and needs medicine. I can go to my house and show you my papers.”
“Put it on.” The soldier handed it to her.
“You want me to wear it?” The woman’s hands trembled.
“Put it on. Now!”
The woman fastened the necklace around her neck, and the soldier stepped back. Then he lifted his rifle and pointed it at the dog. A shot rang out, and the dog fell to the ground.
“That will teach you. Consider it a warning.” He ripped the necklace from her neck and slipped it in his pocket. “I’ll send the chain without the star to my fräulein in Berlin.” He waved the rifle at the woman. “Next time it will be you instead of the dog.”
Lana slipped into an archway until the officers were gone. When she emerged, the woman with the basket had disappeared. She noticed a girl of about twelve hiding between two buildings, sobbing.
“Are you all right?” Lana asked.
The girl looked up. She had dark hair and freckles. She wore a cardigan over her dress.
“The dog didn’t do anything wrong,” the girl said between sobs.
“Where are your parents?” Lana tried again.
“My mother is at home.” The girl gulped. “I went for a walk without telling her. I can’t stand being stuck at home all the time.”
“It’s dangerous to be out alone. I’ll take you home,” Lana said. She couldn’t bring her back to Guy’s house: she didn’t have the keys to his car and he didn’t want her to get involved with strangers. But she couldn’t leave her here. What if the soldiers returned?
“I don’t know you,” the girl said cautiously. She took a step forward, and Lana noticed her knobby knees and thin shoulders.
“I’m Lana.” She held out her hand. “Come. Your mother must be worried.”
The girl took a deep breath as if she was working up all her courage. Then she put her hand in Lana’s, and they walked quickly down Rue Droit. They turned into an alley and up a flight of steps.
“Odette!” A woman in her early thirties opened the door. “Where have you been? I was so worried!” She glanced down the stairway and ushered Odette and Lana inside.
Lana looked around the room. The curtains were drawn. There was a worn rug and a brown sofa.
“There was a disturbance. German officers pointed a rifle at a woman and then shot her dog,” Lana said. “I brought Odette home.”
The woman pulled Odette close and hugged her.
“I told you not to go outside! It’s too dangerous to leave the house.”
“I can’t stay inside forever,” Odette said. “It’s like being a sardine in a can.”
The woman turned to Lana. She was pretty, with Odette’s dark curls. “My name is Sylvie. Thank you for bringing Odette home.”
“I’m Lana. It was no trouble.” Lana nodded. “You’re right. It isn’t safe on the streets. German soldiers are everywhere.”
“Odette, go upstairs,” Sylvie instructed. “And thank Lana for bringing you home.”
Odette murmured a thank-you to Lana and climbed the staircase.
“Can I give you something to drink?” Sylvie asked Lana, leading her into the kitchen. “I don’t have milk or cream, but I can make coffee.”
Lana glanced at the bare kitchen counters and wondered if the fridge was also empty.
“Thank you. A cup of coffee would be nice,” Lana said. “Odette must have been so frightened.”
“We’re Jewish, and Odette knows she isn’t allowed outside. She sneaks out anyway, and she refuses to wear her yellow star.”
Sylvie put a kettle on the stove. She glanced at Lana, and her face crumpled.
“Odette’s father was killed a month ago, and she won’t listen to anything I say.”
“I’m sorry. That must be terrible for you and Odette,” Lana replied.
“Jacob was an assistant pastry chef at the Hôtel Negresco.” Sylvie sat opposite Lana and handed her a cup. “Odette and her father were very close. Every morning Odette would make him a flask of coffee to take to work. I sing nights in a cabaret and was usually still asleep when he left. Last m
onth, Jacob forgot his coffee one morning, and Odette ran after him. A German officer stopped her and asked why she wasn’t at school,” Sylvie explained. “Odette isn’t allowed to go to school because we’re Jewish.”
Lana pictured the officers on the Boulevard Victor Hugo with their black boots and pistols wedged into their pockets. Odette must have been terrified.
“Odette said she was only giving something to her father,” Sylvie continued. “Jacob heard the shouting and turned around. He ran back to Odette and told the officer to leave her alone. The officer pulled out his pistol and pointed it at Odette. I’m sure he only meant to frighten her, but Jacob lunged for it. The gun went off and hit Jacob in the chest.”
“And Odette escaped?” Lana asked in horror.
“If only Jacob hadn’t acted, perhaps it would have been all right.” The anguish was thick in Sylvie’s voice. “Odette is twelve years old. Not even Germans would kill a young girl in the middle of the street. But Jacob was a father. His first instinct was to protect his child.”
“Oh, poor Odette,” Lana breathed.
“She ran home, and I put her in the bath. I was afraid someone would hear her crying.” Sylvie twisted her wedding band. “It’s been a month, and I don’t know what to do with her. I work two jobs.”
Lana thought of all the nights her mother had worked to earn enough for rent and food. But there hadn’t been a war, and Tatiana didn’t have to worry about Lana being killed for going outside.
“It’s impossible to manage by yourself,” Lana insisted. “You’re doing the best you can.”
“Odette thinks if she hadn’t taken her father his coffee, he wouldn’t be dead,” Sylvie said worriedly.
“She’s only a child. She’ll recover,” Lana assured her. “Is there anything I could do to help?”
Sylvie took in Lana’s blond hair and classic features and guessed she wasn’t Jewish.
“You’ve already done enough by bringing her home,” she said, suddenly wary. “You must have your own troubles, everyone does in a war. Why are you being so kind to strangers? And we’re Jewish. You could get in trouble for being here.”