by Anita Abriel
That was less than four months! Sylvie and Odette were Jewish. They had little chance of escaping the raids. Lana couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t try to help.
“I’m ready to go downstairs.” She stood up. Her reflection gazed back at her from the mirror, and she noticed her cheeks were pale.
They stood at the top of the staircase, and Guy put his hand on her arm. Together they floated down the stairs and Lana felt something harden inside her. She saw the Gestapo officers standing in the grand salon and walked toward them.
“I’m sorry for my absence,” she said, and turned to Brunner. “Captain Von Harmon offered to show me around Nice. Perhaps you can give us suggestions, Captain Brunner. You seem so knowledgeable.”
“I would be happy to.” Brunner nodded. “The botanical gardens are always pleasant; they are one of the first places we’re going to clear out.”
“Clear out?” Lana repeated.
“Of Jewish families playing tourist.” He looked at Lana closely. “You would understand. After all, czarist Russia felt similarly about the Jewish population for centuries.” He paused. “The purpose of the pogroms was to rid Russia of Jews. I believe it’s getting rid of the children that will make the difference. Some people are content with exterminating Jewish men and women; they think children should be spared. But it’s like getting rid of a rat infestation but leaving behind the babies. In a few weeks the problem will arise again. The children must be dealt with too, so that Europe is free of Jews forever.”
Lana tried to hide her revulsion. Only the most cold-blooded woman would agree to killing innocent children. She could hardly stand to look at him, but this was a test—to help Odette and Sylvie and everyone else, she had to gain his trust.
She lifted her eyes and returned Brunner’s gaze.
“That’s a fascinating viewpoint,” she answered. “Shall we get some caviar and you can tell me more?”
Brunner clicked his heels and took her arm. “I’d be delighted.”
Chapter Seven
Nice, November 1943
The morning after the Petrikoffs’ party, Guy didn’t leave the house early for once. Lana heard him rustling around in the kitchen, but she wasn’t ready to go downstairs. First, she wanted to wait for a phone call.
She woke up to the sun streaming through the bedroom window and the uneasiness of the previous night faded away. The ocean was as still as a painting, and she wished Frederic were with her. Frederic would have loved the Riviera. He would have taken photographs of the cobblestone alleys in Old Town and held her hand as they strolled along the Promenade des Anglais.
The night before was the first time she had felt the presence of true evil. Brunner’s brooding eyebrows reminded her of the angel of death. How could an ordinary man be so consumed with hatred for a whole race of people who had never done any harm?
When she arrived at the villa, she had filled the bath with hot water and scrubbed the scent of Brunner’s cologne from her skin. Even when she climbed under the crisp sheets, she still felt defiled.
Her hand drifted over her flat stomach and she thought about the baby. The things Brunner said about getting rid of Jewish children had made her feel ill. For much of the night she couldn’t sleep, and this morning she was more determined than ever to do her job.
The phone on her bedside table rang.
“Hello,” she said into the receiver.
“Good morning, this is Captain Von Harmon.” A male voice came down the line.
“Captain Von Harmon, what a pleasant surprise,” Lana answered.
“But you are the one who called me. I received a message from the hotel operator.”
“Did I?” Lana let out a little laugh. “It must have slipped my mind. I’ve been sitting at my window and enjoying the spectacular view. I hope you have a similar view from your room,” she said lightly. “I’m glad you called me back.”
“I am very fortunate to receive a call from a beautiful woman. What can I do for you, Countess Antanova?”
“You must call me Lana. We’ve met twice, that must make us friends,” Lana prompted. “Then you might do me a favor. I’ve been invited to a dinner party on Friday night. I wonder if you would accompany me.”
“Friday night? I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
Lana’s heart beat a little faster, and she clutched the phone.
“Please,” she purred. “It’s an important party, and I would feel awkward if I arrived alone.”
“What about Monsieur Pascal?” Captain Von Harmon asked.
“Guy and I have a certain arrangement.” She made her voice sound seductive. “He understands that I came to Nice to have fun. When I meet a fascinating man like you, Captain Von Harmon, I can’t help but want to know him better.”
“It’s possible I could make time.” He wavered. “When does the party start?”
“People dine so late on the Riviera. I doubt they’ll sit down before ten p.m.,” she answered. “I could meet you so you don’t have to drive all the way to Cap Ferrat.”
“That would make it easier,” he agreed.
“How wonderful!” Lana beamed. “I’ll come to you. Where will you be at nine thirty?”
“The lobby of the Hôtel Atlantic,” he offered.
“I’ll meet you there.”
Lana hung up the phone and zipped up her dress. She slipped on a pair of sandals and hurried down the staircase.
“Thank goodness you’re still here,” she said to Guy when she entered the kitchen. “I was afraid you’d leave.”
“Do you mind lowering your voice?” Guy glanced up from his newspaper. “It feels like a woodpecker is attacking my forehead.”
Guy wore slacks and a rumpled shirt. Lana noticed his hair was uncombed and there was stubble on his chin.
“You don’t look like yourself.” She frowned.
“This is exactly what I look like after I’ve had too many glasses of champagne and had to stand on a terrace in the freezing cold.”
“I drank champagne on the terrace, and I feel fine.” Lana walked to the coffeepot and poured a cup of coffee.
“Wait until you enter your thirties. You have the advantage of youth; you’re eight years younger than me. And the fur coat Natalia insisted you borrow,” Guy grumbled. “Brunner and Von Harmon would have stood out there all night if I hadn’t said we had to go home.”
“I have wonderful news.” Lana sat opposite him. “I know the time and place of the next raid.”
Guy put down his paper, eyed her with curiosity. “I was with you all night and we didn’t learn anything except the way Brunner likes his omelets. Ham and cheese with shallots.”
“I just hung up with Captain Von Harmon. I asked him to accompany me to a dinner party on Friday night. At first he said it was impossible, so I knew it was the night of the raid. But I insisted, and he said he’d meet me at nine thirty p.m.” Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “In the lobby of Hôtel Atlantic.”
“You think the raid will be on the Atlantic?”
“I’m not sure.” She pondered. “But we know it will be at one of the hotels. Why else would he say he was going to be in the lobby of the Atlantic?”
“It could be.” Guy nodded thoughtfully. “Or he could be going there for a drink.”
“You said I have to trust my instincts,” she reminded him. “I have a feeling about this. If I’m right, all we have to do is alert the guests before Von Harmon and his men arrive.”
Guy grabbed his car keys and motioned for Lana to follow him.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“We don’t simply alert the guests. They’ll rush onto the Boulevard Victor Hugo and make Von Harmon’s job easier.” He opened Lana’s door and hopped in the car.
“What do we do?” she wondered.
He gunned the engine and smiled. “We help them escape, of course.”
Guy kept his foot so hard on the gas pedal, Lana averted her eyes from the cliffs. They drove into
Nice and parked on a narrow street in Old Town. Two German officers strolled along the cobblestones, and Lana held her breath. But they were engrossed in conversation and didn’t pay any attention to Guy’s car.
Guy reached into the back seat and produced a straw hat and a pair of sunglasses.
“Put these on in case someone follows us.”
“What a lovely hat.” Lana admired the floral bow. “Whose is it?”
Guy glanced up and chuckled. “If you’re asking if I go see a woman at night, the answer is no.”
“Why would I ask that?” Lana retorted. “I just wondered why you have a woman’s hat.”
“I’ll show you.” Guy led her to the trunk of the car. She peered inside and noticed a selection of hats and sunglasses. There were a few coats and scarves.
“In case anyone follows us. There’s also a pistol under the back seat if you ever need one.” He nodded. “Let’s go. We have a lot to do.”
Lana put on the hat and walked alongside him. Guy kept glancing behind them, and she was reminded of the danger that lurked everywhere. If any of the German officers they socialized with suspected she was a member of the Resistance, she and Guy would be shot.
They entered a house with a low ceiling. A narrow staircase led up to the second floor.
“Lana, I want you to say hello to the man who’s going to drive the boat,” Guy said, entering an apartment.
The flat was one large room. A mattress was flung in the corner, and there was a kitchenette with a small fridge.
“What boat?” Lana asked.
“The boat that is going to carry the Jews to Algiers,” Guy said as footsteps sounded in the hallway. Lana’s eyes widened when the young man entered the room.
“Pierre! What are you doing here?”
“It’s a pleasure to see you, Countess Antanova.” Pierre greeted her. “Guy told me he was bringing you here today. I couldn’t wait to see you again.”
She noticed a pair of men’s shoes next to the door.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “What does this have to do with you?”
“Pierre’s father, Louis, taught him to drive a fishing boat when he was practically a boy,” Guy explained.
“I was ten,” Pierre said proudly. “I came home and told my mother one day I’d buy a yacht and sail around the Mediterranean. Just like the wealthy visitors who crowded the promenades in Nice.”
“Pierre’s father sold his fishing boat a few years ago, but Pierre is still one of the best sea captains in Nice.” Guy rubbed his chin. “Which is lucky, because there will be fifty people on a boat that’s made to carry ten, and he’ll be driving at night without any lights.”
“It will be as easy as paddling in the bathtub,” Pierre said with the same youthful enthusiasm he had shown when he drove Lana around Nice.
The connection between Guy and Pierre suddenly dawned on her. Perhaps Pierre hadn’t simply been waiting for work at the train station.
“Pierre is in the Resistance?” Lana realized. “But you never said anything.”
“I didn’t want to join the army, then I would have had to fight for Vichy France,” Pierre explained. “But I had to do something. It’s because of the war that my parents are dead.”
“Louis was one of the earliest members of the Resistance on the Riviera. He risked his life smuggling Jews across the Alps to Italy.” Guy took a notebook from his pocket. “Let’s go over the plan. I’ll get the room numbers of the guests from the concierge and knock on all the doors. Then I’ll escort everyone to the far end of the harbor where the fishing boats are docked. The Germans don’t go there because it smells like fish. Pierre will be waiting in the boat.” He scribbled in the pad. “As long as Lana keeps Captain Von Harmon busy from seven p.m. to ten p.m. that will give Pierre enough time to depart.”
“What do you mean from seven p.m.?” Lana asked in alarm. “Von Harmon said he’d meet me at nine thirty p.m.”
“That’s because he expects the raid to be completed by then.” Guy kept scribbling. “If we want to prevent the raid, you have to meet him before it starts.”
“But how?” Lana asked. The room felt claustrophobic. She noticed there weren’t any windows.
Guy paused, and his smile was as bright as the bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. “You’ll think of something.”
* * *
Guy left to continue preparations, and Lana stayed at the flat with Pierre.
“I had no idea you were in the Resistance.” Lana sipped her water. “Did Guy plant you at the train station to spy on me when I arrived from Paris?”
“No, that was luck.” Pierre grinned, sitting on one of the cushions that were scattered on the floor. He was all arms and legs, and Lana was reminded of a wooden puppet she had as a child. “I was waiting for a fare and saw you standing with your suitcases.
“I joined the Resistance to avenge my father’s death and because I couldn’t watch innocent people being killed,” Pierre said. “But it makes me even happier that I work with Guy. I owe him a lot. After my father died, Guy found me in the taxi with the windows closed and the motor running. He thought I was trying to kill myself. I told him I just fell asleep but he didn’t believe me. Maybe he was right.”
“Oh, Pierre.” Tears sprung to Lana’s eyes.
“He and his wife let me stay with them and never asked for anything in return.”
Lana looked up sharply.
“Did you say Guy’s wife?”
Pierre’s eyebrows knotted.
“You didn’t know he had been married?” he asked, the realization all over his face.
“He told me a few things about his past for our cover, but he never mentioned that he had a wife.” Lana felt strangely irritated. She lived in Guy’s villa, and yet Pierre knew more about him than she did.
“Please don’t tell him I told you,” Pierre begged. “Guy would be furious with me.”
She shouldn’t have been surprised. Guy said it was best if they didn’t reveal anything about their pasts that they didn’t already know. And yet, Henri had told Guy that she had been married. She wished she could ask Guy why he had hid his marriage without fear of being reprimanded. But Henri and Guy had been in the Resistance longer. There must be a reason for the way information was doled out like the cough syrup she sometimes took as a child.
“Is he still married?” she wondered.
“It’s not my place to tell you, you must forget I said anything.” Pierre jumped up and started straightening the coffee table.
“How can I trust anything Guy says if none of it is true?”
“It’s the same for anyone in the Resistance.” Pierre folded the pages of a book. “You don’t have to believe what Guy says, you just have to have faith in what he is trying to do.”
Guy bounded into the room.
“Everything is all set,” he announced. The circles under his eyes had disappeared, and there was a new energy about him. “Lana and I are going to lunch; espionage makes me hungry. Pierre, would you like to join us?”
“I have to work.” Pierre shook his head. “My landlady needs the rent, and the price of petrol keeps going up.”
Guy reached into his pocket and took out a hundred-franc note. “Take this and buy some groceries and a carton of milk. You’ll need your strength when you’re captaining the boat.”
* * *
Lana put on her sunglasses back in the car. With so much to think about, she didn’t want Guy to see her eyes.
“Where are we going?” she asked. The road hugged the Mediterranean, and Nice fell away behind them. Cliffs were coated with pink and purple flowers, and yachts glittered on the water like precious jewels.
“It’s a surprise,” Guy said, maneuvering around a sharp bend.
“I’ve had enough surprises for one more morning,” Lana muttered, tying a scarf around her hair.
“What do you mean?” He turned to her.
She couldn’t confide what Pierre had revealed. She had
to wait for Guy to tell her himself.
“That Pierre is a member of the Resistance, and that I have to figure out how to distract Von Harmon all night,” she offered instead.
Guy laughed and turned on the radio. “This is a good kind of surprise. Trust me, the drive will be worth it.”
The car bumped along the gravel, and Lana was glad she didn’t have to talk. Had Guy really been married? There were no half-used lipsticks in a drawer or a woman’s robe tucked in a closet. Henri had said that Guy was a wealthy Swiss businessman; he’d never mentioned a wife. Was anything about Guy’s past true? And could she risk her life working with someone whose existence was a fabric of lies?
In front of them, the road curved and Lana saw a harbor filled with boats. Villas clung to the hills, and there were forests of fir trees.
“Welcome to Cannes.” Guy waved at a sign. “The Boulevard de la Croisette is the most famous promenade on the Riviera. Just wait until you see the Carlton Hôtel. The valets hand-polish your car while you’re at lunch, and the concierge keeps a silver water bowl for dogs behind the desk.”
The Boulevard de la Croisette was lined with palm trees. Across the way, the Mediterranean seemed even bluer than in Nice. Umbrellas dotted the sand, where waiters delivered drinks to men and women wearing chic sweaters and slacks.
Guy pulled up in front of a building that took up an entire block. It was six stories of creamy stone with red turrets and flags flying over the entrance. Bentleys and Fiats lined the street in front.
“How is this possible?” Lana gazed at men in silk blazers. “There’s a war on.”