Strangers in Venice

by A W Hartoin

She balled up her fists and yelled, “It worked. He pulled the trigger.”

  Bast jumped up, put a hand over her mouth, and forcibly sat her down. “Quiet, Mrs. Lawrence. It doesn’t pay to lose oneself in anger.”

  She gritted her teeth. “You let him do it. I could be dead right now.”

  “Hardly.”

  “What in the world do you mean by that? He pulled the trigger.”

  “With no ammunition.”

  “That was dumb luck.”

  He chuckled and pulled the gun out of her coat pocket. “You think I don’t know how many rounds of ammunition this Mauser holds? Or is it that you think I can’t count?”

  “You were taking a chance,” she said.

  “I don’t take chances like that, particularly not with a valuable asset.”

  “So I’m an asset now?”

  He blew out a ring of smoke and smiled. “We’re all assets. Some are worth more than others. How old do you think Gabriele Griese was?”

  “Not old enough to be that kid’s mother,” said Stella.

  “That’s my thought as well. Interesting, don’t you think?”

  “Not remotely.” She turned back to the window.

  “Now as to what happens next. I’m bringing you and Nicky to London. From there, I can’t say exactly what will happen, but I believe that—”

  “Please stop talking.”

  “There’s training involved, quite intensive, but I doubt you’ll have any difficulty.”

  “I’m not doing it,” said Stella.

  She heard him puff on his pipe again. The compartment filled with a blue haze and she opened the window, waving it out along with his words.

  “I’m going to recommend language training. We usually recruit those who are already fluent, but I think we can turn you into a polyglot easily.”

  “Is there something wrong with your hearing?”

  “Stella, may I call you Stella?”

  “No.”

  “Mrs. Lawrence, what do you plan on doing instead?” he asked, mildly. “Go back to your old life? Host garden parties? Buy clothes?”

  “I don’t know. Leave me alone.”

  “What about Karolina? She’s still alive,” he said.

  “Are you implying that you’ll help her, if I do it?” she asked and the image of Rosa’s head hitting the floor appeared in her mind and it would not leave.

  “There are certain avenues that could be explored,” said Bast.

  “Then explore them and leave me alone.” Stella put her head out the window and let the wind hit her in hopes that it would drive the pain away.

  Bast joined her and whispered in her ear, “You have the ability to fight in the coming war, to be valuable, to take revenge for what has already happened.”

  “I can’t change the past.”

  “But you can change the future. Isn’t that the most important revenge?”

  “I don’t want revenge. I want to go home.”

  “What’s it going to take, Mrs. Lawrence?”

  “I’m just one person.”

  “As am I and look how I changed your future today.” Bast blew a lungful of smoke out the window and the wind whipped it away to nothing. “How many people have to die to incite your wrath?”

  “Nobody else is going to die.”

  “That’s not true, Mrs. Lawrence,” he said. “It’s just not true.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  BAST LEFT THEM in London. He didn’t expect to and Stella flattered herself to think he didn’t wish to, if only to keep an ever watchful eye on her. The spy seemed to think something had changed in the five days it took them to get to the British Isles, but he was quite mistaken. Stella studied her dictionaries and her children’s book to distract herself from the never-ending talk of the coming war, nothing more.

  When Nicky returned from the club car, it was like he’d never left, like nothing had happened at all. He didn’t wear his mask. He was the Nicky before Vienna, intensely interested in German troop movements and the possibility of Hitler pulling out of a non-aggression pact with Poland.

  Stella did her best not to listen, but their words seeped in. Obviously, there would be a war. Stella had little doubt about that, but she didn’t see how it helped to buy maps and pour over them as if they had troops themselves. When she tried to change the conversation, Nicky would say things like, “Don’t worry. You’ll be safe in Missouri,” or “I’m just glad you’ll be okay at home.”

  You. You. You.

  He never said “we” or “I" when he mentioned Missouri, but it was always Missouri, even though she hadn’t won their bet. He had found the Sorkines before the train so maybe he thought that counted, but she didn’t think so and his words didn’t give the comfort he intended. They only made her crouch over her books and ignore Bast’s suggestive raising of his eyebrows.

  They were never alone again, she and Bast, at least she had that to be grateful for. It was hard enough, keeping one’s mind off things without his poking and prodding.

  In Rome, Stella had seen a lady much like Rosa, small and delicate, but very much alive. The sight of that smiling woman put Stella back in Venice, back in the station, smelling the water from the canal and the greasy hot train engines on the platform. It felt like she was going crazy until she managed to force it away. At least she could make it go with practice and she had plenty of that. Anything could remind her and now she could make Mrs. Sorkine’s eye go and Mr. Sorkine’s bloody chest. And the boy yelling. And Karolina’s agonized face. Daniel. Abel. She could press them down and away to look at later when they didn’t make her feel heavy and lost. Bast might have a million reasons why she should do as he asked. But she had a million to go home. She couldn’t think of a single reason why she, Stella Bled Lawrence, should stay.

  When they arrived in Naples and went to find passage to Britain, she saw the schedules. If they waited a week, they could go directly to New York. She suggested this, but both Nicky and Bast insisted that they had to get her off the continent immediately and she hadn’t the strength to fight them both. They’d found a ship to take them to London the next day.

  Stella agreed to go, like she agreed to go to Naples in the first place, like she agreed to eat dinner and have her feet examined by a doctor who had no clue what to do about infection and frostbite. She agreed because she didn’t care. She agreed because she knew what she was going to do before she got on that ship.

  The telegraph office was a block from the small hotel they found near the Naples dock. Stella slipped away when Nicky got into the bath the next morning, hurrying away on mostly-healed feet that she’d stuffed into the adorable Italian shoes that would never be the same and with a pocket full of dollars that she’d liberated from Nicky’s wallet.

  The office clerk was surprised to see her standing there outside the door when he flipped the closed sign to open. He grimaced, making his shaggy grey brows come together to form one long brow, but he let her in. She was able to say what she needed in Italian and he rewarded her with a gaped-toothed smile. Two telegrams. Two attempts to save Karolina.

  The first telegram was to her mother, who wouldn’t be sleeping for worry and wringing her hands raw. At the very least, she could fix that.

  Dearest Mother. All well and good. Going to England to tour.

  Friend Karolina von Bodmann arrested and sent to Munich. Innocent and elderly. May be using name Karolina Ladner. She needs you. Please help. Will die in Dachau. Ask Red Cross to intervene.

  Much love, Stella

  Her mother had worked with the Red Cross for years, doing dozens of auctions and teas, jumble sales and cake walks to support everything from soup kitchens to clothing for poor youngsters. That had to count for something. Francesqua could be very persuasive and her army of ladies tenacious when riled.

  And the second was addressed to Nicky’s father at United Shipping and Steel.

  Dear Father. Well and going to England. Please use influence to help friend, Karolina von
Bodmann. May be under name Karolina Ladner. Innocent and elderly. Arrested and sent to Munich. Will die in Dachau.

  Forever grateful, Stella.

  This would not make Nicky happy, but she decided to follow Uncle Josiah’s tenets of doing what you want and apologizing later. Nicky’s father had pull with the government and the Nazis had what they really cared about, the Ladner books and the Ripley scroll. They could let Karolina go with no cost to them. They might just do it, if Mr. Lawrence asked them. Or should she say Father. He wanted her to call him that and it grated. She had a father and quite a good one at that, but she humored Mr. Lawrence since she was the only person he seemed remotely interested in at the wedding. He always put down his papers when she came into a room and smiled. Nicky thought this was extraordinary as the old man, as he called him, cared little for anyone or anything except for the business. Nicky took it as a good sign and Stella decided to use it.

  Maybe it wouldn’t work. Maybe Mr. Lawrence wouldn’t care about a plea from his new daughter-in-law, but, then again, maybe he would. She had to try and she knew Nicky wouldn’t ask.

  She rushed back to the hotel and Bast noticed that she’d been gone, but Nicky didn’t. Bast didn’t say anything. She never for a moment thought he would. He saw her and Nicky as very separate entities. In a way, he was right as Nicky had said nothing of consequence to her since he’d come back from the club car and had spent his nights with his back turned to her, sleeping so deeply she often feared he’d stopped breathing.

  But he was, once again, his old self as he directed the porters to take their luggage onboard and then to their cabins. When Stella walked up the swaying gangplank to the ship, a small, rather rickety-looking rust bucket, she thought they would have a chance to talk during the voyage, but she spent the three-day passage vomiting and trying not to vomit. The ship couldn’t weather a single wave without listing dramatically. Nicky lost what little weight he’d managed to gain and by the time they pulled into the London dockyard, he looked as though he might jump overboard and swim for it. Stella would’ve been right behind him, but she didn’t think she had the strength to climb the railing much less hoist herself over.

  Bast wasn’t bothered by the unrelenting waves and only said that he’d gotten his sea legs long ago. He stood beside Stella, scanning the dock and ready to grab her, if she went down.

  “How long?” she croaked as she clung to the railing and prayed for the ship to stop.

  “Almost there.”

  Nicky tried to pat her back, but he wobbled and had to give up on the attempt. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” asked Stella. It was hardly his fault. They’d taken a ship to Europe without the slightest bit of seasickness. He couldn’t have known.

  “I didn’t think our honeymoon could get worse.” He leaned over the railing and vomited a thin stream of stomach acid over the side. “It has.”

  Stella couldn’t make herself deny it. After everything they’d been through, that voyage was the worst. She’d been thinking about death for three days and if they didn’t get off that ship soon she’d be ready for it.

  They finally stopped moving and a swarm of men in crusty overalls rushed for the ship, yelling and moving machinery. Their calls were answered with insults and thick ropes thrown onto the dock.

  “Now?” asked Stella.

  Bast suppressed a smile and said, “We need a gangplank. Look out at the docklands. They’re not moving. Concentrate on that.”

  He wasn’t exactly correct on that point. The docks were alive with people and crates. It was a symphony of movement without any rhyme or reason that Stella could see. They weren’t on a regular passenger ship and had docked among the cargo vessels. Stella could see everything from vats of olive oil to exotic birds passing by on the passage below them.

  “Would you look at that,” said Bast.

  “The gangplank?” asked Nicky. “Where?”

  Bast shook his head and pointed. Three long black cars were inching down the dock behind a truck piled high with fat bags of grain. “Something tells me this is where we part.”

  “Who is it?” Stella asked, but she didn’t care. She was too busy looking for the gangplank.

  “Government officials, unless I miss my guess,” said Bast.

  “For us?” asked Nicky.

  “I doubt they’re here for our cargo of lemons and olives.”

  “How did they know we were coming?”

  Bast smiled.

  A sailor came over and told them that their luggage was being unloaded and Stella watched their bags swing from a crane to be plopped on the dock. Several men pulled the pieces out of the thick netting and sent it back.

  “There we go,” said Bast and he helped Stella to the gangplank as it was secured to the decking. She forced herself to wait, shake hands with the captain, who kindly came to wish them well and once again apologize for the rough passage.

  Then Nicky chivalrously put Stella in front of himself, although she could tell he wanted to run down the gangplank and never look back. She walked down, holding onto both ropes, her legs like rubber and aware she looked both ridiculous and awful at the same time.

  At the end of the incredibly long gangplank stood four men in dark suits with serious expressions. They reminded her of Peiper and her stomach would’ve gone into knots, if it weren’t already there.

  “Mrs. Lawrence?” asked a man with an American accent.

  “Yes,” she managed to force out.

  “Welcome to England.”

  Stella accepted his helping hand and stepped on the dock. She lurched sideways and grabbed onto a post. The dock was moving and she nearly vomited again.

  “You’ve had a rough voyage then?” he asked.

  “You have no idea.”

  Nicky came off with Bast and Stella kept ahold of the post while listening. The men were from both the US embassy and the British Home Secretary. Nicky asked for their identification and they handed it over readily.

  “Mrs. Lawrence, can I help you?” asked Mr. Rhodes, who said he was an attaché to the American ambassador.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Why are you here?”

  “Ambassador Kennedy requests along with His Majesty’s government that you proceed to Bickford House at the invitation of the Earl of Bickford,” said Mr. Rhodes and the British officials agreed. One handed an envelope to Bast, who quickly read the contents and handed it back.

  “Why?” Nicky had already straightened up and looked as though he hadn’t been vomiting ten minutes ago.

  “I’m not privy to that information,” said Mr. Rhodes. “I’m to accompany you and see to your needs, but I believe that it will be made clear to you upon arrival.”

  Nicky turned to Stella. “I promised you The Savoy.”

  The dock kept moving and Stella’s eyesight was fuzzy at best. “I don’t care as long as you don’t put me on a ship.”

  “You couldn’t pay me enough to get on another ship,” said Nicky. “So I guess we’ll go.”

  The men shook hands and the uniformed chauffeur came over from the first car and began loading their luggage, theirs, not Bast’s.

  “This is where I leave you,” said Bast, shaking hands with Nicky. “May I say that if the rest of America is as resourceful as you two, the future will be different from what some imagine.”

  “Thank you for saving our bacon,” said Nicky. “If there’s anything I can do for you, I hope you know that I will do it.”

  “Unless I miss my guess, you’re already going to do it.”

  Nicky smiled grimly. “You don’t miss a trick, do you?”

  “It’s important that I don’t.” Bast shook Stella’s hand and kissed it with aplomb. “Mrs. Lawrence, it’s been a surprise and a pleasure meeting you.”

  “Glad you enjoyed it,” she said.

  “I’ll be seeing you.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  The chauffeur opened the door for her and then ran around to open the other side f
or Nicky. Bast helped Stella in and bent over saying quietly, “You can ignore the fire, Mrs. Lawrence, but that won’t make it go out.”

  “There’s no fire.”

  “You went to Venice and you stayed.”

  “I was trying to do the right thing,” she said.

  He smiled. “I know and you will again.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “We’ll see.” Bast closed the door and the chauffeur and Mr. Rhodes got in the front seat.

  “How long to Bickford?” asked Nicky as the car started rolling.

  Mr. Rhodes turned in his seat and said, “Less than two hours. Will you be all right, Mrs. Lawrence?”

  “I think so,” said Stella.

  “There’s a basket on the floor between you. I believe it has crackers in it. You might find those useful for the stomach.”

  Stella thanked him for the idea, but stared out the window instead. Suddenly, it felt like it wasn’t over, and that was all she wanted.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  THE SILENT CHAUFFEUR drove through little villages with half-timbered houses and thickly thatched roofs, the countryside more beautiful and green than Stella would’ve thought given that it was December and frost tinged the windows. Once Stella’s stomach stopped rolling, she was able to admire the beauty a little but not a lot. They were going to Bickford for a reason and she feared what that might be.

  “Do you think Albert is there?” she asked after an hour and a half.

  Nicky sat casually in the seat as if he had no worries at all and it made Stella feel very alone in her fears. “I would think he’d be in the hospital. Mr. Rhodes?”

  “Yes?”

  “Is Albert at Bickford House?” asked Nicky.

  The attaché turned around, his forehead wrinkled. “Albert who?”

  “Viscount Finley of Bickford House,” said Stella.

  Mr. Rhodes’s eyes widened. “You know the Viscount?”

  “We do,” said Nicky. “Is he there?”