“Grazie,” Marcie said with a smile of her own. Vi stared at her friend after the man disappeared again.
“That was impressive, Marce.” And a little alarming, given the situation, Vi thought. If the sergeant knew how fluent her friend was, he might trade Luciana for her without a second thought. With an effort, she shook the fear off. “What did you say?”
“Well, he was surprised that we were women in uniform and that we—that is, I—spoke Italian. I told him I grew up speaking with my grandmother in New York, and he said he had only the tiniest difficulty in understanding me.” Marcie’s grin widened. “Not bad for a girl from the Bronx.”
Vi frowned. “I thought you said you were from Lower Manhattan?”
Marcie waved her hand. “Details, details.”
“Says she who styles herself a spy,” Vi said with a light laugh even though she wanted to shake the girl. Please, God, don’t let Sergeant Danger draw her into any kind of plot . . . “Seems to me if you’re going to have a cover story, you should at least know where you’re from.”
Marcie shrugged. “I suppose. But you already know who I am. And besides . . .” She struck a pose. “I’m a citizen of the world. I’m from everywhere and nowhere.” Then she grinned and leaned forward. “That’s one of my lines from the play. How’d I do?”
“Just fine,” Vi said absently, her brain more concerned with how best to keep her friend out of the sergeant’s clutches. Unless she was wrong about the whole situation, in which case she might be better off leaving well enough alone. But if she wasn’t . . .
You have alternatives; we don’t. Not with the time constraints we’re under . . .
That was the key, Vi realized as a waiter set down two glasses on the table and began to fill them with red wine. That was how she could keep Marce out of this mess. She could stall for time by keeping the sergeant away from Marcie. Then she and Marcie would both be home free. Her spirits rose. Hallelujah!
Marcie’s dark eyes sparkled as the waiter left. “You’ll never guess what Sue said this afternoon! She told me that she was very impressed with my work ethic, and with yours, and if Gerry—that is, Mr. Stuart—decides to open on Broadway when we get back, she’s going to push for us to be cast above everyone else.”
Vi’s heart skipped a beat, the sergeant forgotten. “You’re kidding me.”
To open on Broadway had always been one of her dearest dreams.
“Nope. As long as we don’t ruin her good opinion of us, we could be starring on the Great White Way together.” Marcie practically danced in her seat with excitement. “Can you imagine? Then, boy, oh boy, won’t my pop feel foolish, after telling me I’d fall flat on my face if I tried to work onstage.”
The mention of falling onstage reminded Vi. “Hey, Marce—speaking of directors—Wyatt asked me the strangest question today. He wanted to know if I thought Luciana faked her fall.”
Marcie paused, her wine halfway to her mouth. “Would that even be possible? I mean, wouldn’t the doc have noticed if she wasn’t really hurt?”
“I would think so.”
Marcie set her wine down untasted, her excitement gone. “He just wants Luciana back.”
“Well, you did say they have a thing for each other.”
“Had, as in past tense.” She twirled her glass on the table, despondent. “If he wants her back now, it must mean I stink in her part.”
“I doubt that’s the reason,” Vi said firmly. “I saw you up onstage today, and while it was a little rough, I thought you were making huge strides.”
“Thanks.” Marcie was quiet a moment, her gaze on the table. Then she abruptly scooted her chair back, her eyes suspiciously bright. “If you’ll excuse me, I gotta find the ladies’ room.”
“Marce.” Vi reached out to stop her, but Marcie was too fast. Now you’ve done it, she thought. Marcie was under enough pressure without adding the specter of Wyatt’s disapproval.
“Scusi, Signorina?”
Vi looked up. A gaunt woman in her late twenties with coppery-red hair and brown eyes was studying her, her sharp gaze both haunted and hopeful.
“You are with the USO?” the woman asked in accented English.
“I am,” Vi said, her curiosity piqued.
“You play the role of Lydia in One Fine Mess?”
Vi’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “You’ve heard of us?”
The woman waved her hand impatiently. “Are you Lydia?”
“No.” Vi stared at the woman, perplexed. “My friend has that role.”
The woman dug a folded paper from the pocket of her worn wool dress. “This is for her. Only her.”
“All right.” As Vi took the note, unease prickled up her spine. It was too soon for fan mail. They hadn’t even performed in Rome yet. “Wait—where did you hear—”
The woman was already turning away, her movements quick. Vi frowned as the woman cut through the crowd waiting for seats and then disappeared. Telling herself she was only watching out for Marcie’s safety, Vi opened the note.
To her dismay, it was written in Italian.
“What’s that?” Marcie said, rejoining Vi at the table.
Vi examined her friend’s face. Except for a telltale redness around Marcie’s dark eyes and a few deeper lines around her mouth, the girl looked as confident as ever. But then, her friend was also an actress and in possession of more talent than Vi had originally given her credit for. “A note.” She handed it across the table. “Can you read it?”
“Who’s it from?” Marcie asked, taking it.
Vi didn’t answer as her friend scanned the contents and then frowned. Her hope was that she could get a translation without mentioning the odd circumstances that accompanied the note’s delivery. Perhaps it wasn’t entirely ethical, but under the circumstances, Marcie’s safety took precedence.
“How odd.” Marcie turned the paper over to look at the blank side, her brow furrowed. “It’s a notice of a watch being ready for pickup, but it doesn’t say whose.”
Vi relaxed as the mystery around the note faded. “If it’s not yours, I’m betting it’s Luciana’s. The courier said it was for the actress that plays Lydia in our play, but she didn’t specify which actress.”
Still frowning, Marcie refolded the note. “You’re forgetting Luciana is still in Nettuno.”
It was a good point. Vi’s spine prickled again.
“Maybe she called ahead? Gertie said she overheard Luciana in Caserta talking to someone in Italian and that she said the word ‘Rome’ several times. Maybe she was making arrangements to pick it up.”
“Seems pretty farfetched to me.”
Vi plucked the note out of Marcie’s hand. “Maybe, but it’s the simplest explanation and therefore likely the correct one.” She tucked the note into her uniform pocket. “I’ll give it to Sue in the morning, and she can take it from there.”
“You know what we could do?” Marcie asked with some of her former excitement lighting her eyes again. “We could stop by the store ourselves. The address is in the note. If Luciana does have something to pick up, we could do it for her. That way she would be sure to get it, even if she joins us later in the tour.”
Vi hesitated, something about the situation not sitting quite right with her. She couldn’t put her finger on it, though. Maybe it was how fast the woman had left, how unusual the delivery. How had the woman even known they would be at the restaurant tonight?
Yet there was nothing in the note itself that seemed threatening. Likely it was, indeed, an order to pick up.
“All right,” she said as the waiter appeared with their food. “Next time we get a morning or afternoon off, we’ll go pick up Luciana’s watch.”
Chapter 24
Vi had no sooner collapsed onto the plush auditorium seats, along with the rest of the cast, who were ready for their well-earned rehearsal break, than a thump came from the back of the house.
“Mail call,” a bespectacled soldier shouted before ducking back out the doo
r to the lobby.
I wonder if we got the right bag this time, Vi thought as one of the Italian stagehands ran up the aisle to retrieve the large canvas duffel bag. Yesterday they had gotten one addressed to an entirely different USO unit—there were several in Rome at the moment—and it had taken Wyatt several phone calls to get the snafu fixed.
The stagehand ran back down the aisle and handed the satchel to Sue, who, like everyone else, was lounging on break.
Sue checked the tag on the rope tie. “Unit 2918. That’s us, at least. Do I dare open it now or wait until after rehearsal, in case there’s any bad news in it?”
Mr. Stuart, who must have been napping, jerked in his seat and then straightened. “Open what?”
“I vote now,” Victor said, coming to the rescue as he often did. It was a talent Vi had come to admire and wanted for herself. “If it’s not our mail, better to find it out sooner than later. If it is, then better to get the good news right away. And if it’s bad news, that’s all right, too. We’ll have time to process it before tonight’s first call.”
“Victor has a point,” Ann said.
Mr. Stuart nodded absently, as if he had been following the discussion. Vi suspected he hadn’t. To be honest, Sue and Wyatt had the show so well in hand, he probably could have stayed behind and spared himself the rigors of an overseas tour. But perhaps he wanted to see firsthand how audiences responded to the play so he would know what changes to make before opening on Broadway.
Sue began calling names and handing out envelopes. “Gertrude Johnson. Ann Thiessen. Frances Smith—well now, it looks like you have two, lucky girl!”
“You know, ladies don’t always have to go first,” Matt complained, and Vi rolled her eyes. People who assumed all divas were female had obviously never met Matt.
Sue shot him a quelling look. “I’m reading them in the order they were bundled. Here’s another one for Ann. And one for Charles Cooper.”
“I bet Sue will make Matt wait until the very end now, just on principle,” Marcie whispered. Vi smirked in spite of her exhaustion.
“And one for me,” Sue continued. Matt dropped his head into his hands and slumped.
Charlie punched him good-naturedly in the shoulder. “Sorry, ol’ chap. Guess nobody loves you.”
“Marcie, here’s one for you,” Sue said, holding out an envelope.
“Me?” Marcie stared at the letter as if it were a snake.
“Well, go on. Take it,” Sue said, sounding amused. “It won’t bite.”
“It might,” Marcie said under her breath, but stepped forward to take it.
“And Virginia Heart.” Sue turned toward Vi and held out what looked like a telegram.
Vi’s heart skipped a beat as she stood and stretched out her hand. It had to be from Sal. He was the only one who knew where she was. Please let Jimmy be okay . . . Nervous anticipation almost made her drop the flimsy paper.
“And that’s it,” she heard Sue say as if from a long way off. “Except for this letter for Matthew . . . Dark? Surely that doesn’t say Clark.”
Vaguely, Vi heard the others teasing Matt. Not bothering to look up, she slit the end and pulled out the message. With her heart in her throat, she scanned the brief message, then reread the last part, unable to believe what she was seeing.
Dear Virginia My friend says you are well Everyone is fine here too Keep up the good work PS Your father wants to know your address Please advise Uncle Sal
The edges of her vision turned gray as she refolded the paper. How had her father found Sal? Had he learned about her old career? Or Jimmy? Surely Sal wouldn’t give away her secrets without asking her first.
An arm settled around her shoulders, supporting her. “Are you okay? Is everything all right at home?”
Vi took a deep breath and blinked. The worried frown on Marcie’s face reminded Vi where—and who—she was. “Fine.” A patent lie, but she couldn’t quite find the words to explain how her carefully separated worlds were about to collide and how terrifying the prospect was. “How was your letter?”
Marcie gave a rueful laugh. “Well, it looks like my family knows where I am and apparently has the whole time, which is rather demoralizing. No more feeling proud of myself for pulling a fast one on my pop.”
Vi turned to face her friend and noticed she was unusually pale. Her heart went out to Marcie. With her own parental reckoning looming on the horizon, she was particularly sensitive to how vulnerable the girl might feel. “Was he angry?”
“Very.” Then Marcie laughed again, with more of an edge this time. “But not as angry as my mother, who made sure to tell me I have made a terrible, terrible choice, because Frankie doesn’t want to marry me anymore and so I’ve utterly failed as a daughter.”
“Frankie being the man your parents loved but you didn’t.”
“Bingo.” Marcie sighed. “I mean, it’s true I didn’t want to marry him, but I also didn’t want him to outright reject me. It kinda stings, you know?”
“Almost makes you wish he’d reject you for being too short or not blonde enough instead of because you actually wanted to be someone.”
“Exactly.” Marcie sharpened her gaze. “You’re trying to distract me from what was in your letter, aren’t you?”
“No.” Vi glanced over at the others, closing off any more confidences. Her emotions were still too rattled by the news of her father being in contact with Sal.
How had he tracked her down? She had always been careful about the return addresses she had used over the years, to prevent just such a disaster. And why now, after so many years, and when she was touring another continent? Had something happened to Mom, or Fern? A slew of awful scenarios threatened, paralyzing her with terror. Life was so fragile.
Sue clapped her hands, drawing Vi’s attention. “Okay, boys and girls. You all are free to go; just be back two hours before curtain time. Don’t be late. And, Marcie—good job this afternoon. Your characterization of Lydia is improving.”
“Good job, travel buddy.” Vi gave her friend a playful punch in the shoulder. “Guess all your hard work is paying off.”
“If you call panicking work.” Marcie stood and pulled Vi to her feet. “I don’t know how I’ll survive these next few hours. Everyone else has already had their opening night and are cool as cucumbers, whereas I’m a nervous wreck.”
“You’ll do fine. Meanwhile, how about we take your mind off tonight by putting Operation Watch into action? We can look for postcards, too, since I’m thinking we both owe one to our families.”
Marcie made an exasperated sound as she threaded her arm through Vi’s. “Fine, I’ll write my parents. But after we get Luciana’s watch.”
Vi and Marcie changed into their USO uniforms as fast as they could, eager to escape the theater lest Sue change her mind about the break. Outside, surrounded by the ancient city, the sun bright on her face, Vi’s mood lifted. Yes, she might be facing a disaster back home, but right now she was here, in Rome, with a performance to look forward to. Immersing herself in the joy of the moment, she let Marcie puzzle out the map the hotel clerk had drawn them. The clock shop was apparently near the Janiculum, the second tallest hill in Rome. The clerk had approved of the area, saying there were several shops over there, on the west side of the Tiber, not yet picked over by soldiers.
Forty minutes later, after a few wrong turns and some backtracking, Vi and Marcie finally found the correct bridge, Ponte Palatino, and crossed over the Tiber. After stopping briefly on the far side to admire the ruins of the ancient stone bridge that had once run parallel to it, they hunted for the shop referenced on the note. Even though the ornate script painted on the window was in Italian, the purpose of the shop was clear from the goods displayed in the window.
Marcie hesitated. “Are you sure we should go in?”
Vi had to admit, she was feeling a little apprehensive herself. “Well, the woman did say to give you the note, which said to come get the watch. So no one can fault you for doing
what it said. But I’d check the name on the claim ticket to be sure it really is Luciana’s.”
Marcie slid her an offended look. “As if I wouldn’t.”
Together, they entered the store. A bell tinkled over the door as it closed behind them.
As Marcie headed toward the service counter at the back, the note in hand, Vi paused in astonishment. Dozens of ornately carved cuckoo clocks ticked on the walls, while smaller mantel clocks—some disguised as statues or lamps or pieces of art—tocked from the counters. Even the corners were crammed with more grandfather clocks than Vi had seen in her life, their silvered and gilded faces staring solemnly back at her.
It was as if someone had gathered all the timepieces in Italy and confined them to this one small space. Almost as if the proprietor had hoped to contain time itself. Or perhaps stop it. All those precious seconds. Had he or she hoped to protect them from sorrow and regret, only releasing them once the war was over and it was safe to let those minutes and hours unspool again?
Then an even more compelling sight caught Vi’s attention. A boy, perhaps four or five, his blond hair tousled and sticking up at odd angles, sat on the floor near the door leading to the back room. With the focus of a surgeon, he dug his small fingers through the contents of a box that appeared to be filled with buttons. Whenever he found what he wanted, he would smile slightly and hold it up to the faint light coming through the front window. Utterly consumed with the process, he ignored Vi and Marcie as he carefully placed each treasure on the floor into the design he was creating.
Caught in the spell of the shop, and of the little boy—Jimmy was about his age—Vi jumped when a woman spoke from behind her.
“Buongiorno.”
Vi turned to see an attractive young woman—one with dark-brown hair, not red—standing beside the display counter.
Her inquisitive blue eyes darted between Vi and Marcie. “Come posso aiutarti?”
Waving the note, Marcie answered her in Italian while Vi studied the woman’s expression. If the woman was surprised to see them instead of Luciana, there was no sign in her serene face. As far as Vi could tell, the woman’s polite interest in the note was genuine, as if women in uniform showed up in her shop looking for watches every day. Given the army’s preoccupation with everything being timed almost down to the second, perhaps they did. A working watch wasn’t just a luxury to a soldier but a necessity.
The Long Path Home Page 20