Dan rubbed his hands together, his smile nearly stretching off his face.
They walked across the old town island to reach the Grand Hotel. Rafe studied his crewmates. Their boredom was a revelation. He had it good with his role in Stockholm, even though his minor acts of harassment toward Germans and the scraps of information he gleaned could hardly help the war effort.
“We need to decide what sort of tale we’ll spin. Anything we say has to sound legitimate but be as phony as a three dollar bill.” Rafe looked to Steve. “Any ideas?”
“D-Day is the big news. We could make up strategy for breaking out of the beachhead areas. Problem is, we don’t know what’s really being planned. If we say the army’s marching for Paris, and they are, we could end up court-martialed.”
Cal snapped his fingers. “How about this? The 307th Bomb Group will take over the Kraut airfield at Lille.”
“Is there any chance of that happening?”
“The remotest. The 307th is part of the Seventh Air Force in the Pacific. My cousin’s with that outfit.”
Steve rubbed his chin. “I can see where we’d base our fighter squadrons in France, but not the heavy bombers.”
“Why Lille?” Unease skittered down Rafe’s neck like a horde of ants. If a German took note of their conversation and reported it, might the Luftwaffe be dispatched to Lille to raise havoc? If the Allies did have anyone there, their little game could cause trouble. The German air force might be suffering from attrition, but it was far from dead. “Maybe we’d better stick with what we know and, ah, explain how we got there.”
“All we know is what’s been in the news and the Germans here would have access to the same news. I’ll bet they listen to Radio London and read our papers.” Alan’s shoulders slumped.
Jennie and Astrid trailed behind the men. Jennie’s voice drifted forward. “They look like a bunch of salesmen on their way to a convention.”
Dan spun around. “We are salesmen, on our way to sell a load of baloney to the Krauts.”
#
They stepped inside the hotel restaurant and stopped. Jennie watched Rafe’s mouth drop open. The exquisite chandeliers were dazzling.
“You’re gawking.” She spoke for his ears only.
He snapped his mouth shut and smiled at her. “Aren’t you glad you don’t have to clean all those crystals?”
She eyed them. “No big deal. Just lower ‘em down into a big bucket of water, raise ‘em back up, and let ‘em air dry.”
He tucked her hand on his arm. “How uncouth.”
Their party sat at a table covered with a white cloth. Jennie pulled off her white gloves. She wore her most elegant outfit, a two-piece rose-colored dress with a white print and slim lines. A small-brimmed white hat and white sandals completed her ensemble. It seemed fitting for the Grand.
Dan ran a finger around the rim of the plate in front of him. “This is real china, isn’t it?” He looked up at the high rounded ceiling with its moldings and painted scenes before turning to Steve. “Why can’t Ridgewell have a mess hall like this?”
Cal knocked his hat forward. “As I understand it, some bomb groups are stationed in the lap of luxury on estates of rich Brits.” He rose. “Food’s over there. Come on, we don’t have to wait. Let’s load up on the chow.”
Jennie hesitated when Rafe hung back. “Coming?”
He nodded, but his eyes continued to scan the room, the decorated ceiling, the arched windows. A sigh escaped him that sounded like it came from the depths of his soul. “This restaurant reminds me of someplace else, maybe in Potsdam, that I saw when I was young. That place is probably destroyed now.” His gaze met hers, sorrow in his eyes. “Not only is this war killing people, its destroying our heritage. Architecture like this isn’t being built anymore.”
He’d been excited to see his friends and anticipated their spoof of any German listeners, but now melancholy had stolen his joy. To be more exact, Alan had stolen his joy. Jennie had watched it happen.
They’d just crossed the bridge from Staden Island when Alan, frustrated by his separation from Ruby, vented his wrath when Astrid suggested the allied bombing was indiscriminate of military or civilian targets. “Those stupid, mindless Krauts deserve every bit of destruction our bombs are causing. I wouldn’t mind being back in combat just so I could drop more bombs myself.”
Rafe had flinched as though Alan had slapped him.
Rafe’s eyes had shone with amazement and delight when he told her of seeing his cousin, Christoph, in England. She witnessed his pleasure in reuniting with Bertil. He hadn’t admitted it, but he missed his father. Not all Germans favored the war or deserved destruction. Not Rafe’s loved ones. Alan’s thoughtlessness was apt to throw a damper on their whole holiday.
She bumped her arm against his as they arrived at the buffet. “It’s kind of like when I complained about my brother’s disassembled car parts strewn in the yard. It was okay for me to whine because he was my brother. But let the neighbor rant, and I got mad. You’re welcome to criticize your own country, but foreigners should not join in. Alan thinks of you only as an American.”
A smile tilted one side of Rafe’s mouth. “And that’s how I want to be thought of, isn’t it? I’m fully accepted.” He plopped a spoonful of… something… on her plate. “Kippered herring. Yum.”
Her laughter bubbled up. Fish dishes filled the table. “We’ll sprout fins before we leave Sweden.”
#
“After the landings at Normandy, the Krauts decided the feint at Calais was a ruse to keep them away from the real landing.” Steve would make a good lecturer. His earnest expression and subdued hand gestures lent him an air of authority. “But it wasn’t a feint. The Brits landed just south of Calais.”
Dan nodded. “At Baloney-sur-Mer.”
How Rafe managed to keep a straight face, he didn’t know. “That’s Boulogne-sur-Mer. Nice place. I visited there before the war.”
Now he fought laughter at his friends’ surprise. Keeping his hand at table level, he rolled his fingers. Keep the game moving.
Dan responded without delay. “The Krauts were so shocked, thinking they were off the hook, they skedaddled lickety-split quick.”
Rafe took pride in his facility with languages. He’d been fluent in English when he first arrived in America. Since joining the army, however, he’d discovered a whole new version of English. Half the time it made no sense and the other half would have made his mother cringe. Astrid stared at Dan in bafflement. Rafe enlightened her. “The Germans ran away very fast.”
Her mouth formed a silent O.
Cal caught Rafe’s eye, picked up his glass and, with his left hand, pointed into his right hand. Look to my right.
Rafe raised his own glass for a sip and looked past Jennie. The man at the next table made no attempt to disguise his interest in their conversation. Rafe should have been keeping a closer eye on their surroundings. He palmed his little spy camera and brushed at his hair. Click.
“Landing near Calais had to be expected, since it’s only twenty-five miles from England.” Steve kept the conversation going even though he looked fascinated by Rafe’s picture taking. “How could the Brits resist?”
With a look of distaste, Alan pushed aside his serving of what appeared to be poached eel. “I can’t imagine slogging ashore at Normandy after riding through ninety-five miles of rough water. The fact our boys prevailed proves the superiority of the Allies over the Krauts’ vaunted super-race.”
A thump on Rafe’s back brought his head around. Ed was stalking toward the buffet tables.
Beside him, Jennie leaned close. Her eyes alight with humor, she whispered, “Naughty, naughty.”
Reluctance dogged his steps as he followed the OSS man. Despite the leeway he enjoyed as a Stockholm-based internee, he’d been cautioned to avoid revealing military information to anyone. And they hadn’t. Doubtless, Ed would disagree.
They crossed paths in front of the cold cuts.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Whispering a demand lessened its impact.
Rafe slapped a thin slice of pork on his plate. “Just trying to give a German indigestion with a made-up story.”
Ed wasn’t listening. “You know not to give out information.”
Rafe wandered down the line and picked up a strawberry. “This is pink. It’s too early for berries.” He dropped it on his plate with a half shrug. “We’re not giving information. We’re dishing up fairy tales.” He looked Ed in the eye. “The Brits haven’t landed at Calais, have they?”
That stopped Ed in his tracks. “Of course not.”
Rafe speared a cut of cheese and popped it into his mouth. “Mmm, this is a good one.” He speared another and added it to Ed’s plate. “If our eavesdropper goes back and reports our Calais landing, he’ll be a laughing post.”
Ed’s brows bunched up. Must have gotten the expression wrong. “Did you hear the one about a base being readied for the 307th Bomb Group near Bayeux to protect De Gaulle’s provisional French government?”
Ed merely shook his head.
“Never going to happen with the 307th in the Pacific, but that’s the fun of misinformation. Got any tidbits you’d like us to drop?”
Heaving a sigh, Ed turned back to his table, his head still shaking.
Rafe didn’t wait to sit down before announcing to his friends. “Guess what I just heard. Our victorious army has liberated Cherbourg.”
They raised their glasses in a toast to the army. Their diner at the next table turned flaming red.
Stockholm
Saturday, June 24, 1944
“Today was glorious.” Jennie collapsed on the sofa and hugged the pillow her mother had embroidered with daises in tones of white, cream, and pale yellow to match the living room. “What do you think of Rafe?”
Astrid leaned back and shook out her hair. “Gorgeous. He likes to smile. That is an excellent character trait. It indicates a happy disposition.” With one arm across her waist, she propped up on the other elbow and raised a finger. “Although I am not certain he was happy with one of his friends.”
“Alan, the bombardier. He’s bored out of his skull and desperately missing his gem of a wife, Ruby.” That didn’t explain his barbed remarks that upset Rafe. Too bad he didn’t speak Swedish. Then he could attend a university. Classwork was a worthy activity to fill the hours. Maybe Dad could come up with a retired professor for their mental stimulation.
“Steve is a nice man. He reminds me of my husband.”
Jennie set aside the pillow and straightened up. Astrid’s voice had acquired a dreamy tone. “Steve’s mellowed since I met him on the Queen Mary. The enlisted men complained that he was stiff. Either he adjusted to his role as plane commander or because the stress of combat is off.”
“Hmm. You might think Gustav is formal. Americans tend to be more informal than we are. Steve was interested in what our air force is like. He had so many questions when we walked around the island together.” She traced a finger along the embroidery of another pillow. “Then Dan tried to convince Phyllis of the benefits of a cold water swim. I noticed he got her to wade with him.”
Jennie sank back against the sofa. “I’ll miss Dan when we go back to America. I know Rafe will. The crew members are from all over the States. I suspect they’ll lose touch.”
Astrid turned in her seat and tucked a foot under her opposite knee. “I notice you came back holding a bouquet. I thought you had collected seven different flowers to place under your pillow. But you put them in water.” She grinned. “Don’t you want to dream of Rafe?”
Jennie laughed. “Sorry. I don’t believe the legend that doing so will make me dream of my future husband. It’s a cute custom, but it ranks with the Easter Bunny. And I don’t need a mess under my pillow to dream of Rafe.”
Astrid’s smile faded. “Are you serious about him? Do you see a future together?”
“I hope so. Oh, Astrid, I hope so.” Jennie’s voice dropped to a whisper. She’d already visualized their wedding. The ceremony would take place in Tyska Kyrkan. She’d never seen a more beautiful church, and Rafe liked it too. Bertil would stand with Rafe. How fantastic that would be for the two old friends. And maybe one or two of his crewmates, if they were still here. For herself, she would ask Phyllis and Astrid. Emma too, if they had three couples attending them.
“Last night was the first time we danced together. I got the uncanny sensation that we were dancing at our wedding reception. Which made no sense. Whoever heard of ‘There’ll be bluebirds over the White Cliffs of Dover’ as a bridal song?”
“Hmm.” Astrid pressed her lips together and gave appropriate consideration to the question. “As an instrumental number, it’s quite lovely. I would leave out a singer. The words don’t strike the desired romantic mood.”
“I wish I’d seen those white cliffs. Rafe’s told me what a beautiful sight they are for the fliers, coming back from a mission, almost home. I hope to see them before returning to Chicago.” The possibility existed if they stopped in London. If they didn’t leave before war’s end. With the war over, the need to fly in secret to Scotland would be eliminated. She’d love to see London, the cliffs, Rafe’s air base. Of course, if the war was over, the base might already be closed down. She wrenched her mind out of the hazy future.
“Rafe’s favorite song is ‘Coming in on a Wing and a Prayer.’ Can you imagine trying to dance to that?”
She hopped up and improvised a few steps, did a fast twirl, and changed direction. “Da da da, da da da, da da da.”
“That’s where he flips you across his back.” Astrid nodded to the beat. “I could see someone dance to that, but not wearing wedding attire.”
“Oh, that would be scandalous.” Jennie segued into their dance to ‘The White Cliffs of Dover.’ She hummed the melody as she glided around the living room. A turn to her left, and she gasped.
The door stood open. Dad and Mom had watched her sashay about with open mouths. And beside them stood Rafe.
He grinned. “I remember this from last night.”
Stepping forward, he slipped one arm around her waist and grasped the other. He led her around the room, dancing, in front of her parents.
“If they had music, we might join them,” Dad told Mom.
Rafe chuckled softly. He twirled her one last time, stepped back, and bowed to her. Holding her skirt with her thumbs and index fingers, other fingers gracefully extended, she curtsied. Astrid applauded.
Suddenly, the playful moment ended. Dad and Rafe pulled up chairs to the kitchen table and continued a conversation that had started before they came in.
“You’re sure he was Swedish police?” Dad poised his pen over a notepad.
“Definitely. He was the phony fisherman Jennie sailed circles around when we were out on Mälaren Lake. He wore the same frock coat and starched collar, and his hair sticks out over his ears, maybe from having his hat pulled down too low.”
“And he stayed in his boat?”
“Yes, and used binoculars. That’s why we took notice. Cal spotted him and said we were being watched. After he pointed him out, I recognized him. At least today he was in a sailboat. Previously, we saw him in a rowboat. A rowboat can’t keep up with a sailboat, so I think we just had the bad luck to muddle into him before and draw his attention.”
“And the other observer who followed you onto the island?”
Jennie and Astrid exchanged astonished glances. Their lovely holiday outing took on a sinister air.
“I’d peg him as a German. He was too suave, too arrogant for the policemen I’ve seen. He tried too hard to eavesdrop on Jennie and me though. His outdoor skills betrayed him. Dan described him as an easy target for Indians in the Old West. He and Alan sneaked up behind him with no effort.”
“Did he know he was observed?”
“Oh, yeah. Dan asked, ‘Did you lose something, mister?’ Alan said the guy was so mad he spit. Dan described his eyes as creepy. Al
most colorless. Gray, maybe.”
Jennie hugged herself as Dad’s dark frown prompted shivers to race through her. “He was following us? You and me?”
She hadn’t noticed the intruder, but Dan had been talking nearby while she and Rafe explored a hidden glen. Rafe had immediately led her back into the open. Had the spy been stealthy, might he have dared to snap their necks? She shook her head. Her imagination was running away. Wasn’t it?
“Have them stop by the legation Monday.” Dad sat back. “They can check the rogue gallery for his picture. And ask if Ed knows of a colorless-eyed man.”
Rafe nodded and stood. “Will do. Then we plan on doing some serious shopping at the NK Department Store before the fellows catch their train.”
Stockholm
Monday, June 26, 1944
“This is great.”
That had to be the dozenth time Cal declared something to be great. Rafe scrutinized the Crosley record player. “Soon there won’t be enough space left in your room for you and Steve to sleep.”
“This will make the time go faster.” He pawed through a stack of records. “Look at all the American music available here. I thought Sweden was blockaded. They’ve got Jimmy Dorsey, Glenn Miller, Benny Goodman, Kay Kyser.”
As each new selection joined his pile, the saleslady’s eyes grew larger. Rafe grinned. She probably hadn’t rung up a sale this big all month, maybe all year.
No Neutral Ground: A World War II Romance (Promise for Tomorrow Book 2) Page 28
