by Anita Abriel
“If the argument was about me taking you to the dinner party…”
“No, of course not. I told you I can see whomever I like.” She twisted her hands. She leaned forward so he could see more of her décolletage. “It was about the war.”
“The war?” he repeated.
“It was awful, you should have heard him,” Lana said, shivering. Her eyes widened and she pointed at the guests crossing the lobby. “Is there somewhere we could go that’s quiet? Perhaps where I could get a cup of tea. It’s made me so anxious; I feel ill.”
Captain Von Harmon paused, and she could almost see him calculate in his head whether he had time before the raid.
“A cup of tea is a good idea. Why don’t we go into the bar and sort this out?”
When the waiter appeared, Lana announced she’d changed her mind and asked for a Scotch. She had to get Captain Von Harmon drunk for her plan to work.
“What do you mean that you and Monsieur Pascal got into an argument about the war?” Captain Von Harmon asked when the waiter delivered two Scotches.
“Guy is a good man, but he’s Swiss. And the Swiss have always had plenty to eat and drink,” she said, sipping her Scotch. “I tried to see it from Guy’s point of view. His country has never gone through a war or suffered in any way. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to love your country so much and not be able to help.” Her words choked, and she blinked back a tear. She had to sound devastated or Captain Von Harmon might send her away. “I tried to explain, but he got so angry and I…” She gulped. “Forgive me; it’s hard to talk about. I had to come see you. You were the only person who would understand.”
“I would understand?” Captain Von Harmon repeated, frowning.
“Hitler is trying to return Germany to its former glory, and I want the same for Russia,” she tried again. “I want to be able to visit my home country and know the places my mother used to talk about: the architectural beauty of Saint Petersburg instead of Leningrad and summers at our old dacha in the country. How wonderful it would be to attend balls at the Winter Palace.
“Don’t get me wrong, Guy doesn’t outright support the Allies. But he remains completely detached.” She placed her glass on the table. “Don’t you see? How can I remain neutral when Russia is desperate for Hitler and the German army and men like you to rescue it from the communists?”
“I can’t save Russia personally.” He chuckled uncomfortably.
“But you understand why Russia needs Hitler. He took Germany out of the gutter and gave its people back their dignity. And look at what he’s accomplishing now. He’s deporting all the Jews from Poland and Austria and Germany, just like Russia needs to get rid of the communists.” Her voice became urgent. “I couldn’t help myself. Guy told me to leave.”
“To leave?” he repeated.
“I thought he was going to hit me. He picked up a bottle and held it over his head as if he was going to throw it.” Her eyes widened. “I was so frightened, I grabbed my shoes and ran. He’ll calm down when he’s sober, but in the meantime I had nowhere to go. I came here, I hope you don’t mind.”
“I see, but I’m afraid I have an important engagement.” He rubbed his brow. “I can meet you at the Hôtel Atlantic as we planned.”
“What will I do until then?” Lana asked in alarm. “Captain Brunner said that Nice isn’t safe at night.” She waved at her gown. “And a woman in an evening gown can’t sit in a hotel lobby. People will think…”
“I sympathize, but my plans can’t be changed. If you want to wait in my room…”
“Captain Von Harmon!” Lana exclaimed. “Just because I’m distressed doesn’t mean I would put either of us in a questionable position.”
“My apologies.” Captain Von Harmon flushed. He was obviously struggling with what to do, and Lana reached up and patted his shirt collar.
“If we could just sit here and talk until the dinner party,” she coaxed. “Then Guy’s rage will blow over and everything will be all right.”
Captain Von Harmon slumped against his chair, and for a moment Lana felt sorry for him. He was so simple; he believed a gentleman couldn’t disappoint a woman.
“If I went to my room and made a phone call, perhaps I could stay longer.” He wavered.
“Would you? I’d be so pleased.” She leaned forward so he could smell her perfume. “Why don’t we ask the waiter for a menu, and I’ll order something while you’re gone. I always get hungry when I’m emotional, and I haven’t eaten since lunch.”
Lana took as long as she could deciding what to order without rousing his suspicions. The waiter delivered another round of drinks, and Lana asked questions to distract Von Harmon from going to his room.
She learned that he grew up near Hitler’s castle in Berchtesgaden and came to Hitler’s attention when he delivered cheese from his parents’ dairy. Hitler took a personal interest in the teenager who carried a copy of Mein Kampf in his bicycle basket and whose blond hair was the color of butter.
* * *
Captain Von Harmon joined the Youth Party at the age of fourteen. He rose quickly in the ranks until Eichmann himself asked him to become a member of the Gestapo. He served beside Eichmann in Poland when he had 600,000 Jews deported. And he was at the Wannsee Conference in 1942 and assisted Eichmann in the deportation of thousands of Jews to Belzec and Treblinka.
Whenever Von Harmon was about to leave she asked another question, despite her revulsion. Finally the clock struck nine and she excused herself to the powder room.
“I’m afraid I have news,” she said when she returned. “I rang the hostess of tonight’s dinner party, and it’s been called off. Her husband got food poisoning.”
“Called off!” Captain Von Harmon exclaimed. His eyes were glazed from the Scotch and he pulled at his shirt collar.
“Marta promised she’d reschedule,” Lana said. “I hope you’ll be available again.”
“Of course, but what will you do tonight?”
“I’d love to stay longer, but I’ve already taken up too much of your time.” She put her hand over her mouth as if she were yawning. “I suppose I’ll go home. I’m terribly tired. It’s been a lovely evening,” she said with a little smile. “You’re a wonderful storyteller, I should employ you to read to me before bed.”
Captain Von Harmon’s cheeks colored, and he jumped to his feet.
“You can’t go home. What about Guy?”
“He’ll have gone to his event by now, and when he returns I’ll be snug in bed.” She waved offhandedly. “He was quite drunk, tomorrow he won’t remember our argument.”
“Then at least allow me to call a taxi.”
Lana didn’t want to leave the hotel with him. She had parked Giselle’s car outside. “You’re not even wearing a coat. I don’t want to be responsible for one of the most important Gestapo officers in Nice catching a cold.”
“I’m not that important.” He shrugged. “I’m only fourth in charge on the Riviera.”
“You’re important to me.” She kissed his cheek and rubbed the lipstick with her palm. “Good night, Peter. I hope I can call you Peter. I feel that tonight, we have become firm friends.”
It wasn’t until she had driven away that she let herself relax. The whole time she sat opposite Captain Von Harmon at the bar, she was afraid he would cut the evening short. And she worried about his calling a taxi; she couldn’t have anyone follow her.
Now she pulled up in front of the dock. Her purse lay on the passenger’s seat next to her shoes. Her feet ached from wearing heels, so she drove barefoot.
She rolled down the window to breathe in the salty air, relieved that her role this evening was over. A few carefully chosen words of flattery and several rounds of drinks and Captain Von Harmon had become as pliable as a child. She couldn’t wait to tell Guy about her success.
A German jeep was parked in the middle of the road. A soldier waved at her to stop.
“Can I help you?” He poked his head inside.
“Guten Abend,” she said in German. “I wanted to park and go for an evening stroll.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible tonight,” he replied. “There’s been a disturbance. A man has been shot.”
“Been shot?” Lana repeated.
“He was trying to steal a boat,” the soldier said. “But not anymore. Now he’s on his way to the morgue.”
Her eyes scanned the harbor for Pierre’s boat, but there were only a few fishing boats rocking at the shore. She spotted Guy’s car parked at the end of the dock, but he was nowhere in sight. She wondered whether the soldier was talking about Guy.
“Are you feeling all right, fräulein? You’re quite pale,” the soldier asked.
“I need to walk in the fresh air.” She opened the car door. She had to get to Guy’s car and see if he was all right.
The soldier put his hand on the door. Lana could see his gun gleaming in the dark.
“I can’t allow that,” he said. “The area is being searched in case of an accomplice.”
Lana gulped and peered onto the dock. Guy could be hiding somewhere. He might be trying to avoid the German soldiers. She couldn’t leave without trying to find him.
She briefly put her hand on top of the soldier’s.
“Please, I ate something bad at dinner,” she explained. “If I don’t get some air, I might faint.”
The soldier wavered, and Lana thought he would let her get out. But then he closed the door firmly.
“I’m sorry, fräulein, I have to follow orders,” he barked. “You are welcome to sit in the car until the sickness passes.”
Lana tried to hide her disappointment. There was a lump in her throat, and she tried not to panic. She remembered standing outside the window at the convent and seeing Frederic face Alois Brunner. How helpless she had felt, the crack of the gun and Frederic falling to the floor. Her voice faltered, and she took a deep breath.
“Of course, I understand,” she said with a little smile. “I’ll just take a moment and I’ll be on my way.”
There was no point in staying at the dock. The soldier wouldn’t let her out of the car. If he suspected she was looking for someone he might get suspicious. She had to drive to the villa and wait for Guy there.
The villa was dark when she arrived, and she fumbled with her house key. She stumbled into the living room and turned on the light.
“There you are,” Guy said. “I was wondering when you’d be back.”
Guy stood up from where he had been sitting on the sofa, and Lana couldn’t help herself. She dropped her purse and burst into tears.
“Well, that’s not much of a greeting after the night we’ve had,” he murmured.
Lana barely heard him. She buried her head in her hands and kept sobbing.
“I went down to the dock. A soldier said a man had been shot. Then I saw your car, and I thought…”
“The damn car.” Guy sighed. “Some German soldiers were sniffing around it so I had to leave it there and drive the van.”
The plan had been that Guy would transport the Jews to Pierre’s boat in a florist’s van. Guy’s car would be waiting at the dock. Guy would drive his car to the villa, and Pierre would return the florist’s van when he got back from Algiers.
“It’s parked in the garage in case an inquisitive neighbor wonders why Guy Pascal traded his convertible for a florist’s van,” Guy continued.
“So you weren’t shot?” She gasped.
“Do you see any holes in my chest?” He waved at his dress shirt. “That thief almost deserved to be shot; who cheats a fisherman out of making a living?”
Guy took a handkerchief out of his shirt pocket and handed it to her. “Tell me what happened. How did you get Captain Von Harmon to miss the raid?”
Lana gulped and sunk onto the sofa.
“I went to the Hôtel Excelsior and told Captain Von Harmon we got into a terrible fight,” she began. “Then I asked if we could discuss it in private.”
“In private?” Guy said sharply. “It’s all very well to flirt with him at a party, but if you went to his hotel room I’ll…”
Lana looked up and noticed the change in Guy’s expression. His fist was knotted in a ball, and his eyes flashed.
“I wouldn’t dream of doing that,” she corrected. “We sat in the bar.”
“That’s better.” Guy nodded. “I hope you didn’t drink too much. I don’t want to be responsible for turning you into an alcoholic.”
“I hardly drank anything,” she said, and the tears started again. “I was so frightened. What would have happened if I had failed?”
“But you succeeded.” Guy sat beside her. He took the handkerchief from her and dabbed her eyes.
“I had to say the most terrible things.” She thought about the way she talked about Hitler and the Jews. “I was afraid he wouldn’t believe me.”
“Soldiers have guns as weapons, but we only have our intelligence,” Guy mused. “Whatever you said allowed dozens of people to be on their way to safety.”
Lana thought again of her fear when she saw Guy’s car parked at the dock. She hadn’t been so frightened since she stood outside the convent window in Paris.
“I wanted to look for you…” she stammered. “But the soldier had a gun, and he wouldn’t let me out of the car.”
“It’s a good thing you listened to him.” He soothed her. “We’re overwrought. The best thing to do is get some sleep. Tomorrow morning I’ll fix us both eggs with horseradish. It’s the best cure for hangovers.”
“I don’t have a hangover, I hardly drank,” she reminded him.
“There are different kinds of hangovers. You’ve had a lot of shocks this evening.” He stood up and took her hand. “Go to bed, everything will seem brighter in the morning.”
His hand was warm on hers, and she rose from the sofa.
“Lana,” he said when she was halfway to the staircase. She turned, and his eyes were luminous under the light of the chandelier. “I’m proud of you, you did great work.”
* * *
Lana stood on her balcony, and the breeze touched her cheeks. The moon had come out and the sky was full of stars.
Of course she was too nervous to sleep. The success or failure of the raid had rested on her shoulders.
But there were other things that had been different about the night. She remembered driving so fast to the villa, with only the thought that Guy was dead. And then finding him sitting in the living room and not being able to control her sobs. It all felt too familiar. She had been reminded of hurrying to the convent to tell Frederic about the baby and seeing him talking to the Gestapo officers.
“Oh, Frederic,” she breathed. “If only I could have done something to save you.”
She lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Guy was right; she was wound up by the events of the night. The next day everything would go back to normal.
Chapter Nine
Nice, December 1943
The third morning after the thwarted raid, Lana stirred a pot of oatmeal in the kitchen. Guy had left the villa early, and she didn’t know when he would return. But when she tried to take a bite of oatmeal, she couldn’t swallow.
For the last two days, she had been too nervous to eat anything except soup and toast. What if something had happened to the boat? It could have been stopped when they reached Algiers. Or Pierre could have run into trouble on his return. Guy tried to reassure her. The trip would take Pierre at least twenty hours each way. All they could do was wait.
The front door opened, and she heard footsteps in the hall. Guy appeared, holding two shopping bags.
“You left the house so early,” she said when he entered the kitchen. “I made oatmeal but didn’t know when you’d be back.”
“I was up with the roosters.” He set the bags on the counter. “I thought I’d go into town and get some things for breakfast.” He took her hand and did a little waltz around the kitchen.
“What are you doing?
” She laughed.
“I feel ten years younger.” He let her go. “The mission was a success. The Jews were safely transported to Algiers, and Pierre is back at his flat. He’s hungry and exhausted, but nothing that a few good meals and some rest won’t fix.”
“I can’t tell you how relieved I am!” Lana exclaimed. “I was so worried, I couldn’t sleep.”
“I told you Pierre was an experienced sailor.” He grinned. “You and I are going to have a feast to celebrate.”
Guy prepared fried eggs and toast. There were grilled tomatoes and sautéed mushrooms.
“You said you don’t know how to cook.” Lana set down her fork. Her appetite had returned, and she had eaten almost everything on her plate.
“I feel like I can do anything after a successful mission.” He wiped his mouth. “I’ll let you in on a secret.”
“What kind of secret?”
“Before every mission, I write a note and bury it in the garden.”
“A note?” She raised her eyebrows.
“Saying how grateful I am for the good things in my life and what I’d miss,” he said ruminatively. “If anyone finds them, they’ll know I had a heart.”
“I hadn’t thought of doing that,” Lana said.
“That’s because this was your first time.” He sipped his coffee. “A lot of things come to mind when you can’t sleep and you don’t know whether tomorrow night you’ll be in the same bed or five feet underground.”
Lana’s heart beat faster, and she looked up. “But you weren’t in danger that night. Everything went perfectly.”
“Thanks to you. I’m sure Captain Brunner was quite dismayed that Von Harmon ruined his plans.” Guy smiled.
Guy learned that when Von Harmon hadn’t made his phone call, the two other officers involved in the raid thought something went wrong. The raid had been canceled.
Guy reached into his pocket. “I bought something for you when I was in town.”
She snapped open the velvet box, and inside was a silver pen.