by Anita Abriel
“You can always come to me,” he offered. “I’d never let Countess Antanova go hungry.”
“That’s very kind of you.” She nodded. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go. Guy is waiting for me.”
“It’s nice to see two people care about each other,” Brunner reflected. “I’m happy to have run into you. I’m having a New Year’s party. I’d like you and Guy to come.”
Lana swallowed. First Charles invited them to his Christmas party, and now they were receiving an invitation from Brunner. The whole point of Lana’s mission on the Riviera was to be invited to parties. Yet, she couldn’t help but feel that Brunner’s invitation was a summons.
“A New Year’s party,” she repeated.
“I’ll be in Berlin over Christmas, but I’ll return in January. It will be at the Hôtel Excelsior.” He eyed her carefully. “Your calendar can’t be full so far out. You must come.”
The box with Sylvie’s things seemed so heavy; all she wanted was to get away.
“Of course, we’d be delighted.” She nodded.
“Excellent.” Brunner beamed. “I look forward to our next encounter, Countess Antanova.” He clicked his heels. “It’s always a delight.”
Lana waited until Brunner entered the creamery. Then she hurried down the street to Giselle’s car.
The drive to Cap Ferrat seemed to take forever. Lana could barely control her thoughts. Had Brunner seen her at Sylvie’s house and followed her to the creamery? Was he surveying the neighborhood in preparation for the raid on Friday?
By the time she arrived at the villa, she had convinced herself that the Gestapo had taken Odette. She raced up the front steps and flung open the door. She heard voices and ran to the attic.
Guy and Odette sat across from each other on a blanket. A backgammon board lay between them, and there were two empty plates.
“Lana!” Odette’s eyes sparkled and her brow was creased in concentration. “Guy taught me how to play backgammon. If I win, I get a macaron.”
“The macaron was delicious, but I can’t eat anymore.” Guy rubbed his stomach. “I’ll get fat.”
Lana opened her mouth to say something, but the words didn’t come. Tears filled her eyes and she sunk onto the ground.
“Why don’t we get one now?” Guy noticed her expression and turned to Odette. “We’ll be right back.”
Lana followed Guy downstairs to the kitchen.
“Did something happen?” he asked.
Lana told him about Giselle and her run-in with Alois Brunner.
“I was afraid the Gestapo might have come to the villa,” she finished. “Then I saw you together and I…”
Guy poured a shot of brandy and handed it to her.
“Here, drink this. You had a shock.”
“I know it was wrong to collect Sylvie’s things,” she said. The brandy steadied her nerves, and she felt better. “But I promised Odette. It’s all she has left of her mother.”
“It was risky,” Guy said thoughtfully. “But it’s done, and you’re safe.”
“That’s the thing: no one is safe!” Her voice was frantic. “When Frederic died, Henri asked me to join the Resistance and I thought it was the perfect chance to help others. But what if my mother is being watched because of me? And if Brunner finds out I was friends with a Jewish woman, we could all be in danger.” She took another sip. “I’m like a tightrope walker at the circus. But if I fall, it’s not just me who gets hurt. I’ll take everyone down with me.”
Lana clutched the glass and paced to the window.
“That’s what war is.” Guy crossed the kitchen and touched her arm. “We could be buying fish at the market and get blown up by a bomb,” he reflected. “Think of all the good you’ve done. Because of you, the raid on the Hôtel Atlantic didn’t happen. And now you’ve gained the respect of the officer in charge of the Riviera. Who knows how that will help the Resistance? Not to mention what you’ve done for Odette. You gave her love and attention and shelter when she would have been alone.”
Lana sipped the brandy and let Guy’s words soothe her. He had never spoken so warmly.
“I already told you what you’ve done for me.” He took her hands.
“For you?” She looked into his eyes.
“You and I share similar stories. There’s not a day that I don’t miss Aimee: The way she danced to the phonograph. How her hand felt in mine. But what you experienced was just as bad: you watched your husband being murdered and then you lost your unborn child.
“You could have moved into your mother’s flat and let her take care of you. Instead, you accepted Henri’s offer and came to the Riviera. You haven’t been afraid to do anything. From the moment I saw you slicing tomatoes in my kitchen, you’ve made me want to be a better man.”
Lana remembered the first time she saw Guy, with his tan skin and white shirt, like some kind of bronze god.
“I was so angry at you.” She laughed. “I thought you stood me up for no reason.”
Guy wrapped his arms around her and kissed her.
“You’re not angry anymore,” he whispered.
“No, I’m not,” she conceded. He pulled her close, and suddenly she needed him to make love to her.
“I want you,” Guy echoed her thoughts.
“I want you too.” Lana leaned into him. “But we can’t. Odette is waiting for a macaron.”
“She can wait a little longer,” Guy whispered.
Guy took her hand, and they climbed the staircase to his bedroom. Lana wondered whether Odette would worry if Lana didn’t return to the attic. But then she felt the heat of Guy’s body next to hers and her thoughts slipped away. They wouldn’t be gone long, and they had to enjoy each other while they could. Who knew what the next day would bring.
Chapter Eighteen
Nice, December 1943
Lana was a bundle of nerves the day before the planned escape from Old Town. Guy had gone to Marseille to get supplies for the boat, and she spent her time with Odette and drinking endless cups of tea.
Somehow it felt different from the last time they helped Jews escape. Then she didn’t know what to expect. Now she knew how many things could go wrong: there could be another disturbance at the dock, or the boat could spring a leak.
Lana tried to contain her anxiety, but Odette could sense something was off. She read the same story in The Jungle Book twice, and she forgot to cut the orange she brought to the attic for Odette’s breakfast.
Her biggest worry was how to tell Odette that she was being sent to England to live with strangers. Odette was beginning to trust her. How would she feel when Lana put her on the boat and said they wouldn’t stay together for the war after all?
There was a knock at the front door, and Lana opened it.
Pierre stood on the porch. His scarf was wrapped around his neck, and he wore a fisherman’s sweater.
“Pierre, come in.” She ushered him inside.
“I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you.” Pierre followed her into the living room.
“I’m happy to see you.” She waved at the tea set on the coffee table. “Would you like some tea? My mother always drank tea to calm her nerves, but it’s not doing any good.”
“My father was a coffee drinker. He drank it from the moment he woke up until his last fare of the day.” Pierre sat on an armchair. “It was the only way to keep alert while he was driving the taxi.”
“Too much coffee makes me anxious.” She poured a cup for Pierre. “Is your cold gone? You can’t drive the boat if you’re sick.”
“I’m much better.” He accepted the cup. “But there might not be a boat. Guy called, and he’s still in Marseille.”
“He was supposed to be on his way back.” She sat opposite him.
“He discovered a new trouble with the engine. He stopped at the repair shop in Marseille, but they don’t have the right part. I could hear Guy swearing at the guy in charge from the other end of the phone.” Pierre chuckled.
�
�It has to be ready!” Lana panicked. “We can’t do anything without a boat.”
“He wanted me to come and tell you myself. He’s afraid the phone in the villa might be bugged.”
She was about to tell Pierre about Odette but changed her mind. The fewer people who knew Odette was hidden in the attic, the safer for everyone. Pierre would meet Odette when Lana brought her to the boat.
She remembered something Giselle said the day they met.
“I have an idea.” She stood up. “Meet me at the dock tomorrow night at nine p.m.”
“But what good will that do without a boat?” Pierre was puzzled.
For the first time since Sylvie’s death, she felt in control. She put down her teacup and smiled.
“Who said there wouldn’t be a boat?”
* * *
Pierre left and Lana finished her tea. She was clearing the tea tray when she heard a knock on the door. She thought Pierre had forgotten something and opened it.
Charles Langford stood outside, his car parked in the driveway. He carried a basket.
“Charles! This is a surprise.”
“A good one, I hope.” He handed her the basket. “I brought you some lemons from the market in Menton.”
Charles followed her inside. She remembered their last phone conversation, when he invited them to his Christmas party, his mention that Raoul Gunsbourg had disappeared, and she tried to hide her nervousness.
“I hope you didn’t come all the way to Cap Ferrat to bring me lemons,” she said lightly.
“It’s not that far.” Charles shrugged and looked around the living room. “What a lovely room. Do you mind if I sit down?”
Lana gulped. If Charles sat down that meant he would stay for a while. But if she was rude he might get suspicious.
“Of course.” She nodded. “I was having tea.”
He sat on the sofa and his expression turned serious.
“I didn’t come only to deliver lemons, I came to thank you.”
“For what?” she asked as she poured another cup of tea.
“Raoul Gunsbourg is safely in Switzerland, and I have a fairly good idea how he got there.”
The teaspoon she was using clattered to the floor. Lana picked it up, ignoring Charles’s gaze.
“I’d been trying to get Raoul across the border for weeks,” he explained. “A man his age couldn’t even consider going over the Alps. The Monte Carlo opera owes you a big debt of gratitude.”
Lana walked to the window. What if this was a trick? Maybe Guy was right and Charles was a German spy trying to discover how Raoul escaped.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She turned around.
Charles eyed her appreciatively. “When we met on the train I thought you were simply a pretty girl on holiday. Then you showed up at the casino with Guy and I asked myself if I was wrong. I’ve often wondered what Guy is really doing on the Riviera.” He was silent for a moment. “It’s only when I saw you get into Pierre’s taxi that I knew I was right.”
“Pierre?” Lana repeated.
“I was friends with Pierre’s father years ago. Louis was one of the first people I met when my parents started coming to the Riviera.” Charles warned. “Louis knew what Hitler was capable of and what was happening to the Jews.
“We thought up a plan. He’d hide Jews in the trunk to get them to my villa. Then I’d form groups to smuggle them over the Alps to Italy. Then Louis was killed and Pierre took over the operation. It worked until last September. The Germans cracked down and all the escape routes were cut off.”
Lana was about to say something but Guy’s warning reverberated in her head.
“You have your information wrong.” Lana’s cheeks were hot. “I met Guy in Switzerland years ago. He’s a successful businessman who bought a villa on the Riviera. Your parents bought a house here: you must understand the attraction. Why shouldn’t I live with him? I’m not the first young woman to fall for an older man. And I met Pierre at the train station. He’s a good tour guide, and he doesn’t try to cheat me by charging outrageous fares.”
Charles smoothed the crease in his slacks and looked at Lana pleasantly.
“You wouldn’t be as smart as I think you are if you didn’t say that. But you can ask Pierre himself. I didn’t come to accuse you of anything, I came to help.”
“What do you mean?” Lana asked.
“Lana, you know how ruthless the Gestapo can be. You saw what it was like in Paris; Parisians live in terror. Now the Riviera is crawling with Gestapo officers, they’re at the casino and at parties.” Charles reflected. “Please be careful. And if you ever need a place to stay, my villa is open to you.”
“That’s very kind.” Lana walked back toward the sofa to indicate that it was time to part. “But the only thing I’m guilty of is enjoying the beautiful scenery and mild climate.”
She stopped herself from saying anything else. It wasn’t a good idea to let Charles leave angry. It was better that they remain on good terms.
“Your company included,” she said warmly. “You’ve been so kind since we met on the train.”
Charles followed her to the entry.
“I feel the same about you.” He held out his hand. “Take care of yourself and remember, you can trust me.”
Charles left, and Lana took the tea tray into the kitchen. Why hadn’t Pierre mentioned that he had worked with Charles? But wasn’t that the point of the Resistance? The only way to keep others safe was by not saying anything at all.
She placed the tray on the counter and locked the door behind her. There was no time to think about Charles now. She had to find a boat. Odette and Pierre and all the innocent Jews in Old Town depended on her.
* * *
“Lana, it’s nice to see you,” Giselle said when Lana turned up at her door. “I was painting. It feels good to hold a paintbrush instead of a cigarette.”
Lana followed Giselle into the living room. The curtains were open, and the room was flooded with winter sun.
“I won’t stay long,” Lana began. “The other day you said you wanted to do something that was important.”
“I meant it.” Giselle nodded.
“What if I needed your help with something but couldn’t tell you why?” Lana asked.
“It would sound like the plot of an espionage movie.” Giselle laughed. Her face grew serious, and she lowered her voice. “I’ll do anything you say without asking questions.”
“Do you remember when we met, you said everyone in Cap Ferrat is so friendly they leave their spare keys where their neighbors could find them?”
“You want to break into someone’s house?” Giselle asked incredulously.
Lana sat on the sofa and crossed her legs. She looked at Giselle thoughtfully.
“I don’t want to steal anything. I need to borrow a boat.”
Giselle sat across from her. She wiped her hands on her smock. Her eyebrows shot up and she leaned against the cushions.
“What kind of boat?” she asked curiously.
A smile played around Lana’s mouth. She sat forward and said conspiratorially, “One that could squeeze a few dozen people aboard. I thought maybe you’d know someone who had one.”
“You want to enter someone’s house and take the keys to their boat?” Giselle repeated.
“It sounds even crazier than it did in my head.” Lana stood up and walked to the entry. “Never mind, I should go.”
“Lana, wait.” Giselle stopped her. “I know where we can find keys to a boat.”
“Where?” Lana asked.
Giselle pulled off her smock and picked up her car keys. “I’ll show you.”
* * *
Lana couldn’t have been more surprised when they approached the Petrikoffs’ villa. It looked even more imposing in the daytime. The marble fountain bubbled, and the lawn glinted in the afternoon light.
“We can’t come here,” Lana hissed. “Natalia knows Hans was hanged for the assassination attempt.
She could have you arrested.”
“She’s not going to see me.” Giselle stopped the car. “While you pay her a visit, I’m going to sneak into the garage. That’s where they keep the key to the yacht.”
“What if someone sees you?” Lana hesitated.
“It’s five o’clock. The cook will be preparing dinner, and the maid will be turning down the beds,” Giselle said. “If we’re lucky, Boris will be at the casino. He loves to gamble, he’s almost never at home except for their parties.”
“And if we’re not lucky?”
Giselle slouched down so she couldn’t be seen. “Then we’ll both be in a lot of trouble.”
Lana walked up the steps and knocked on the door. Water trickled through the fountain, and the air smelled of damp grass.
“Lana! What are you doing here?” Natalia stood in the entry. She wore a turban around her head and a silk hostess gown.
“I should have called.” Lana handed her a bunch of flowers. “I was out for a drive and thought I’d see if you were home.”
“These are lovely, thank you.” Natalia accepted the flowers and peered outside. “Is Guy with you?”
“Guy is out of town; I borrowed a friend’s car,” Lana answered. “Guy is why I’m here. I need your advice.”
“Please come in. I just finished getting a massage.” Natalia opened the door wider. “Getting older is so depressing. These days, a massage is the most satisfying thing I do lying down.”
Lana followed her into the living room. The space seemed even grander without party guests. Paintings in gold frames hung on the walls, and two borzois slept with their noses buried in the rug.
“Tell me what’s wrong.” Natalia sunk onto an armchair. “You both looked so happy at the party.”
“We are happy.” Lana sat opposite her. “Guy is kind and considerate. It’s just…” She pretended to blush.
“You want him to marry you.” Natalia finished her sentence. “Independence for a young woman is fine, but one day you’ll notice the lines under your eyes and wonder how to keep his interest.”
“That’s it exactly.” Lana nodded, following Natalia’s lead. “Guy hasn’t mentioned marriage, and I don’t know what to do.”