Lana's War

by Anita Abriel

  Lana wanted to tell Giselle that she had the wrong idea. But then she remembered her cover as Guy’s mistress.

  “Guy and I are very fond of each other,” she said, hoping she sounded convincing.

  “Fond of each other?” Giselle arched her eyebrows. “Guy doesn’t seem the type of man who would be happy to have a female guest who is merely a friend.”

  Lana jiggled her glass. She smiled mysteriously as if she discussed these things every day.

  “Well, I wouldn’t say we’re merely friends,” she said, hoping that the insinuation came off convincingly. “He is wonderful company at all times. But I came to the Riviera to escape the war in Paris. It gets very depressing with the rationing and no entertainment.”

  “One forgets how difficult the war is all over Europe when life on the Riviera hasn’t changed quite as much,” Giselle agreed, leaning back against the cushions. “Though now that the Germans are here that might be different. The Gestapo officers who replaced the Italian soldiers are quite intimidating. And I’ve heard rumors the Germans are going to build barricades on the promenades: one won’t be able to see the ocean.” She paused and sipped her drink. “Who knows, maybe you and Guy will elope, and after the war you’ll stay here forever?”

  Lana tried to think of a way to turn the focus on Giselle instead of herself. She didn’t want to think of eloping with Guy, especially with her wedding to Frederic still fresh on her mind.

  “Are you married?”

  Giselle looked up sharply.

  “Heavens, no! I gave up on men years ago, I’m happier with my art. Anyway, the Riviera isn’t a good place to find a husband these days, unless you’re interested in Germans or fishermen.” She laughed and stood up. “Why don’t I go fix something to eat?” Giselle seemed as eager to change the subject as Lana had been. “Gin makes me starving.”

  Giselle disappeared into the kitchen, and Lana glanced around the living room. There was a cigar humidor case on the side table that resembled Jacques’s favorite humidor. She opened it to reveal the red velvet interior and noticed two sets of initials. She looked closer and read To HM with love from GSC.

  Giselle appeared, carrying a tray of cheese and crackers and olives, and Lana closed the case.

  “I was admiring your humidor,” she said hastily. “My stepfather has one just like it.”

  “The villa came furnished. I haven’t changed anything besides the paintings and a few pieces in my bedroom.” She put the tray on the coffee table. “A bedroom has to reflect a woman’s personality, don’t you think? Mine is decorated in silver and blue, so I feel like I’m sleeping on a raft in the middle of the ocean.”

  They ate cheese and crackers and talked about Nice and Monte Carlo. Lana’s mind kept returning to the humidor. It wasn’t really a furnishing. GSC could easily be Giselle’s initials. But who was HM? If Giselle had given it to someone, why did she say it came with the villa? And why did she change the subject and talk about her bedroom? There was something in Giselle’s body language when Lana had mentioned the humidor case—a tensing in her shoulders, the lines that formed around her mouth—that made Lana uncomfortable.

  “This humidor is so attractive.” She picked it up. “I wonder where it’s from. I’d like to get one for Guy as a present.”

  Lana was about to turn it over, but Giselle snatched it out of her hands. Giselle crossed the room and slipped it in a desk drawer.

  “I shouldn’t keep these things on display,” Giselle said calmly. “If I break anything, I’ll have to pay for it.”

  She looked at Lana and her expression was unreadable. “I’ll ask the landlord where he purchased it.”

  Lana walked to the door. She didn’t want Giselle to think she was suspicious.

  “I should go before I eat more cheese and crackers.” Lana smiled. “I have to get ready for the casino, and I won’t be able to zip up my dress.”

  “I knew Guy had good taste. His villa is one of the prettiest on the street, and he drives that fun convertible. Now I see he has good taste in female companionship too.” Giselle followed her to the entry. “Most people in our social set are so busy impressing one another, it’s hard to know who they really are. I can already tell that’s not the case with you. I predict we’re going to be great friends.”

  Giselle kissed her on both cheeks, and Lana inhaled the scent of musk perfume.

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Lana agreed. “I could use a friend too.”

  * * *

  When Lana returned to the villa, she took a bath and selected a dress from the small selection in her closet. Guy was already in the living room when she descended the staircase. He wore a black dinner jacket and bow tie.

  He didn’t say anything at her entrance, and she wondered if she had chosen the wrong gown. She wore her mother’s black Chanel with the white cuffs. Perhaps she should have chosen something more seductive: the red Balenciaga that had a slit skirt.

  “Well,” he said finally. “I was wrong to give you the charm bracelet.”

  She glanced down at her bare wrist.

  “I forgot to put it on,” she explained, suddenly embarrassed. “I’ll go upstairs and get it.”

  “No, no.” He shook his head. His eyes moved slowly over the sheer black fabric and white cuffs. “A silver bracelet wouldn’t do you justice. Next time I’ll have to do a bigger favor for someone and get you diamonds.”

  “You like it?” She waved at her dress.

  “It’s perfect.” He filled two glasses with gin and soda water and handed one to her. “The first rule of gambling is never drink and play at the same time. One cocktail now is all you need.”

  Lana sipped her drink and tried to think of something charming to say. It felt strange to be standing in the living room in formal evening wear, when this morning they had been sharing eggs and toast in the kitchen.

  “I’ve never known a Russian countess before,” Guy remarked. “I see them at parties, of course. I’m always impressed how well they speak French.”

  “The Russian nobility have been speaking French to one another for centuries,” Lana replied. “My mother spoke French to me as a child even when we lived in a house full of Russian refugees.”

  “Ah, yes. Tolstoy wrote about that, didn’t he? The Russian nobility spoke French because they believed the Russian language was meant for peasants.” He jiggled his glass. “Your mother must have had the classic Russian aristocratic upbringing. Perhaps she had servants and a country estate like in Russian literature?”

  Lana’s face grew hot, and she put her drink on the bar.

  “My parents moved to the country when they married. For a while after the revolution they lived undisturbed, but one day my mother came home and found my father’s body hanging from an orange tree,” she began. “She fled with nothing but the dress she was wearing and a suitcase. When I was growing up in Paris she took any job that came along so I had clothes and a bed. She did that for me, but so many children have no more security. Hitler has taken that away. If I can be half the hero to children in this war that my mother has been to me, I’ll die happy.”

  Guy was silent, and Lana expected him to rebuke her for talking about her past. Instead, he put his glass down next to hers.

  “We should go. You want to get a seat at the blackjack table early.” He handed her a velvet cape. “So that every German who enters the casino has a chance to admire your beauty.”

  * * *

  Guy was quiet in the car. He drove so fast, she was afraid he would miss a turn and plunge into the Mediterranean.

  A sign announced Monte Carlo. Yachts bobbed in the harbor, hills glinted in the moonlight, and lampposts illuminated the cobblestones. Guy stopped the car in front of a creamy white building with turrets that rose up like those of a fairy-tale castle. Palm trees lined the circular driveway, at the head of which rested a fountain lit from behind.

  “Oh, it’s beautiful,” Lana breathed. She had never seen anything like the casino, even in P
aris. A wrought iron canopy covered the entrance, and a red carpet was rolled over the steps. Sports cars hummed on the pavement, and valets in velvet jackets and pantaloons greeted the guests.

  “The Casino de Monte-Carlo never disappoints.” Guy turned off the engine. “Did you know that residents of Monaco aren’t allowed at the gaming tables? The government doesn’t want them to lose their money. The casino was conceived by Princess Caroline in 1854 to save Monaco and the House of Grimaldi from bankruptcy.” He looked at Lana. “The design might be familiar to you. The present-day casino was built in 1878 by Charles Garnier, the same man who built the Paris opera house.”

  “Isn’t the casino affected by the war?” Lana wondered.

  “Monaco is technically a neutral country. Which means they are happy to take the money of anyone who throws it on the roulette table.” Guy took Lana’s arm and guided her up the casino’s steps. “Let’s go inside. We have a big night ahead of us. Countess Lana Antanova is about to make her grand entrance into Riviera society.”

  The lobby of the casino reminded Lana of a more decadent version of the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and marble columns were painted with naked cherubs. She ran her hands over the wallpaper that glittered as brightly as if it were embedded with precious jewels.

  Guy put his hand on her back and led her into the gaming room. Men in dashing dinner jackets and women in elegant evening gowns occupied every table. German officers remained in their brown uniforms. The croupiers wore black bow ties.

  Guy pointed to a blackjack table in the corner.

  “Sit over there.” He waved at the table and pointed to a croupier. “Jules will take care of you.”

  “Everyone is so sophisticated,” Lana noted. “What if I don’t know what to say?”

  Guy put his hand on the small of her back and propelled her forward.

  “You’re Countess Lana Antanova, of course you’ll know what to say.”

  * * *

  Lana sat on a velvet-backed stool as the croupier dealt her cards. She looked for Guy, but he had disappeared. Her cards were a queen of diamonds and a seven of hearts and she motioned for another card the way Guy had instructed her in the car. She waited anxiously until the croupier peeled off a three of hearts. Her hand won, and the croupier pushed the chips in her direction. She lost the next round and won the two after that.

  A German officer with blond hair sat beside her.

  “I’ve been watching you,” he said, and Lana froze.

  Guy had asked Jules to fix the table. If the German officer suspected she was cheating he might not want to talk to her.

  “You’ve won almost every round.”

  “It’s purely luck,” Lana said blithely. “I hope it doesn’t run out. The house often wins if you play long enough.”

  “I doubt that,” the officer responded, and the skin prickled on the back of her neck. But then his features relaxed, and he smiled. “Women like you always seem to win at blackjack. They must teach you how to play at nursery school.”

  “Women like me?” Lana arched her eyebrows.

  “Beautiful blondes who look like they don’t have a thought in their head but end up with all the winnings.” He waved at the stack of chips in front of her.

  Lana wanted to rebuke him for being rude, but she bit her tongue.

  “I did spend time at finishing school,” she said instead. “We couldn’t fill all our days with skiing; sometimes it was too cold to go outside.”

  “Are you French?” he inquired.

  “Russian, but I grew up in Paris.” She held out her hand. “Countess Lana Antanova.”

  “I knew there was something different about you,” he offered. “Captain Peter Von Harmon.”

  Lana instinctively recoiled at his touch, but she kept out her hand.

  He brought it to his lips and kissed it. “May I buy you a drink?”

  Guy said not to drink, but it would be impolite to refuse. If she wanted to continue the conversation, she had to accept Captain Von Harmon’s offer.

  “Yes, thank you.” Lana nodded.

  The waiter brought two glasses of champagne, and Lana held hers in her hand. She tipped it to her lips and pretended to take a sip. She hoped that Captain Von Harmon wouldn’t notice that she wasn’t actually drinking.

  “Are you enjoying the Riviera?” Captain Von Harmon asked. The medals on his lapel gleamed. A red band with a black swastika wrapped around the sleeve of his uniform.

  “I just arrived,” she answered. “Paris was so dreary; I needed to go somewhere fun.”

  “I was stationed in Paris last winter,” he said, sipping his champagne. “I agree, the weather is even worse than in Berlin, but there is excellent entertainment. The symphony is wonderful, and the cabarets are enjoyable.”

  “Entertainment is available for handsome German officers but not for French citizens,” she said. Too harsh, perhaps, so she adjusted her voice to become coquettish. “Don’t get me wrong, Captain Von Harmon. I’m grateful to Hitler. We can live without amusement for a little while if it’s for the greater good.”

  “You’re grateful?” he said cautiously.

  “My father was murdered by Cossack soldiers in 1918, and my mother barely escaped,” she continued. “For twenty-five years we’ve been waiting to return to Russia: the Russia that was the homeland of the nobility for centuries, not the Russia of the Bolsheviks. We hope Hitler can restore Russia to the way it was before the revolution.”

  Captain Von Harmon didn’t say anything, and Lana’s heart pounded. But then he drained his champagne glass and signaled the waiter for another.

  “The German army will defeat Stalin,” he began. “You would be amazed how close we came to Moscow in 1941; we were in skipping distance of the parliament buildings. And the Battle of Kursk last July was a testament to the German army’s strength. Stalin might declare himself the winner, but he’s wrong. How could the Russians win when they lost eight hundred thousand men?”

  Even though the Russians suffered enormous casualties, Lana knew they had won the Battle of Kursk. Hitler was stopped from reaching Stalingrad and hadn’t made any progress since. But she gazed at Captain Von Harmon as if she hung on every word.

  “You mustn’t worry, Herr Hitler knows what he’s doing,” he continued. “It’s just a matter of time until Stalin and his band of communists are removed and Russia becomes part of the Third Reich. I hope Stalin enjoys his winters in Siberia.”

  “You have no idea how happy this makes me.” Lana leaned back in her chair. “I can relax and enjoy my holiday.”

  “Perhaps I can show you the Riviera,” he suggested. “Where are you staying?”

  Lana was about to answer when she saw a group of SS officers enter the casino. The secret police comprised the most select members in the Gestapo. In Paris, the secret police had been even more terrifying than the regular Gestapo. The Gestapo’s job was twofold: to keep the peace and get rid of Jews. SS officers reported directly to Himmler; they were free to do whatever they wished to protect Hitler and his government. They were made up of the most loyal Nazis. Just seeing one on the sidewalk in Paris had made her shiver.

  She recognized Alois Brunner’s dark cowlick across the room. Her head began to swim.

  “Are you all right?” he inquired. “You look pale.”

  Lana gripped the table to keep her balance. What if Brunner joined them? She wasn’t ready to greet the man who murdered Frederic. But if she excused herself for no reason, Captain Von Harmon might become suspicious.

  She tipped her glass so that a few drops of champagne splashed onto her dress.

  “I’m so clumsy.” She jumped up. “If you’ll excuse me. This dress is silk and it will stain.”

  Lana hurried toward the ladies’ room and collided with a tall man eating a canapé.

  “Are you all right?” The man steadied her. He had a British accent and wore a white dinner jacket.

  “I’m fine, thank y
ou.” She smoothed her hair and rearranged her dress.

  “I thought it was you,” he said.

  She looked up.

  “Charles Langford. We met on the train.”

  She stopped, nearly forgetting about the stain on her dress. Charles Langford lived in the country; he’d suggested he didn’t get out much. But here he was, right at the Casino de Monte-Carlo.

  “Of course. It’s nice to see you,” Lana answered. “What are you doing in Monte Carlo? You said the most interesting thing you do is attend the Lemon Festival in Menton.”

  “You have a good memory.” He chuckled. “I came with a friend. And what about you, are you alone?”

  Lana thought about Guy. She hadn’t seen him in a while. What would he say if he saw her talking to a strange man?

  “Not alone,” Lana said. “But I can’t find my date.”

  They were standing in a wide hallway with gold-framed paintings on the wall. Couples walked by, and a man who seemed slightly drunk juggled a pile of chips. She looked around for Guy but couldn’t find him.

  “Well, then, why don’t I get a couple of drinks?” Charles suggested. “It’s bad manners to leave a lady alone on the floor of the casino.”

  Lana glanced across the room, where Alois Brunner had joined Captain Von Harmon at the blackjack table. She wasn’t prepared to go back and she didn’t want to stand in the hall alone.

  “A drink would be nice, thank you.” She nodded.

  “So you’re not with the German officer who looks like a Doberman pinscher,” Charles said when he returned from the bar.

  “You were watching me?” she inquired.

  “Only admiring the beautiful woman winning at cards.” He grinned.

  “Beginner’s luck,” she corrected. “And no, Captain Von Harmon isn’t my date. He sat next to me. I spilled champagne on my dress and was on my way to the powder room. I should go back soon. He bought me the glass of champagne; it would be rude not to return and finish it.”

  “That’s very wise. He doesn’t seem like someone who is used to being brushed off.” Charles nodded and looked at Lana. “I see you’re not carrying your copy of Anna Karenina. Have you been enjoying it at the villa in Cap Ferrat?”