Lana's War

by Anita Abriel

  “We had a wonderful time,” Lana gushed. “The food was delicious, and your home is lovely.”

  Charles leaned forward and kissed Lana on the cheek.

  “Then you’ll have to come back.” He beamed. “Next time we’ll have pears from my garden.”

  Guy took Lana’s arm and led her to the door. Suddenly he kissed her. His hand rested briefly on the small of her back. The kiss was sweet and warm and she inhaled the scent of his aftershave.

  Guy turned to Charles and there was a twinkle in his eye.

  “Now I know what you’re hiding up here in Menton.”

  “Hiding up here?” Charles repeated, puzzled.

  “You don’t want anyone to steal your chef. Those were the best beef tips I’ve had.”

  * * *

  Lana was quiet on the drive back to Cap Ferrat. The moon was full, and the air was thick with floral perfumes. She couldn’t believe that Guy had kissed her. But he didn’t mention it, and she wasn’t going to be the one who brought it up.

  Guy pulled into the driveway and turned to Lana.

  “You haven’t said a word since we left.”

  “I’ve been thinking about something. I talked with Raoul Gunsbourg at the party. He’s terribly worried about being captured by the Gestapo.” She smoothed her cape. “I had an idea. Perhaps you could escort him over the border to Switzerland?”

  “Take Gunsbourg to Switzerland?” Guy spluttered. “Why would I do that? There are thousands of Jews on the Riviera. I can’t simply escort them all.”

  Lana looked at Guy, and her eyes were filled with anguish.

  “You heard him play the piano. And think of everything he’s accomplished at the Monte Carlo opera house. You’re a Swiss citizen, you can save him.”

  “If that were possible, we wouldn’t have to use a boat,” Guy argued. “The security at the Swiss border has tightened. They’re checking everyone’s papers.”

  “Maybe you can’t take dozens of Jews across the border,” Lana persisted. “But surely you can make up some story. Gunsbourg is your uncle and you’re taking him to a spa for his health.”

  Guy drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

  “Charles planned this very well,” he said.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “He accomplishes two goals.” Guy turned to Lana. “He hands Gunsbourg over to Brunner’s friends at the border and gets me arrested at the same time.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Lana scoffed.

  “Charles is in love with you, he probably has been since you met on the train.” Guy waved at the villa. “He’ll appear at the door the minute I’m dead with a starched handkerchief and a Pimm’s cup.”

  Lana was about to protest and changed her mind.

  “So what if he is in love with me? It doesn’t change anything. You and I have a relationship that is just for show,” she retorted.

  “We don’t need Charles mooning around,” Guy said stubbornly. “All his attention might turn your head, and you’ll forget why you’re here.”

  Guy couldn’t possibly think that. He said that she was doing a good job. A thought occurred to her.

  “You’re jealous!” she said, turning to Guy. Guy didn’t like Charles because he had feelings for her himself. “Is that why you kissed me? Because he was paying me too much attention?”

  Guy ran his hands over the steering wheel.

  “Of course I’m not jealous. I kissed you because I want to keep Charles on his toes.” He waved offhandedly. “Charles is like a bloodhound. You can’t get distracted.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Nice, December 1943

  Two days later, Lana jumped on the bicycle and rode into Nice.

  She left the bike in town and walked the few blocks to Sylvie’s house on Rue Droit. Guy had said Brunner was planning a raid of the streets above Old Town soon. Many of the narrow houses with their shutters and planter boxes filled with pansies belonged to Jews. She wondered what would happen to them if she and Guy couldn’t stop the raid.

  Footsteps sounded on the pavement, and she darted into the alley. She peered into the street and saw two Gestapo officers smoking cigarettes. There was a clattering sound, and a cat jumped over a garbage can. One officer took out his gun and motioned the other officer to follow him.

  Lana’s heart raced, and she pressed herself against a building. She remembered Guy’s warning that Captain Von Harmon might have her followed. She didn’t want to be seen walking near Sylvie and Odette’s house. But then the officer said something in German, and they continued down the street. The smell of their cigarettes dissolved into the still air, and she let herself breathe.

  “Odette,” Lana said with relief when she knocked and Odette opened the door.

  “You look like you saw a ghost.” Odette led her into the parlor.

  “A cat jumped in my path and frightened me,” Lana said quickly. She didn’t want to scare Odette by telling her about the German officers.

  The room was dark, but something about it felt different. Lana’s carnations were in a vase and candles stood on the mantel.

  “It looks nice in here,” Lana commented.

  “I convinced my mother to let me light candles last night.” Odette followed her gaze. “They looked so pretty, I could almost imagine I was lying in a field and gazing up at the stars.”

  “And you’re wearing a different dress.” Lana noticed Odette’s blue dress with a white collar.

  “It was a birthday present. I didn’t think there was any point in wearing it if I can’t go outside, but I decided to describe it in my letter to Bernadette.” She looked at Lana eagerly. “Come upstairs to my room. I wrote four more letters.”

  Lana and Odette climbed the stairs, and Odette sat at her desk.

  “Did you mail the letters?” She turned to Lana.

  “They will be on their way to England soon,” Lana said cautiously.

  Odette flung her arms around Lana.

  “I knew you would! My mother didn’t believe me, but I was certain you could do it.”

  Lana turned to the window and noticed a different map spread out on the desk.

  “What’s this?” she asked Odette.

  “It’s a map of Old Town. My father made it. Before the occupation we used to go on walks. My father wrote down the names of all my friends with their addresses.” She pointed to the houses with dots under them. Underneath the dots were scrawled names in an unfamiliar handwriting. “I’m going to copy it and send it to Bernadette. Maybe after the war, she can come and stay with me.”

  “Are your friends Jewish?” Lana inquired.

  “Some of them.” Odette shrugged. “Some are school friends, and some friends belong to the temple.”

  “Could I borrow this for a while?” Lana asked, trying to hide her excitement. If she had this map, she would have the addresses of many of the Jews who lived in Old Town. She and Guy could knock on their doors and warn them before the raid.

  “Why do you want it?” Odette asked.

  “I haven’t explored Nice,” Lana said evasively. “And Old Town is so pretty.”

  Odette rolled it up and handed it to Lana. “My father made lots of maps. Just promise you’ll bring this one back.”

  “I promise.”

  * * *

  Lana leaned the bicycle against the garage and let herself into the villa. Guy’s car wasn’t in the driveway, and she wondered when he would return. She ran up to her bedroom and placed the map on the bedside table.

  She had to come up with a way to explain the map to Guy without telling him about Odette. The envelopes peeked out of her purse. There was so much to think about. Odette was counting on her to get the letters to Bernadette. Then she had to think of a plan for Bernadette’s letters to reach Odette.

  If only she could ask Frederic’s advice. He had given Vivienne piano lessons because it wasn’t safe for Vivienne to leave her house. And he taught the Jewish children at the convent.

 
“You must have run into obstacles, Frederic. You would know what to do,” she murmured. “You would never let the children down.”

  The top envelope was open and she took it out of her purse. Odette said she didn’t mind if Lana read her letters. She couldn’t help but be curious. What was it like to be Odette, to have lost a parent and to wonder what each new day would bring?

  Dear Bernadette,

  I didn’t tell you in my last letter the most important thing that has happened. I was too sad to talk about it. But since I plan to keep writing to you, I think you should know. German soldiers shot and killed my father. At first, I wished I had died too. All I wanted was to be with him again. But the Jewish faith isn’t like Christianity. There isn’t a heaven and hell, there’s only one place where all the Jews go. What if it’s so big that I couldn’t find him? I’m not afraid of dying—I see people die every day. But I am afraid of being alone. I’ve been alone so often since the Germans arrived, and it’s the most terrible feeling in the world.

  Things are better now. My mother is happier since I promised to stay inside. I forgot how pretty she is when she smiles! And I have a new friend named Lana. She’s going to make sure you get these letters. She’s a grown-up, but she seems to understand what it’s like to be a child.

  I thought I wouldn’t have much to write about because I can’t go out, but I’ve already filled a page. I’m going to draw you a picture of a dress I got for my last birthday. I bet you have a whole wardrobe of pretty dresses. Perhaps you can take a picture and send it to me.

  Your friend, Odette

  Lana closed the letter and slipped it back in the envelope. Oh, Odette! How can a child be so innocent and wise at the same time?

  A door opened downstairs, and Lana crammed the envelope in the drawer. She ran to the staircase as Guy entered the living room. His overcoat was draped over his arm, and he wore slacks and a black turtleneck.

  “Where have you been?” she asked, walking quickly down the staircase to join him. “You’ve been gone all day.”

  “Switzerland.” Guy dropped his coat on the end table. “Raoul Gunsbourg is safely on his way to Geneva.”

  “Switzerland!” Lana exclaimed.

  “I was wrong the night of Charles’s party.” He walked to the bar and filled a glass with Scotch. “I still believe every life is worth saving. When the war is over, the survivors need music and literature to help make sense of everything that happened. If men like Gunsbourg don’t make it, they won’t have anyone to guide them.” He sipped his drink. “We’ll be living in the Dark Ages.”

  “But what about Charles…?” Her voice drifted off.

  Guy leaned against the cushions and for a moment he looked tired. But then his eyes met hers, and he smiled cheekily.

  “Charles will never suspect I had anything to do with it,” he assured her. “I called him yesterday to thank him for the party. I said you and I were staying at Hôtel de Paris in Monte Carlo and invited him to join us.”

  “You did what?” Lana exclaimed. “What if he had accepted?”

  “Then I would have piled you into the car and driven to Monte Carlo,” he said mischievously. “But I knew he would say no. Charles Langford would rather spend all day ironing his expensive shirts than sit and watch you and me play footsie under the table.”

  “But what if Charles called Hôtel de Paris and asked if we were there?”

  “I took care of that too. I have a concierge friend there.” Guy finished his drink. “Raoul was very grateful. He said if we’re ever in Geneva after the war, he’d like to take us to the opera.”

  Lana’s eyes welled up. Suddenly it was all too much. Raoul escaping to Switzerland, and Odette’s letters to Bernadette. She wanted a time when the most excitement in her week was Giselle’s chicken laying eggs.

  “I thought you’d be happy,” Guy said, noticing her expression. “I was going to open a bottle of champagne to celebrate.”

  “I am happy.” She pulled herself together. “But there’s something I have to tell you.”

  “I hope you haven’t found any other artists who need saving.” Guy groaned. “Because I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours, and I’d do anything for a hot bath and bed.”

  “It’s nothing you have to do tonight.” She walked to the staircase.

  She grabbed the map and ran back down to the living room.

  “Do you remember when you said Brunner is planning a raid on the streets above Old Town?” she asked.

  Guy stood at the bar, refilling his Scotch glass. “We don’t know what day and even if we did, it’s going to be difficult. It’s easy to knock on the door of every hotel room and tell the occupants they have to leave. But there are dozens of streets in Old Town. It will take us ages to approach every house, and we have no idea which ones are occupied by Jews.”

  Lana spread the map on the coffee table.

  “The houses with the dots under them are occupied by Jews.”

  Guy studied the map for a long minute and looked up at Lana.

  “Where did you get this?” he demanded.

  “It doesn’t matter where I got it,” she returned, nervous at his tone.

  “Of course it matters!” Guy snapped. “I need to know where it came from. How else will I know that it’s accurate?”

  Lana straightened her shoulders. She faced Guy, and her eyes were bright.

  “You didn’t tell me how you got Raoul over the border, and I didn’t ask,” she said. “You’re the one who said I need to trust my instincts; it’s time you trusted me too.”

  Guy’s brow knotted together, and a scowl flashed across his face. He downed his Scotch. His eyes were dark and brooding. She thought he would tell her to leave.

  But he put the shot glass on the bar and crossed the room. Suddenly his mouth was on hers, and his arms were around her. Her pulse raced, and she could taste the Scotch on his breath. This wasn’t like the moment in Charles’s foyer when he had kissed her to make Charles jealous. This kiss was real. She could feel it in the pressure of his mouth and the way he pressed her against him.

  He released her.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Why did you?” She gulped.

  He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. They stood more than a foot apart now.

  “Because this war is about saving people who are walking around with a death sentence because they happen to be Jewish. And then I enter the villa, and here you are with your blond hair and those blue eyes, looking as if you spent the day deciding what to serve at dinner,” he said. “Some days I want to indulge in that fantasy: that I’m coming home to my beautiful wife and the most important thing we have to discuss is who we should invite to our next party.”

  Outside, the sun set over the garden. The swimming pool glimmered in the golden light, and the sound of distant cars drifted through the window.

  She touched her lips and tipped her head at Guy.

  “Sometimes I’d like to indulge in that fantasy too.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nice, December 1943

  Lana woke early the next morning and drew back the curtains. It had rained during the night, and the hills were as bright and green as emeralds. A bank of fog settled over the Mediterranean, and she longed to curl up with a cup of hot tea and read Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past.

  The phone on her bedside table rang, and she picked it up.

  “Countess Antanova,” a male voice said. “It’s Captain Von Harmon. I hope I didn’t wake you. I’ve always been an early riser; it’s the most inspiring time of day.”

  Lana sat on the bed and pressed the phone to her ear.

  “Captain Brunner said you were in Berlin.”

  “I just returned,” Captain Von Harmon replied. “My wife had a baby boy.”

  “Congratulations, you must be pleased.”

  Lana felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Alois Brunner had been telling the truth. Captain Von Harmon was in Berlin
for the birth of his child. Her role in the raid hadn’t caused him consequences. She wasn’t sure why she was glad. Von Harmon was a member of the Gestapo, after all. But being personally responsible for his punishment made her feel terrible.

  “His name is Wolfgang Adolf Von Harmon,” Captain Von Harmon answered proudly. “The führer sent a note of congratulations.”

  “Of course he did.” Lana made her voice flirtatious. “If Wolfgang is anything like his father, he will be a fine man.”

  “I don’t deserve your compliments, Countess Antanova. I left Nice without saying goodbye.” He paused. “I would like to make it up to you by having dinner tonight.”

  Von Harmon was inviting her to dinner, even though he was married. The invitation made her uncomfortable. It was one thing to flirt with him, but it was another to accept a date. She wondered what kind of a woman he thought she was. And yet it was her job to get close to him. She couldn’t let guilty feelings about his wife interfere with her work.

  Lana counted to ten before she spoke.

  “Really, Captain Von Harmon,” she said playfully. “Do you think I’m that boring that I’m free every night?”

  “My apologies, quite the opposite,” he admitted. “I found myself thinking about you often when I was away. If tonight doesn’t work, it will have to wait until next week. I’m afraid Brunner has me tied up.”

  Lana sat up straighter. Did that mean the raid on the streets above Old Town would be this week?

  “I can’t turn down a man who is so good at flattery,” she purred. “I’ll try to change my plans. Where would you like to meet?”

  This time it was Captain Von Harmon who waited before he answered.

  “Why don’t we meet in the lobby of my hotel, the Excelsior,” he suggested. “I’ve been traveling so much, it would be nice to stay close to home.”

  Lana hung up the phone and slipped on a dress. She ran downstairs and found Guy in the dining room. A book was open in front of him, and there was a pot of coffee and two cups.

  “You’re awake early.” He glanced up. “I was reading an Agatha Christie book. Sometimes you need something to take you away from this war. A detective story with an ornery French detective named Hercule Poirot is just the thing.”