by Anita Abriel
Vera frowned.
“But you’ve only known Marcus a few weeks,” she protested. “You haven’t even kissed.”
“Kissing is for children,” Edith said dismissively. “What we have is deeper. I can feel it here.” She touched her chest and giggled. “Of course, Marcus is so handsome, when we kiss it will be like the fireworks over the Danube on New Year’s Eve.” Her face grew serious. “I know he will propose. All he talks about is moving to Rome together and becoming rich and famous. And he says the nicest things; he makes me feel like a princess.”
It was wonderful to see Edith happy, but Vera felt a niggling doubt, like when a ladybug flew onto her arm and she brushed it away. Edith and Marcus had only just met. Could she really consider marrying him? That was the thing about Edith: she believed falling in love was the answer to everything, even escaping the war.
“Signora Rosa will make your wedding breakfast,” Vera said finally and hugged her. “Omelets and melon slices and a meringue cake topped with strawberries.”
* * *
Vera skipped through the piazza to the embassy. It was midmorning and by noon the pavement would be burning hot. The greengrocer and the butcher would close for the siesta and only a few old men would remain outdoors smoking cigarettes and playing chess. She thought about Edith’s wonderful news and remembered the time when Edith had all but secured her and Stefan’s future. If Edith and Stefan had succeeded, where would they be now? Would Vera have come to Naples and met Anton?
* * *
It was early spring of 1944 and life was growing harsh in Budapest. There wasn’t any money, and even when her mother sent her to the delicatessen, all Vera could find was roux to make soup, and dry gnocchi. She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten meat or seen her mother add milk to her coffee.
Vera and Edith started sharing a bed at night. It was more comforting to curl up together. They kept each other warm and, more important, they knew the other wouldn’t disappear before morning.
“Vera, wake up,” Edith whispered, climbing into Vera’s bed in Budapest one morning. “I have news.”
“Can it wait?” Vera turned over. She was in the middle of a dream in which she and Edith were eating corn on the cob and Dobos torte with chocolate buttercream filling for dessert.
“This is important.” Edith nudged her. “Stefan and I are leaving Budapest. We want you to join us.”
“That’s nice,” she replied sleepily. Her eyes fluttered closed, wanting to go back to her dream. “We’ll live in a mansion in Hollywood and become friends with Errol Flynn and Ginger Rogers.”
“Not Hollywood, Switzerland,” Edith said. “Stefan knows a guy who forges papers. We’re leaving next Thursday.”
“You’re not serious?” Vera opened her eyes, fully awake now.
“We’re going to be Mr. and Mrs. Christian and Heidi Mueller, newlyweds traveling to the Swiss Alps on our honeymoon. You will be my sister, Agnes, with sickly lungs, joining us for the fresh mountain air.”
Vera could scarcely understand Edith’s words.
“It would take days to get to Switzerland; you have to pass through Austria and Germany,” Vera responded. “It’s impossible; it’s the fastest way to end up before a firing squad.”
“Stefan’s guy is excellent. He gives a money-back guarantee,” Edith insisted. “Stefan sold his gold coin collection to afford it.”
“Anyone who fails probably can’t return to get their money back,” Vera said grimly. “It’s out of the question.”
“Any day we could get sent to the ghetto and then the camps.” Edith shivered. “Jews are safe in Switzerland. When we arrive, Stefan and I will get married and you’ll be my maid of honor.”
“You’re only seventeen. You want to be a fashion designer.”
“So? Stefan doesn’t mind if I work,” Edith declared. “He’s going to be a modern husband.”
“The trip is too dangerous,” Vera insisted. “And besides, we can’t leave our families.”
“You and Stefan are my family. We’ll send for our mothers when we’re settled,” Edith said firmly. “We’ll get an apartment in Geneva, and I’ll open a dress salon. In the summers we’ll go to Montreux and listen to jazz under the stars.”
“That’s a lovely fairy tale.” Vera lay down and closed her eyes. “I’ll stick to my dream of buttered corn on the cob.”
A week later, Vera was sitting in her room. Edith and Stefan had decided to go through with their plan and Edith had sworn Vera to secrecy. Every night Edith debated whether to pack her party dress and necklaces as if she and Stefan were really going on holiday. Vera escaped by rereading her favorite Rudyard Kipling jungle stories, and for a moment she forgot her hunger pains and the Nazi officers strolling up and down the street.
Footsteps pounded down the hall and soon Edith rushed into the room. Her eyes were red and her cheeks were stained with tears.
“What happened?” Vera gasped.
Edith threw herself onto the bed. “The guy who was going to forge our papers was caught. He was shot this morning.” She began to cry.
Vera sat on the bed beside her. “I’m sorry.”
“We can’t go to Switzerland. We don’t have the papers, and Stefan thinks it’s too dangerous.” Edith sniffled. “We won’t get married after all.”
“We’ll have a double wedding after the war,” Vera consoled, stroking her hair. “You’ll marry Stefan and I’ll marry some handsome law student at the Grand Hotel. It will be the most elegant wedding of the year.”
“It would be nice to have a hotel wedding,” Edith sighed. “With a band and flowers and a chocolate cake.”
“You can sew our dresses, with long trains like the one Empress Sisi wore,” Vera said, recalling the history lessons about Hungary’s greatest empress.
“How long until the war is over? What if none of us live long enough to get married?” Edith’s eyes darkened.
* * *
Vera blotted the memory from her mind and climbed the steps to the embassy. Perhaps she should stop worrying about Edith. After all, Marcus brought her flowers and took her dancing, and when she was with him, Edith seemed like her old self.
She opened the front door and wondered what Anton had in store for today. She loved Saturday afternoons after they completed the endless permit applications and official correspondence. Perhaps they would explore the ruins of Pompeii and Herculaneum or visit the Royal Palace.
The downstairs rooms were quiet, and a leather suitcase stood in the entry. Perhaps Anton had to go to Rome and forgot to tell her.
“You’re early!” Anton walked down the staircase. “I wanted to surprise you. Gina is packing you an overnight bag. I’m taking you to Capri.”
Vera looked down at the black-and-white marble floor and tears sprang to her eyes. Now she would have to pay for the elegant dinners, the pretty dresses, the nights at the cinema. Anton would expect her to put on a silk negligee and climb into his bed, and in the morning she would wake up ashamed at what she’d done.
“I booked us two rooms at the Hotel Quisisana,” Anton said as if he could read her thoughts. “On different floors, at opposite ends of the hotel. Your room has one key, which will be safely in your possession. I have to show you Capri. It’s my favorite place on earth.”
* * *
Vera sat next to Anton on the ferry. Edith hadn’t been home when she went to Signora Rosa’s to pack, so she left a note saying she had gone to Capri with Anton and would be back tomorrow. Now the Island of Capri glimmered in the distance. Bright flowers dotted the cliffs, and boats bobbed in the harbor.
Capri seemed to be completely untouched by the war. There were no bombed-out buildings, no closed shop fronts, no children with frightened eyes and thin limbs playing under a fountain. The air smelled of oranges and lemons.
They took the funicular to the Piazzetta and left their luggage with the concierge. Anton grabbed her hand and they hiked to the top of the island. Far below them were the
green grottoes and Rocks of Faraglioni. Vesuvius loomed in the distance, and the white clouds looked like cotton balls.
“During the Roman Empire, Tiberius built twelve villas in Anacapri,” Anton said as he leaned against a stone railing. “He ruled the most important empire on earth from this spot. After the Roman Empire fell, civilization went dark. For centuries the world revolved around war and disease and death.” Anton paused. “But now we have the Sistine Chapel and the Louvre. We have Shakespeare and Dante and Proust. Symphonies perform Mozart and Beethoven, and museums display Rembrandt and Monet. Europe will recover from Hitler’s atrocities, and a new crop of artists and philosophers will emerge.” Anton clasped Vera’s hands. “No one man can wipe out truth and beauty. Human beings were born to create great things, and they will do so again.”
After his speech, they walked down the steep path in silence. The yellow-and-white awnings of the Quisisana greeted them as they reached the Piazzetta. Vera was about to enter the hotel when Anton took her hand. He kissed her gently and her heart lifted.
“I’m the luckiest man,” he whispered. “We’re going to drink the finest champagne and swim and explore the island. I want you to have the most wonderful time and create new memories.”
Vera looked up at Anton and couldn’t remember being so happy. “I want to create new memories too.”
* * *
Vera moved around the hotel room, touching crystal vases and gold lamps. She was supposed to be resting before dinner, but she was too excited to lie down. Everything about her suite was beautiful. From the moment they entered the lobby, with its marble floors and pink damask walls, she felt like a film star. French windows opened onto lush gardens and chandeliers dangled from the ceiling.
Now she stood in her slip and bare feet in front of the wardrobe dresser. Gina had packed a pair of black heels and an evening gown with a satin bodice and flared skirt. She held it against her chest and noticed how the red fabric warmed her skin.
Edith would be shocked when she read Vera’s note and found out that she had gone away with Anton. But Vera would make her understand that when they were together, she felt like she had known Anton all her life.
There was a knock at the door and she froze. What if it was Anton? She had never done more than kiss a man before and had no idea what to expect. Maybe he assumed they would have a romantic interlude before dinner.
She pulled a robe around her waist and answered the door. A bellboy in a gold uniform held a small box from the hotel gift shop.
“With compliments from Captain Wight.” The bellboy handed her the box. “He requests your presence in the hotel bar at six p.m. for cocktails. What should I tell him?”
Vera gave the boy a silver coin and nodded. “Please tell him six p.m. is perfect.”
Inside the black velvet box was a diamond solitaire necklace. Vera turned it over, admiring the way the single diamond captured the light. There was a card with the note:
My dearest Vera,
I hope you like the necklace. Even without it, you are so beautiful you would outshine every woman at dinner.
Warmest regards,
Anton
Vera stroked the diamond and it took her back to the nights when her parents went out to dine. Her father would help her mother pick out her jewelry. Her mother would try on a topaz bracelet or ruby earrings and her father would tell her she was the most beautiful woman in Budapest. Now Vera put the diamond necklace back in the box and a sob caught in her throat.
* * *
Vera sat across from Anton, sipping a glass of champagne. When she had entered the restaurant with its flickering candles and gilt mirrors, she felt out of place. Less than two years ago, she had been on her way to a concentration camp, and now she was surrounded by luxury. Anton took her hand and led her to a table on the balcony. He had ordered appetizers and a bottle of champagne. By the time the waiter replaced the appetizers with plates of seafood ravioli, she had finally relaxed.
“Where do these people come from?” Vera waved at women in couture dresses and narrow heels. The men wore evening jackets and bow ties. “One would think the war never happened.”
“Many Italians made money on the black market,” Anton conceded. “Capri has always attracted a wealthy clientele. I came with my parents the summer before the war.”
“My mother always wanted to take me to Paris,” Vera mused, buttering a warm bread roll. “When she was nineteen, she danced in the corps de ballet of La Sylphide at the Opéra National de Paris.”
“I was in Paris this spring.” Anton smiled. “The masterpieces have been returned to the Louvre and the elevators are functioning in the Eiffel Tower. The Champs-Élysées was bursting with tulips and daffodils. It’s still the most romantic city in the world.”
Vera studied her plate, wondering if Anton would ask her to go to Paris. Then she blushed, thinking she was being foolish.
Anton’s face suddenly turned grim.
“I have to tell you,” he said slowly. “I received a telegram from General Ashe. They are closing the embassy in Naples.”
Vera felt her chest seize.
“So you’re going to Rome?” she inquired.
“Being at the embassy in Rome would be nothing like working with you in Naples.” He looked at her and there was a warmth mixed with desperation in his expression. “Rome is full of bureaucrats and red tape. I’d be assigned a desk, and nothing would get done. It’s time I went home.”
“Of course.” She touched the diamond necklace and felt like she couldn’t breathe.
“I want to ask you a question, but before you give me your answer you have to listen to everything I have to say.” He took her hand. “When I said I was falling in love with you, I was telling the truth. You are the bravest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. I can’t imagine not having you by my side.”
Vera looked up and Anton’s eyes glistened. She sucked in her breath and tried to stop her hands from shaking.
“I love you too,” she whispered. “I didn’t think it was right, falling in love with my employer. But I couldn’t help myself; it just happened.”
“Vera, I want nothing more than to ask you to be my wife. But there is something I should have told you.” He released her hand and looked embarrassed. “When I was eight I had the mumps. I’m sterile.”
“Sterile?” she repeated. “What do you mean?”
“It can’t be the only word in English you don’t understand,” he said gently. His eyes were filled with sadness and he touched her cheek. “I can’t have children.”
“I see,” she whispered, and looked at Anton awkwardly. “And you’ve seen doctors… there is no way to fix it?”
He nodded. “The best doctors in Boston and New York. Unfortunately, it’s a very straightforward case. There is no remedy.”
Vera’s mind spun at Anton’s words and her heart hammered. When she and Edith were girls, they had spent full nights describing their future families. Edith wanted a little girl she could dress in colorful dresses. Vera wanted two boys and two girls, so the rooms were always full of laughter. They would live in adjoining apartments in Budapest, where the front doors stayed open. On Sunday nights they would cook paprika chicken and stuffed cabbage.
How could she leave Edith and move to New York? Or envision a future that didn’t include baby booties and children’s birthday parties?
Anton was kind and handsome and wanted to right every wrong. And when he kissed her, her whole body trembled. She looked up and he was staring at her intently.
“I was wrong to ask the question,” Anton said stiffly. “You are young and beautiful and have your whole life ahead of you. You’ll find someone who can give you children.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Yes, what?” he asked.
“Yes, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” She was suddenly giddy. “Yes, I want to marry you.”
He leaned forward and grabbed her hand. “Are you sure?”
“Completely sure,” she breathed.
He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a black velvet box. Inside was a square diamond surrounded by sapphires. “I cabled my father. This was his grandmother’s ring. We can have it sized if it doesn’t fit.” He slid it on her finger and it fit perfectly. “We agreed it would be best to wait and tell my mother in person. She’ll love you when she meets you.”
Vera suddenly thought of Anton’s mother. Margaret Wight had her heart set on Anton marrying a member of New York society. She would never welcome a Jewish Hungarian refugee. Could she have a mother-in-law who expected her son and his wife to give cocktail parties at the country club and who hosted elaborate Christmas dinners with ham and stuffing and presents under a giant Christmas tree?
Vera thought about how she would fit in with Anton’s friends. They probably had all known each other since nursery school and used nicknames like Buffy and Skip. How would she feel when they excluded her because of her slightly long nose and European accent? And what if they stopped inviting Anton to their gatherings because he was married to her?
“Let’s dance,” Anton said, interrupting her thoughts. He took her hand and led her onto the dance floor.
Vera rested her head on his shoulder. She wasn’t going to let Margaret Wight frighten her. She had jumped off a train to escape the Nazis and spent a year hiding in a barn. She could learn to play croquet and give dinner parties. Anton twirled her around the dance floor and the champagne seemed to lift her off her toes.
* * *
Vera stood on the balcony of her room, gazing at the lights of the piazza. It was after midnight and the noise had died down. Guests entered the lobby to smoke cigars and listen to the grand piano. Young couples disappeared into the alley to embrace. Vera glanced at her engagement ring and her thoughts spun like a carousel at the World’s Fair.