Lana's War

by Anita Abriel

  “Why not? Medicine is a wonderful profession.”

  Odette’s mouth turned down at the corners.

  “What’s the point of making someone well if a soldier is just going to come along and shoot him?”

  * * *

  Lana left Odette’s and hurried down the Promenade des Anglais. Guy would be furious if he found out that she had visited Odette in the little house on Rue Droit.

  She raised her arm, and a rusty Peugeot pulled next to the curb. A young man wearing a scarf jumped out. Lana recognized Pierre.

  “Pierre, what a surprise!” she said. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  “And you, Countess Antanova.” He bowed. “Allow me to open your door.”

  “Thank you.” She slid into the passenger seat. “The villa at Cap Ferrat, please.”

  “Have you been taking in the sights?” Pierre asked as the car nosed onto the main road. “The stairs in Old Town take you to the top of Castle Hill. It has the best view of the bay. And you can’t miss the gardens of the monastery in Cimiez; the ruins date back to the Romans.”

  “No wonder you do well as a taxi driver,” Lana said with a small smile. Pierre had such a youthful enthusiasm; being with him made her feel a little better. “You know everything about Nice.”

  “I am fortunate to live on the most splendid coast in the world.” He waved out the window. “It’s my privilege to share my knowledge with visitors.”

  They pulled up in front of the villa, and Lana opened her purse. She handed him a two hundred franc note, but Pierre shook his head.

  “Monsieur Pascal already paid me.” He gave her back the note.

  “What do you mean, he paid you?”

  “He asked me to wait for you and drive you back to the villa.”

  Lana processed what Pierre was saying, and her jaw tightened.

  “Guy had you follow me?” she demanded.

  “Many taxi drivers in Nice rip off the tourists. A passenger asks to go to the Place Masséna, and the driver winds through the alleys when it is in the center of Nice,” Pierre explained. “He was only trying to protect you.”

  Lana ran up the steps and stormed into the villa. Guy was in the kitchen, polishing a pair of dress shoes.

  “There you are, I was beginning to worry.” He looked up. “The party is in two hours.”

  “You were spying on me!” Lana fumed.

  “What are you talking about?” Guy asked. He wore a silk robe and slippers, and his hair was wet.

  “I put up my hand to call a taxi, and Pierre appeared,” Lana said. “He’d been following me all afternoon.”

  “I told you all the other taxi drivers in Nice are thieves,” he commented. “They double the fare for a woman and then they steal her purse while she’s checking her makeup in the rearview mirror.”

  “It’s not the taxi drivers you don’t trust, it’s me,” Lana insisted. “You hired Pierre to keep an eye on me.”

  “Why would I do that? I knew you were getting your hair done. It looks very nice, you should wear it in an updo more often.” He looked at her inquisitively. “Unless there’s something you’re not telling me.”

  “I bought some things at the pharmacy, and then I came home,” Lana muttered. “That’s not the point. I’ve gotten around Paris by myself for years, I don’t need a man watching out for me.”

  “War makes for strange times,” Guy said, examining his shoe. “For soldiers it’s very straightforward. They sit in a foxhole with bombs exploding around them and they’re sure of two things: that the soldiers beside them in the trenches want to kill Germans and not be killed themselves. But the Resistance is different. People often join the Resistance because they’ve seen things that make them uninterested in living. That’s when you have to be careful. If someone doesn’t care about dying, he can put everyone else in danger.”

  Lana wondered if Guy had ever been in battle. He would never tell her. She glanced at the floor so Guy couldn’t see her eyes. She remembered standing in the kitchen at the convent and telling Sister Therese she couldn’t go on without Frederic and the baby. But then she pictured Odette sucking on the mint. Just knowing Odette gave her life meaning. Odette was only a child, but one day she’d blossom into a young woman. Lana had to try to make Odette’s life bearable. And she wouldn’t let it be cut short just because Odette happened to be born Jewish.

  “I don’t know anyone like that,” Lana said, her voice cold. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to take a bath. I want to look my best so every SS officer at the party spills their secrets to Countess Lana Antanova.”

  * * *

  Guy’s car pulled up in front of the villa where the party was being held. It was perched on a cliff, and even from the car Lana could see it was twice as big as Guy’s house. The grounds were lit with silver lights, and she heard the sounds of glasses clinking and laughter.

  “It’s the size of a hotel,” Lana breathed. Fir trees lined the driveway and a wraparound terrace overlooked the bay. A row of hedges surrounded a marble fountain, and the stone garage could fit at least six cars.

  “Villa Russe is owned by one of the wealthiest couples on the Riviera. Boris and Natalia Petrikoff fled from Russia with a collection of fur coats and a suitcase full of eggs. They had other money, of course. They’d been stashing gold and rubles in a Swiss bank account for years.” Guy smoothed his hair in the rearview mirror. He wore a black tuxedo with a yellow silk handkerchief in the pocket.

  “A suitcase full of eggs?” Lana repeated.

  “Fabergé eggs,” Guy clarified. “Boris was Czar Nicholas’s cousin, and he commissioned the jeweled eggs for Natalia’s birthdays. After the revolution, Fabergé stopped production and the remaining eggs became quite valuable. The suitcase didn’t just contain Fabergé eggs; there were gold humidors and diamond necklaces. The story goes that at the Petrikoffs’ first dinner party, Natalia was naked under her mink coat because she hadn’t brought any clothes. She didn’t want to take up room in her suitcase that could be filled with precious items.”

  Lana had heard of Fabergé. Her mother had told her stories of the most famous jewelry house in Saint Petersburg before the revolution.

  “My father wanted to buy my mother a sapphire-and-diamond ring and matching necklace from Fabergé when they got married,” Lana recalled. “But she insisted on a small diamond instead. She loves pretty clothes, but she thinks extravagant jewels are cold and glaring.”

  “It’s easy to agree when a woman has natural style. You in that dress, for instance.” Guy waved at Lana’s white satin gown. Her neck was bare, and she wore silver shoes. “It accentuates your youth but is elegant at the same time.”

  Lana waited for Guy to finish in his usual biting tone. But he was quiet, and when she looked at him there was something new in his expression.

  “Natalia loves to show off her jewelry at parties. Her biggest fear is not being noticed, and the jewels make her feel young and vital. And there’s often a Gestapo officer among the guests who offers her a pretty sum for a bracelet or a pair of earrings,” Guy went on.

  “The Gestapo?” Lana repeated, puzzled.

  “They requisition apartments owned by Jews and sell the paintings and rugs on the black market,” Guy explained. “Then they turn around and buy jewelry for their wives and girlfriends. You’ll see, tonight Natalia will be wearing some exquisite emerald bracelet, and by the end of the night it will belong to an SS officer who’ll send it to his wife in Germany.”

  “I didn’t know…” Lana stammered. The air had a new chill, and she longed to be sitting in the living room of the villa with a glass of sherry and her copy of Anna Karenina.

  “We better go inside.” Guy took her arm. “Someone at this party must know when the next raid will occur. Our job is to find out who.”

  Lana followed Guy into a marble foyer. A circular staircase swept up to the second floor, and urns were filled with flowers like birds-of-paradise and camellias.

  “I do love my c
amellias, they remind me of Marguerite in Alexandre Dumas’s novel Lady of the Camellias. She wore a different-colored camellia on her dress depending on which lover she was waiting for,” a woman said as she approached Lana. She was in her late forties with blond hair and a Russian accent. She wore a topaz gown and carried a pearl cigarette holder.

  “It was such a tragic story. I cry every time I read it.” She smiled at Lana. “When you’re my age and married, the only way you experience passion is through books.”

  “You can’t be old,” Lana said, admiring the woman’s smooth cheeks and small waist. “You have the face and figure of a girl.”

  “Do you think so?” she wondered. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve removed all the mirrors from the house. It’s the only way to remain happy as you get older. Instead, I hold parties and invite beautiful young men and women. If my guests are attractive, I must be too.”

  “That’s great logic.” Lana laughed.

  “I wish I had done it years ago, it would have saved me the anguish of turning forty.” She held out her hand, and Lana noticed the large diamond on her finger. “I’m Natalia.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Lana took her hand. “I’m Lana Antanova.”

  “The countess staying with Guy Pascal.” Natalia moved closer. “Tell me, what’s he like in bed? I know that isn’t the kind of thing one discusses at dinner parties, but I can’t help but be curious. He’s so handsome and virile, he must be a wonderful lover.”

  Lana gulped. Natalia couldn’t expect Lana to answer. She wondered if this was the way all women talked on the French Riviera.

  “Did I hear my name?” Guy appeared behind them.

  “Only in the best way.” Natalia turned to him and smiled. “I’ve been getting to know the countess. I begged Boris for years to let you be my lover. If that’s not possible, I’m happy you found someone as pretty as Lana.”

  “There’s a war on, none of us can have everything we want,” Guy said with a smile. “Where’s that caviar Boris promised? He said it was shipped from the Caspian Sea and narrowly avoided being torpedoed by a submarine.”

  Natalia drifted off, and Guy went to get glasses of champagne. Lana took deep breaths.

  “You look like a fish twisting on a fishing line.” Guy returned and handed her a champagne flute.

  “Natalia asked what you were like in bed.” Lana blushed. “I didn’t know how to answer.”

  “That sounds like Natalia.” Guy chuckled. “She loves to shock people. I can tell she liked you. She doesn’t pay that much attention to guests she’s not fond of,” he said. “The important thing is to gain her friendship so she invites us to more parties.”

  Lana smoothed her dress. Her job was to fit into the social set. From now on she would try to be more relaxed about sex.

  “Don’t give it too much thought.” Guy squeezed her arm. “I’m going to find that caviar; it’s the best thing about the Petrikoffs’ parties.”

  Guy crossed the room, and Lana noticed Captain Von Harmon standing in the doorway. He accepted a glass of champagne from a waiter and walked over to Lana.

  “Countess Antanova. I would offer to find you a drink but you already have one.” He bowed shortly.

  “Captain Von Harmon.” Lana greeted him. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  “I’m glad we have mutual friends.” Captain Von Harmon moved closer. He wore some kind of cologne, and his cheeks were freshly shaved.

  “The Petrikoffs have a lovely home,” Lana commented. “I’m happy to be invited.”

  “Have you been enjoying yourself in Nice?” he asked.

  “I haven’t done much besides read at the villa.” She took another sip for courage, and her eyes sparkled. “And I blame you.”

  “You blame me?” he said in surprise.

  “You promised to show me around Nice,” Lana reminded him. “How would you feel if you asked me to visit the castle of Nice and I’d already been?”

  “You compliment me.” Captain Von Harmon nodded. “I didn’t expect a beautiful woman to sit by the phone and wait for my call.”

  “Then you underestimate both of us.” Lana found she was enjoying herself. It wasn’t hard to flirt after a glass of champagne.

  “How have I done that?” he inquired.

  “By not believing you are handsome enough to wait for, and by not thinking I would keep my word.”

  “That does make me the villain.” He chuckled. “Let me make it up to you. I’m busy on Friday and Saturday. Perhaps I can collect you on Sunday and we’ll go for a drive.”

  “Sundays are when I usually sleep.” Lana put her hand to her mouth as if she were stifling a yawn. “What could you be doing that’s so important on Friday and Saturday that you don’t have time to show a new visitor around?”

  Lana needed to get information from Captain Von Harmon. He must know when the next raid was going to happen.

  Captain Von Harmon was about to answer when another SS officer approached them. Lana’s body stiffened at the sight of Alois Brunner. This time she had no way to escape.

  “Good evening, Captain Brunner.” He nodded. “May I introduce Countess Lana Antanova? We met at the Casino de Monte-Carlo last week.”

  “It’s a pleasure.” Captain Brunner took Lana’s hand.

  Standing so close to the man who killed Frederic made bile rise to her throat. Her whole body felt chilled and it took all her willpower not to flee. Across the room Guy flashed her a smile, and she clutched her champagne glass and steadied herself.

  “Lana is new to the Riviera,” Captain Von Harmon said. “She’s from Paris.”

  “Ah, Paris. I enjoyed my time in Paris very much,” Captain Brunner replied. His hair was slicked back, and his eyebrows were thick as caterpillars. “The chef at the Ritz learned to make a delicious schnitzel, and I attended a performance of Die Fledermaus that rivaled anything I’ve seen in Berlin. But I completed my assignment in Paris, and it was time to begin my work on the Riviera.”

  “Your work?” Lana repeated.

  “To rid the Riviera of Jews. They are as thick as locusts. And they aren’t just French Jews, they’re from Austria and Hungary and even Germany.” He looked at Lana carefully. “You don’t have any Jewish friends, do you, Countess Antanova?”

  A chill ran down Lana’s spine.

  “I led a sheltered life in Paris.” She chose her words as if she were walking in a minefield. “My mother escaped the Bolshevik revolution and our friends were mostly Russian. As you must know from being in Paris, there isn’t much reason for French citizens to go out. It’s impossible to get theater tickets, and the restaurants have strict rationing. I mainly stay inside and read books.”

  “That sounds terribly dull for someone like you,” Brunner replied.

  “Someone like me?” Lana looked at Brunner curiously.

  Brunner leered at the way her gown hugged her chest, and it took all her strength not to splash champagne in his face.

  “A young woman of noble descent. You should have suitors so you can get married and have children,” he responded. “Surely there must be men in Paris worthy of your attention.”

  Lana remembered her cover. She tried to hide her revulsion.

  “I’m afraid not, Paris is so depressing. I came to the Riviera for a little fun.” Her eyes danced flirtatiously. “The men on the Riviera seem much more interesting.”

  Guy appeared, and she felt his hand on the small of her back.

  “There you are,” Guy said to Lana. He held two plates piled with caviar and toast. “I go to find caviar and come back to find you otherwise engaged.”

  “This is Captain Brunner and Captain Von Harmon.” Lana introduced them. “Guy Pascal.”

  “It’s a pleasure, but I’m afraid I have to pull the countess away.” Guy bowed. “One of the best things about these parties is finding design ideas for my villa, and there’s a piece of furniture I want her to see.”

  Guy led her upstairs and down a long hallway.
He opened the door to a bedroom and pulled Lana inside.

  He walked to the minibar and poured two shots. He handed one to Lana and waved at an ottoman. “Sit down and drink this. Brunner was standing so close to you. I thought you might be in trouble.”

  Lana sunk onto the ottoman and gulped the brandy. “Thank you. I couldn’t stand there without wanting to claw Brunner’s eyes out. He was bragging about getting rid of the Jews on the Riviera.”

  “Alois Brunner has one of the most impressive records in the Third Reich for getting rid of Jews.” Guy swirled the liquid in his glass.

  Lana listened while Guy told her how Brunner had joined the Nazi Party in 1931 and become Eichmann’s right-hand man. He sent 47,000 Austrian Jews to concentration camps in the first year of the war and since then he deported 43,000 Jews from Greece and 25,000 from Paris. In 1942 he was the commander of a train from Vienna to Riga carrying a wealthy Jewish financier named Sigmund Bosel. Brunner took Bosel in his pajamas and chained him to the platform of the car before shooting him. His body remained on the platform until the train arrived in Riga.

  Guy finished his story, and Lana gulped her brandy.

  “You knew all this and let me near him?” Lana said, and realized her hands were trembling.

  “Brunner is in charge, we have to get close to him,” Guy urged.

  “I don’t know if I can…” Lana stammered.

  “Men like Brunner are predictable. They want to be flattered, then they are as pliable as a child with a new toy.”

  Alois Brunner had killed Frederic and was responsible for the death of their baby. How could she converse with him when just being near him made her ill?

  Guy moved over to her and put his hand on her shoulder.

  “We have to stop Brunner at what he’s doing. If we don’t, we’re as bad as everyone else.”

  “What do you mean?” She looked up at him.

  “If we learn when Brunner plans on deporting the next round of Jews we have a chance to save them. That’s a few dozen Jewish men and women and children who will live because of us. Can you turn your back on them because Alois Brunner is disagreeable to talk to?” He dropped his hand. “And we’re running out of time. Hitler lost some key battles this year. The German army surrendered to the Allies in North Africa in May, and they lost the Battle of Kursk to the Russians in July. Hitler may say he will defeat Stalin, but he’s getting worried. It would be a huge achievement for Brunner if he exterminated all the Jews on the Riviera by the spring.”