by Anita Abriel
“What are you doing?” Guy said as a car whizzed by. “You almost drove off the cliff.”
“You think I’m going to get us killed no matter what I do, so I may as well tell you everything,” Lana retorted. “My husband, Frederic, was a music student in Paris. He taught piano at the convent because he believed children’s talents shouldn’t go to waste. That included Jewish children.” She took a breath and plunged on. “One day, Alois Brunner appeared at the convent and accused Frederic of hiding Jewish children at the school, which was true. Brunner suspected he had one hidden in the piano and made him open the lid, and when Frederic wouldn’t hand over Esther Cohen, Brunner shot him.” She gasped for air. “If I can fill one day of Odette’s life during wartime with something other than loneliness and death, I’m not going to miss that chance.”
“You’re overwrought,” Guy said calmly. “Why don’t you get out and let me drive?”
“You might only be able to help people who are faceless names on a hotel guest list, but I’m not like that.” She didn’t move. “Odette needs me, and I’m not going to turn my back on her. If you want to send me back to Paris, that’s fine. Tell me and I’ll book the next train.”
Guy was silent, and Lana’s whole body quivered. She shifted her skirt and waited for him to say something.
“I should drive straight to the villa and throw your clothes in a suitcase. And then I should make you call a taxi because being seen driving you to the train station could be dangerous,” he began. “But I’m not going to. We all have our Odettes and our Sylvies, and you’ll learn to put them behind you. In the meantime, I can’t afford to lose you. You’re not afraid to get close to the enemy and pulled off the last mission superbly.”
“What do you mean I’ll put them behind me?” Lana demanded, the line having lodged in her head.
“You think that if you save other people, you will bring back the ones you lost,” he said evenly. “I’m sure Frederic was a fine man, and Esther Cohen was just a child. But getting yourself killed by taking presents to a mother and daughter you just met isn’t going to bring Frederic and Esther back to life. We’ve got a whole city of Jewish men and women and children to save. I heard a rumor that Brunner is planning a raid on the streets above Old Town. Jews have lived there since the sixteenth century; there are more Jewish bones in the cemetery than anywhere else in the South of France.”
Lana was too stunned to argue. How dare Guy talk about Frederic and Esther as if he knew them? Frederic was the bravest man she ever knew. He did everything to help others without thinking about himself. Esther was an innocent child. Esther had already lost her own father, shouldn’t she be allowed a little happiness?
She still felt guilty that she couldn’t stop Frederic’s death and that she lost the baby too. But she also understood that, in a way, Guy was right. He had been the one to see her emerge from Sylvie’s house. But he could have just as easily been Von Harmon or Brunner.
“I knew it was dangerous,” she said grudgingly. “I’ll be more careful in the future.”
“That’s better. Who would eat my omelets if anything happened to you?” Guy said, and his smile—that easy smile that had been replaced just a few minutes ago by an expression as dark as a thundercloud—returned.
When they arrived back at the villa, Lana went straight to her room.
She picked up the hairbrush on her dressing table. Frederic had bought it for her at an antiques store last Christmas. She argued the money should be spent on an extra blanket, but Frederic said she deserved pretty things.
For Frederic everything had been simple. He helped everyone he could: Elaine and Vivienne, Esther Cohen, and the other children at the convent.
“I want to do good, Frederic,” she said aloud, pulling the brush through her hair. “If only you were here to guide me. It seemed so simple when I joined the Resistance, but now I see it’s not.” She sighed. “I wanted to help others survive the war. But I never thought I’d end up at war with myself.”
One of Odette’s letters poked out of Lana’s purse. The envelope hadn’t been sealed, and she took it out. The letter was written in French and in Odette’s flowery cursive.
Dear Bernadette,
I don’t know if this letter will reach you, but I thought I’d write anyway. Our teacher said your teacher would translate it for you. I wanted to learn English so I can write you a whole letter, but now I don’t know if I ever will. Everything is different since the Germans arrived in Nice. I’m supposed to wear a yellow star, and German soldiers are everywhere.
It’s all because Hitler thinks the Jews should be exterminated. It doesn’t make sense, we’re all the same. My hair might be a different color than my friend Annalise, but we both like books and hate brussels sprouts.
Our teacher, Madame Blanche, said that God watches over the children, but I’m not at school anymore. We have to keep the curtains drawn so the Germans don’t find us and I’m not allowed to play outside. How can God watch over me if he can’t see me?
I thought of writing a letter to Hitler, but it wouldn’t help. If all the important leaders can’t change his mind, what good would a twelve-year-old Jewish girl do? I’ll keep writing to you instead. Please send photos of your pony.
Your friend, Odette
Lana closed the letter and sighed. Is that why Odette didn’t want to stay inside? Because she was afraid God couldn’t see her?
She went into the bathroom and washed her face. A black dress hung in her closet, and she slipped it on and walked downstairs.
Guy was hunched on a sofa in the living room. A bottle of brandy sat on the coffee table, and he held a shot glass.
“Are you going somewhere?” Guy looked up.
“I want to talk to you,” she said shakily.
“In that case you might like one of these.” He reached for another glass.
“No, thank you.” She shook her head. “It’s too early for a drink.”
“It’s never too early to drink during war,” he said, and there was a half smile on his face. “In the car, I forgot to tell you how sorry I am you lost your husband. You’re so young; it must have been a terrible shock.”
“It was. The afternoon Frederic died, I was going to the convent to tell him I was pregnant,” she replied. “It seemed silly to be happy about a baby when Paris was occupied by the Germans, but I knew he would be thrilled. Frederic loved children as much as I do.”
“I didn’t know.” He glanced at her stomach.
“There’s nothing to know.” She shrugged. “I lost the baby the day Frederic was shot.”
“I’m sorry,” Guy said gruffly.
“That’s why I’m here. There was no point in staying in Paris and feeling sorry for myself; at least here I can do some good.”
Guy poured himself another brandy. His eyes were bloodshot, and he passed the glass under his nose.
“I ran into an old friend this morning. He told me about a Resistance worker I knew in Paris named Maurice. Maurice was an interior designer. There were rumors that he had been a frequent guest at Berghof, Hitler’s chalet in Bavaria before the war. There was even a photo of Hitler and Maurice in a 1938 issue of the British magazine Homes and Gardens.” Guy chuckled. “The magazine did a three-page spread with photos: a paneled library and a grand hall filled with Teutonic furniture and a theater where Hitler held screenings of Hollywood movies.
“In fact, Maurice was only at the chalet to sell Hitler a globe. But when the war started Maurice could drop references to smoking cigars on Hitler’s terrace and eating the cook’s potato soup.” Guy paused and sipped his brandy. “That familiarity served Maurice well when he joined the Resistance. He hired a design assistant named Eloise, and together they were hired by SS officers, who were eager to put their own touches on their Paris apartments. You wouldn’t believe how many German bombing raids were thwarted because of the information Eloise passed on to Maurice.
“An SS officer named Hedrick became infatuated with
Eloise and started buying her gifts and taking her to dinner. Eloise and Maurice were thrilled; Eloise would learn all his secrets. But one night he suggested she take home a casserole. Eloise lived in the same building as a Jewish family named the Morgensterns. They never had enough to eat, so she gave them the casserole. A few days later the Gestapo came to the Morgensterns’ door. It was just a routine check to see if they had papers, but Hedrick recognized his casserole dish on the dining table. Apparently the dish was Meissen china; it was a gift from his mother. He asked Mrs. Morgenstern where she got it, and she wouldn’t say. After the SS officers rounded up the Morgensterns, Hedrick went to Maurice’s design studio, showed Eloise the casserole dish, and then he shot them both. You think it’s important to help Odette and Sylvie, but you’re putting them in danger too. The only way to succeed in this game is to cut out your own heart.”
The living room was quiet, and Lana heard a frog outside the window.
“You said you wanted to talk about something,” Guy finished.
“I wanted to know the names of the guests who will be at the Petrikoffs’ party that we’ll be attending in two weeks,” she said quickly. “I like to be prepared.”
Guy smiled at Lana over his glass. “That’s what makes you a good Resistance worker. You’re always thinking ahead.”
Chapter Ten
Nice, December 1943
Lana was sitting at the dining table and sipping a cup of coffee when the phone rang the next morning.
“Lana, it’s Charles Langford.”
“Charles, how nice to hear from you,” Lana said.
Charles had always been so kind to her, saving her from having to talk to Brunner at the casino and buying her a lemonade when she ran into him at the market. But these meetings were starting to feel like more than coincidences. Lana chided herself; she was behaving like Guy. She was lucky to have Charles as a friend.
“I called to give you details for the party. It’s Villa Gold in Menton. Cocktails are at seven but come earlier if you like. I can show you and Guy the grounds.”
Lana had forgotten about Charles’s invitation.
“Yes, of course,” she said, wondering how she was going to tell Guy.
“I’m looking forward to it,” Charles said easily. “Ever since we ran into each other at the casino I’ve been trying to remember where I met Guy before. I’ll figure it out by then.”
Lana was about to thank Charles for the invitation when the front door opened. She said goodbye and hung up the phone.
“Who was that?” Guy asked, entering the dining room. He wore a jacket and carried a pile of envelopes.
“It was Charles Langford, actually,” Lana replied.
“How did he get this number?” Guy asked.
“I suppose from the telephone book.” She shrugged. “He invited us to dinner on Friday night.”
“I hope you said we were busy,” Guy said shortly.
“I tried. But he said no one is that busy on the Riviera.”
“Langford will say anything to get what he wants,” Guy muttered, sitting opposite Lana.
“I don’t know what you have against Charles.” Lana defended him. “He’s only been kind.”
“Why would he call out of the blue?” Guy asked, sifting through the mail.
Lana couldn’t tell him that she bumped into him on the way to see Odette. Guy would be furious.
“It wasn’t quite out of the blue,” she admitted. “I ran into him the other day.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t know I had to report every encounter,” Lana retorted. “Would you like me to keep a list with dates and times?”
“I’d like you not to accept invitations to dinners from Nazi sympathizers.”
“You have Charles completely wrong. But so what if he’s friendly with the Germans?” She crossed her arms. “We go to the Petrikoffs’ parties, and they have German officers as guests.”
“That’s different. The Petrikoffs and other White Russians want Germany to help save Russia from the communists. They’re not actively handing Jews over to the Gestapo like Langford.”
Lana added a spoonful of sugar to her coffee and stirred it angrily.
“You have no proof,” she insisted. “Charles could have been trying to help the Jews escape across the Alps and failed.”
“Men like Langford don’t fail.” Guy grunted. “They sit in their fancy villas and sail their yachts as if the war were merely a set of obscure references on the radio. All they have to do is turn it off and the whole problem of Jewish shops being looted goes away.”
“You live in an expensive villa, and you know plenty of people with yachts,” Lana pointed out, her blood boiling. She didn’t know why she was so upset; she hadn’t been that keen to go to Charles’s party.
“I’m on the Riviera for one reason: to save as many Jews from the gas chambers as possible.” Guy rested his elbows on the table.
“You don’t know anything about Charles,” she responded.
Guy was about to say something but stopped. He stood up and buttoned his jacket.
“Tell Charles we’ll come.”
Lana put down her coffee cup in surprise.
“I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before,” Guy continued. “What better way to find out if Langford is delivering information to the Gestapo than by catching him in the act?” He turned to the door. “Plus, I’ve heard Langford’s chef cooked at the Hôtel München Palace before the war. His German meat loaf is supposed to be delicious.”
Guy left, and Lana finished her coffee. She was about to take the cup into the kitchen when the phone rang. Perhaps Charles forgot to tell her something about the dinner party.
“Hello,” she said into the receiver.
“Countess Antanova.” A male voice came down the line. “This is Alois Brunner.”
Lana stared at the phone. She jumped, and the coffee cup dropped on the floor.
“Is everything all right?” Brunner asked. “It sounds like there was a crash.”
She crouched down and picked up the pieces.
“This is a pleasant surprise,” she replied. “How did you get my number?”
“Captain Von Harmon gave it to me,” Brunner answered. “You had cocktails with him the other night.”
Her skin turned cold, and she took a moment to answer.
“We had a pleasant evening,” she said with a little laugh. “I needed a little distraction. After all, at the party I told you Captain Von Harmon offered to show me around Nice. You were going to give me suggestions.”
“You have an excellent memory,” Brunner agreed. There was a silence before he continued. “The thing is, Captain Von Harmon had to go to Berlin.” He paused. “His wife is having a baby.”
Lana gulped and took a deep breath.
“He didn’t say anything about it,” she commented. “Captain Von Harmon is excellent company. He has quite a war record; I was impressed.”
“Captain Von Harmon is a skilled officer,” Brunner said.
Lana regained her composure. She straightened her shoulders and clutched the receiver.
“You haven’t told me why you’re calling,” she said coolly. “I imagine it’s not often that a high-ranking member of the Gestapo makes a phone call to a woman in the middle of the day.”
“You’re right, Countess Antanova,” he said. “I thought I’d offer my services to show you around the Riviera since Von Harmon is indisposed.”
“That’s very kind, but it won’t be necessary,” she replied. “Guy and I attend plenty of parties. We’ve been invited to a party at the Petrikoffs’ in two weeks. Perhaps you’ll be there.”
Lana hoped that he would say he was busy.
“I’ll check my calendar. It would be a pleasure to see you.”
“And you,” she said, and then stopped. She had to know if Von Harmon had been sent away permanently. “Maybe Von Harmon can come. Will he be back from Berlin?”
“Th
at depends on the baby.” Brunner chuckled. “I’m sure he hopes so. I heard Berlin is covered in snow. Goodbye, Countess Antanova, it was a delight to speak with you.”
Lana said goodbye and hung up the phone. It had been a mistake to give the operator at Von Harmon’s hotel her phone number. She never expected Brunner to call her.
She swept up the remaining pieces of the broken cup and took them into the kitchen. There was a knock at the front door, and Lana wondered who it could be. She hurried to the entry and opened it.
“Giselle!” she exclaimed. “I thought you weren’t coming home until tomorrow.”
“I finished my business a day early,” Giselle said, kissing Lana on both cheeks.
“Please come in. It’s lovely to see you.” Lana ushered her into the living room.
Giselle followed her and sat on the sofa. She glanced around the room. “I hope I’m not interrupting. Where is Guy? He’s never here when I’m around.”
“Guy is just busy.” Lana waved offhandedly. “Can I offer you something to drink?”
“Yes, please.” Giselle took off her coat while Lana fetched her a glass of water.
“I hate traveling,” Giselle said, sitting in a chair in the living room. “I can’t sleep in a strange bed, and I never pack properly. I’m always too hot or too cold.”
Lana noticed a heart-shaped bracelet around Giselle’s wrist as she sat on the sofa.
“What a pretty bracelet,” she said.
Giselle glanced down at it.
“I bought it for myself. That’s why I went away. My great-aunt died and left me some money.” Giselle twirled the bracelet. “I should be practical and set the money aside, but I couldn’t resist. After all, the black market won’t last forever.”
Lana poured a glass of water for herself. So many things had happened since Giselle left, but she couldn’t talk about any of them.
“You never told me where you were going.” Lana tried to think of something safe to say.
“Didn’t I?” Giselle frowned. “I was in Paris, settling my aunt’s estate.”