by Anita Abriel
“Why would he give me a present?” Edith asked. “I’ve never met him.”
Vera shrugged. “He likes to help others.”
“I thought we weren’t supposed to accept presents from men.” Edith looked at Vera curiously.
Vera pictured Captain Wight in his khaki uniform. She remembered reaching up and kissing him on the cheek. “Perhaps we can accept a small present now and then.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Spring 1946
Vera folded the letter and slipped it in her pocket. She glanced in the mirror and adjusted the collar of her dress.
“He can’t make you work on your birthday!” Edith protested, sitting up in bed. It was already the afternoon, but Edith had spent the morning lounging around the room. “You promised we’d go dancing. Marcus is going to pick us up at eight.”
“Captain Wight doesn’t know it’s my birthday.” Vera smoothed her hair. “I’ll be home by six; I’ll have plenty of time to get ready.”
“Marcus invited his friend, Pico. Pico has the profile of a Roman god,” Edith said dreamily.
“I’m not interested in men,” Vera insisted. “I’m only going to the nightclub to keep you company.”
“You’re going to keep an eye on me and Marcus,” Edith laughed. She pulled the covers over her and went back to sleep.
* * *
Vera skipped down the steps and onto the street. She took the letter out of her pocket and read it again.
Vera,
I arrived back in Naples this morning and have some correspondence that must be finished before Monday. Would it be possible for you to come to the embassy for a few hours this afternoon?
Yours,
Anton
In the month Vera had been working for Captain Wight, she had never seen his signature. She hadn’t even known his first name. Captain Bingham had only referred to him as Captain Wight, and that’s how he had introduced himself. And she always transcribed the letters and left them on his desk for him to sign. Then Gina took them to the post office, so she had never had occasion to see his full signature.
“Captain Anton Wight,” Vera said aloud, laughing at herself. He probably signed his first name by accident, hastily giving the letter to Gina to deliver to the pensione.
* * *
“Thank you for coming.” Captain Wight opened the front door. He wore a black tuxedo with a white silk shirt. His hair was combed and his cheeks were closely shaven.
“You’re going out!” Vera blushed, suddenly flustered.
“I’m hosting a dinner party this evening.” Captain Wight ushered her inside. “You must think I’m an ogre to make you come to the embassy on another weekend.”
“I don’t want to keep you,” Vera murmured. “I could come back in the morning.”
“I’m not such a beast to make you work on Sunday!” Captain Wight exclaimed.
Captain Wight dictated letters for an hour, but Vera was distracted. He looked out of place in his starched collar and gold cuff links. She imagined him seated at a sumptuous banquet, sipping champagne and discussing politics.
“When I was in Rome, General Ashe kept insisting I close the Naples embassy and join him there,” Captain Wight said finally, leaning back in his chair.
“I hope you don’t leave us soon.” Vera clutched her fountain pen tightly, realizing she could lose her job as quickly as she found it.
“I don’t want to think about moving to Rome right now. I haven’t had a proper meal all day and I’m always grumpy when I’m hungry. I was on the train for hours and the sandwiches tasted like wax paper.” Captain Wight stood up and stretched his legs. “Let’s raid Gina’s kitchen.”
Captain Wight made plates of bread and mascarpone cheese. They sat at the oak table overlooking the garden, and Vera mentioned how much Edith had enjoyed her birthday present.
“You haven’t bought yourself anything new,” Captain Wight said, pointing to the green dress she wore every day.
“I might today,” Vera mumbled self-consciously. “Edith and I are going dancing.”
“Then I shouldn’t keep you, you must have dates waiting.” Captain Wight got up abruptly and loaded dishes in the sink.
“And your guests will be arriving shortly.” Vera wrapped up the cheese and put it in the fridge.
“Could you bring me my mother’s telegrams before you go? I didn’t see them on my desk,” he said.
“I left them on the table in the morning room,” Vera replied, glad for an excuse to leave the kitchen. “I’ll run and get them.”
The curtains in the morning room were closed and Mozart played softly on the phonograph. Vera rustled around looking for the pile of telegrams, but they were missing. She glanced up five minutes later and Captain Wight stood at the door, holding a square box.
“Gina must have moved them,” Vera explained.
“No, I took them earlier,” Captain Wight admitted. He walked toward Vera and handed her the box. “I didn’t want you to leave until I gave you this.”
Vera opened the box and took out an emerald-green evening gown. It had a heart-shaped bodice and capped sleeves. Buried in the tissue paper were delicate heels with gold straps.
Vera held up the shoes and her eyes sparkled.
“I can’t accept this,” she breathed, touching the sheer silk of the dress.
“Wear it dancing tonight.” Captain Wight slipped his hands in his pockets. “Your date will love it.”
“I don’t have a date.” Vera shook her head. “I don’t need to wear such a pretty dress. I’m only going to keep Edith company.”
“In that case,” Captain Wight said, shifting his feet. “Perhaps you’d join me for dinner.”
“But you’re having a dinner party,” Vera objected.
Captain Wight reached down and touched her cheek. “You are my only guest.”
Vera broke away and sat down on the sofa. She clutched the box, her hands trembling.
“I’m sorry if I upset you,” Captain Wight implored, striding across the room. “I wanted to give you a wonderful dinner with champagne and dessert and then tell you my feelings.”
“Feelings?” Vera choked. Captain Wight had always been so polite and serious, could he really have developed feelings for her? And how did she feel about him? She recalled the way he popped into her thoughts when she crossed the piazza after work or when Marcus called on Edith and there was a fluttering in her chest.
“When I was in Rome I couldn’t stop thinking of you,” Captain Wight admitted. “I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat. I just wanted to come home and be with you.”
“You hardly know me,” Vera replied, her heart hammering.
“You’re beautiful and courageous and I’d like…” Captain Wight stopped, as if he couldn’t decide what he wanted. “I’d like to invite you to dinner.”
Vera had promised Edith she would go dancing with her. She couldn’t abandon her best friend.
“Perhaps another night. I have to go,” Vera said reluctantly. She stood up and walked to the door. “Edith is waiting for me.”
“I have a confession to make.” Captain Wight stopped her. “I asked Edith’s permission to have dinner with you tonight. She gave us her blessing.”
“Edith knows?” Vera remembered Edith saying Captain Wight was a slave driver to make her work on Saturdays.
“I swore her to secrecy. I didn’t want to pressure you.”
Vera studied his serious pale blue eyes, the fine lines around his mouth. She admired the elegant fabric of the dress, feeling young and pretty. “I accept.”
“Thank God,” Captain Wight exhaled, smiling. “Gina will take you upstairs to change. Dinner will be in the Red Salon.”
Vera knew there was a whole floor of bedrooms furnished with four-poster beds. She suddenly wondered if Captain Wight just wanted to get her into bed. He would ply her with drinks and take her to one of the suites.
“We could dine at a restaurant if you prefer,” Captain Wight suggested as if he could
read her thoughts. “I just thought the rooms in the villa are so beautiful and no one uses them. It seems a waste.”
He walked into the hall and called for Gina. She appeared swiftly from the kitchen.
“Vera is concerned about the propriety of dining alone with me,” Captain Wight explained. His eyes were serious, but a smile played across his mouth. “Could I ask you to be our chaperone this evening?”
“Si, signor,” Gina agreed, glancing from Captain Wight to Vera.
“You promise not to leave us until we have finished dessert and I have escorted Vera home?” he asked.
“My pleasure, signor.” Gina nodded and smiled at Vera. “You have my word.”
Captain Wight turned to Vera, as innocent and hopeful as a young boy.
“What do you think?”
Vera’s chest swelled. She picked up the evening gown and turned to Gina. “Where do I change?”
Vera followed Gina up the marble staircase to the second floor. They passed sitting rooms with brocade furniture and frescoed ceilings. Rich tapestries and damask curtains covered the bedroom walls.
Gina opened a door at the end of the hall. Vera stepped through the entrance and gasped. A canopied bed occupied most of the room, across from shelves of leather-bound books and a fire crackling in the fireplace.
“The bathroom is through here.” Gina showed her the bathroom’s black-and-white marble floor and gold fixtures. “And the dressing room is in here.” Gina led her to the area with velvet walls and a dressing table covered with pots and jars.
“Signor Wight said you may use anything you desire.” Gina pointed to the rows of lipsticks and bottles of perfume.
“I’ve hardly worn makeup since the war.” Vera hesitated, picking up a bottle of perfume.
Gina smiled. “I have two daughters. Every night I brush their hair one hundred strokes. I will turn you into a princess.”
Gina opened a jar of powder and dusted Vera’s cheeks. She applied a coat of eye shadow and thick strokes of mascara. She found a gold clip and pinned it in Vera’s hair.
Vera stepped into the evening gown and let Gina close the pearl buttons. She gazed in the mirror, feeling like a countess in a Russian novel. Her hair was glossy, her lips were painted red, and her wrists were sprayed with a floral perfume.
“It needs something to draw attention to the bodice,” Gina said as she studied the dress critically.
“I don’t want to draw attention to my breasts!” Vera was shocked.
“Not your breasts, your neck. Why does a woman dab her neck with perfume? Because it is the most sensuous spot on the body.” Gina opened a drawer and took out a gold locket. “You’re too young for jewels. A locket has mystery; anything could be inside it.”
* * *
Vera fingered the locket and remembered finding her mother in her dressing room in 1943, her jewels scattered across the table, as if she were conducting some kind of treasure hunt.
“What are you doing?” Vera asked. Alice sat on the red velvet stool, ruby earrings and gold necklaces and brooches made of ivory in front of her.
“I’m taking them to Stein’s jewelry store.” Alice inspected a pearl brooch.
“Why would you sell your jewelry?” Vera asked in alarm.
“It can’t buy veal and potatoes sitting in a heap,” Alice said, waving at the small tower of gold. Vera’s father had disappeared to a labor camp two years before. “Abram Stein will probably rob me blind. He has the morals of a street cat, but that’s why he’s still in business. Do you know how many Jews have closed their stores? They can’t stay open if no one will buy from them.”
“The war could end any time and father will be released. We have no reason to believe he’s not still alive,” Vera replied. “What will he say if you’ve gotten rid of everything he bought you?”
“Or the war could go on for years,” Alice countered. “Do you think the Germans would be living in our apartments and eating in our cafés if they expected to leave anytime soon? Moshe Goldberg sells bratwurst made with pork and German sauerkraut at his delicatessen. His mother is turning over in her grave, but the Germans are his only customers. If he doesn’t stock pork, they’ll shop somewhere else. There isn’t even any difference between Hungarian and German sauerkraut. He only writes German sauerkraut on the label to attract the German soldiers,” she spat. “They are too stupid to realize that.”
“You’ve collected jewelry for years,” Vera tried again. “Every piece has a special meaning.”
Alice picked up a gold locket and showed it to Vera. “This is the first piece your father gave me. It was in Paris when we met. Your father was a law student on holiday and I was at dancing school. I was only nineteen, but I lied about my age because you had to be twenty to live in the boardinghouse,” she laughed. “Your father thought he was dating an older woman, so he bought this to impress me. I told him to return it and use the money for his studies. But he fastened the locket around my neck and said it was going to be the best investment he ever made.”
“Keep it, then,” Vera urged. “It can’t be worth much.”
Alice turned it over in her palm and her shoulders heaved. Then she resolutely dropped it on top of the pile.
“If it buys a carton of eggs it will do more good than gathering dust.” She leaned forward and kissed Vera. “Don’t worry about your father. All he would want is for us to be warm and fed.”
* * *
Vera glanced in the mirror in the bedroom of the Palazzo Mezzi and wondered what had happened to the locket. Had her mother sold it or kept it hidden with the small bundle of jewels she set aside to bribe German officers? In any case, it was gone now.
“Thank you, it’s perfect.” Vera turned to Gina and her eyes sparkled. “I’m ready.”
“A great beauty doesn’t descend the stairs in haste.” Gina motioned Vera to sit. “You must keep Captain Wight waiting.”
“But that’s impolite.” Vera frowned.
Gina smiled. “That’s part of being a woman.”
* * *
Vera waited for ten minutes until the grandfather clock chimed. Captain Wight paced the entry holding an unlit cigarette. He looked up and stared as she made her way toward him.
“You are breathtaking,” he gasped.
“Anyone would look beautiful in this dress,” Vera murmured.
“I have only two requests this evening.” Captain Wight offered her his arm and they walked toward the dining room. “That you accept my compliments and call me Anton.”
“Anton,” Vera repeated, and burst out laughing. His grip was firm, and she glided along the polished floor beside him.
“Why is that funny?” Anton asked. He turned to look at her and his expression was warm and curious.
“It just sounds funny with your American accent. I thought all American men were named something like Dick or Bud,” Vera explained.
“I got a lot of grief in school,” Anton admitted. “The other children put on French accents and asked whether I was going to be a painter and live in a garret.”
“I’m sorry, it’s a lovely name.” Vera suppressed her giggles.
“When my mother was pregnant, she became infatuated with Flaubert and Stendhal.” Anton guided Vera to the Red Salon. “She bought a poodle and named her Fifi.”
“We haven’t yet had dinner and I’ve embarrassed you,” Vera replied. She had been insensitive and now she’d made Anton feel bad.
“On the contrary”—Anton stopped walking and touched her cheek—“you’re even more beautiful when you laugh.”
They entered the grandiose salon and Vera gazed around her. The table was set with gold china, gleaming silverware, and flickering candles. There was a phonograph and music played softly.
“I’ve never seen such ceilings,” Vera gasped, studying the naked cherubs drinking from silver goblets.
“The first Countess Mezzi was Venetian,” Anton explained. He walked to the sideboard and poured two glasses of sherry. “Sh
e thought Naples was full of peasants, so her husband built her a palace. The ballroom can fit five hundred people.”
“I can’t imagine owning a home with a ballroom! Our apartment in Budapest was small, but we had a house in the country to accommodate my mother’s family.” Vera sipped her sherry. “My mother had four siblings and they often visited with their children. My mother would cook a feast. I’d lie on my bed afterward unable to move.”
“Are your relatives still in Hungary?” Anton inquired.
“One uncle died of tuberculosis,” Vera said stiffly. “My other uncle was sent to a labor camp, and my aunts and cousins were sent to Auschwitz.”
“They may have survived,” Anton countered. “I can try to contact them on your behalf.”
Vera gripped the sherry glass. Suddenly she wasn’t a glamorous young woman dining with an American captain. She was a refugee, without anyone in the world except Edith.
Vera shook her head. “I’d rather they think I’m dead.”
“Why?” Anton asked, alarmed.
Vera put down the glass and waved her hand around the dining room.
“I don’t deserve any of this,” she gulped.
“You have to stop blaming yourself.” Anton put his hand on Vera’s shoulder. “You deserve beauty, love, and happiness,” he whispered.
He led her to the table. As they ate, he talked about showing her New York City one day, ice-skating in Rockefeller Center and carriage rides in Central Park.
“I was never good at dinner parties,” he mused after they had eaten veal parmigiana and stuffed eggplant. “I wanted to study the architecture instead of making polite conversation with the guests.”
“I bet you were popular with girls,” Vera said with a small smile.
“I attended my share of cotillions,” Anton conceded. “My mother was anxious to marry me off to a Roosevelt or a Jewett, the old established families in New York. We’re still considered new money; her lifelong ambition is to see her name in the pages of the Social Register for New York society: Mr. and Mrs. Harry and Margaret Wight of Park Avenue.”
