by A W Hartoin
Greece. Stella went blank for a second and then she remembered that they hadn’t told everyone about the change in plans. “We did and now we’re back.”
“Your fur.” He waved at the matted black lamb. “You are not wearing a hat. What terrible thing has happened to you?”
Trust Serge to take a lack of hat as a sign of tragedy, but he wasn’t wrong.
She smiled at him, tilting her chin down and batting her eyelashes. “It got wet. Everything’s wet.”
He threw up his hands. “This rain. It never stops.”
“Domani,” someone yelled and Serge made a rude gesture in return. “Here let me escort you upstairs. Mr. Lawrence? He is in your old suite?”
She pulled away. “No. Please. I just need to see Daniel.”
He bent low over her. “You are here for Daniel? You have the…passion for the butler?”
“For God’s sake, no. Can you send for him? He’s done me a favor and I need to see him.”
“But you come in the servant’s hall?”
“Yes.”
Serge thought for a second and then snapped his fingers. A busboy rushed up and he said, “Bring me Daniel Burgess.”
The boy looked back and forth between the chef and Stella.
“Burgess now!” yelled Serge and the boy ran away.
“You’re terrifying,” said Stella.
He bowed. “Thank you. I run a good kitchen.”
Stella didn’t disagree, but she had no idea how beautifully prepared dishes came out of that insanity.
“I must return. Wait here.” Serge ran off dodging crates of tomatoes and a dolly stacked with boxes of wine. No one else seemed to notice her. Maybe they didn’t have a moment to notice. She could hear Serge yelling somewhere in the depths of the kitchen while she waited, thinking about the telegram. No reply came to her, except maybe a lie. She could say they were going to Genoa. It would soothe Mother but not for long and then it would be worse.
She was about to get it out again when Daniel ran down the stairs in a panic. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you. I’ve had a telegram from my father. Do you have the money?”
Daniel looked over his shoulder and led her into the depths of the servants’ domain, taking her into a small room stacked with linens where two elderly ladies were ironing napkins. He asked them to leave and they did but not without giving scornful looks. They would probably tell everyone Daniel had one of those women in the linen closet, but Stella couldn’t have cared less.
“The carabinieri are looking for you. Did you know that?” he demanded.
Stella went cold. “When?”
“This morning.”
“Are they gone?”
“Yes. I nearly fainted when I heard them ask for you and Nicky.”
“What did they say?”
Daniel paced in front of her. “They wanted to know if you were staying here.”
Stella sighed in relief. “That’s all?”
“No, that’s not all. They said you stole a water taxi, Nicky beat up the captain, and threw him overboard. That can’t be true.”
“Well…”
“Mrs. Lawrence. They want to arrest you. They say you’re wanted in Germany for theft.”
“That is not true. Did they happen to mention that we stole that taxi because a Nazi was shooting at us?” she asked.
“That was about you?” he asked astonished.
“I thought they’d skip over that.”
“Why was he shooting at you?”
“It’s a long story,” she said. “Do you have the money?”
He stopped pacing and stood in front of her, fists on his hips. “I don’t know if I should give it to you.”
“We’re not criminals, not exactly. We couldn’t just let him shoot us, could we?” asked Stella.
“But if someone’s trying to hurt you, wouldn’t you be safer in custody? The carabinieri can protect you and call the American embassy for you.”
“Are you kidding? No. We’d be fish in a barrel.”
“Mrs. Lawrence.”
“Stella.”
“Stella, you stole that man’s taxi. That is a crime.”
She took Daniel’s hands and used every ounce of charm she possessed. “But we didn’t destroy that boat. That was the SS officer and he did it on purpose. He shot Nicky and, if you don’t help us, he’ll finish the job.”
Daniel blanched. “He shot Nicky. That wasn’t in the paper. When? How? Is he…”
“He’s okay. It’s a flesh wound. Hurts like hell, but it’s healing fast.”
“He’s seen a doctor?”
“Yes.”
“Why is this SS trying to kill you?” asked Daniel.
“Like I said, it’s a long story and it won’t help you to know it. Please give me the money. I promise I’ll explain everything someday.”
Daniel squeezed her hands and, for a moment, she thought he’d refuse, but he let go and reached in his breast pocket withdrawing his wallet. “Your father sent 5000 dollars.”
She smiled and clutched her handbag to her chest. “I knew he’d come through.”
“That’s more than a Studebaker. You could buy a house for that.”
“Yes. Do you have it?”
Daniel did have it. Some of it. The bank didn’t have 5000 dollars in dollars. They only had 1500 and he got that in hundred-dollar bills. He got another thousand in lira, thinking they would need it. Stella took the wad of bills and stuffed it in her handbag, making it fat and lumpy.
“Thank you so much, Daniel. You don’t know how much you’ve done for us.”
“What about the rest?” he asked uneasily.
“We’ll worry about that later. Tell me about the carabinieri.”
There wasn’t a heck of a lot to tell. An officer, not Bartali, had come asking about them, but he wasn’t, to Daniel’s mind, terribly interested in the case or maybe he didn’t believe that they would be stupid enough to come back to the same hotel. He did insist that Stella and Nicky were crazed criminals and had to be found immediately. To that, the staff had laughed in his face. The hotel manager argued and said they could not possibly be the people he was looking for. When the carabinieri claimed that he knew for a fact that they were, the manager informed him that Stella was heir to the Bled brewing fortune and Nicky was heir to United Shipping and Steel. The Lawrences were on their honeymoon. They’d hardly be going around stealing boats. That set the officer back on his heels. Apparently, he hadn’t been informed of exactly who he was searching for.
The manager saw Daniel lurking around and he was brought over for questioning. Daniel said he hadn’t seen them since they left earlier in the month. The carabinieri wanted to know where they went and before Daniel could answer, the manager had promptly said, “Greece.”
“I guess no one told him about our change in plans,” said Stella. “But I’m sure Abel told the concierge about Vienna. He changed our tickets. And Nicky told our waiter the night before we left and our porter. Lots of people knew. The maids. Practically everyone, except the kitchen staff. No one contradicted him?”
“They wouldn’t, not if they value their jobs. Also, you and Nicky were well-liked. The carabinieri are not.”
“But they might tell the Sorkines?”
“Unless Signore Blanca was standing there, yes, they would,” said Daniel. “I, also, confirmed your trip to Greece. I said you were touring several islands before returning to the States.”
Stella looked down. That had been the plan. The plan she changed.
“What is it, Stella?” asked Daniel.
“I wish we’d gone to Greece.”
He reached out to touch her shoulder but couldn’t quite make himself do it. His training was too ingrained. She could’ve used a hug, a fatherly shoulder.
“Stella?”
She smiled. That was something. He used her name without hesitating. “I’m fine.”
“Vienna was very bad then?”
&n
bsp; “It was the beginning of very bad.”
“What did your father say?”
“He says to come home.”
Daniel breathed a sigh of relief. “Quite right. Go home and forget.”
“Did you ask around about the Sorkines?”
He did, but no one had seen them or been asking about them.
“Thanks for trying,” she said.
“My pleasure.”
Someone knocked on the door and Daniel answered in Italian. “The ladies need to finish their work.”
She nodded. What to do now? She had two days to find the Sorkines. Then Nicky would be able to leave and she couldn’t possibly refuse to go. But maybe it didn’t matter, if she didn’t find them in two days, she wasn’t going to find them. And if she couldn’t find them, maybe they wouldn’t be able to find out where Abel had really gone. There was some comfort in that.
“Daniel, how many hotels are there like the Bella Luna?” she asked.
He put his nose in the air and was every inch the snotty butler. “None.”
“Oh, come on. If we hadn’t come here, where might we go? Lots of money to spend.”
“You mean where might this couple be looking for you?”
“That’s it exactly.”
It hurt his pride to admit there were several hotels that might, just might, come close to the Bella Luna standard. She had him write the names on her father’s telegram, five in all. “Alright. Which ones are below that?”
He drew back. “Below the Bella Luna and those five? You would never go to a hotel below the luxury class.” He paused. “Where are you now? You never said.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She couldn’t help but smile. The Vittoria wasn’t within spitting distance of the Bella Luna and it was perfectly fine, lovely in its own way. “Remember the Sorkines might not know which hotels are the standard.”
His nose went farther up. “What kind of people are they?”
“Abel’s people, his family.”
He came crashing back to reality. “I forgot.”
“I know you did and they are fine people. They live in the Marais district in Paris. A nice building, but not…”
“The Bella Luna sort.”
She hated to admit that. It was so snotty. “That’s it. Where would they go?”
He gave her five hotels that might suit. Not surprisingly, the Vittoria wasn’t on the list.
The ladies knocked again, now complaining loudly. Daniel ushered her out and took her speedily through a back way and let her out a small side door that was so ill-used it had rust on the hinges and complained something fierce when he forced it open.
“Thank you, Daniel.”
“About the money,” he said.
“Don’t worry. It’s fine.”
“It’s not my money. I wouldn’t presume to leave it in my account.”
“I’ll be back and if I’m not, consider it a tip.”
He went stiff with indignation. “I do not need a tip to help you. It is my honor to serve.”
“You’re a hard man to please, Daniel Burgess.” She kissed his stony cheek. “I like that about you.”
“If Abel’s people come, what should I do? How do I contact you?”
“Do me a favor, if they come and you talk to them, give them a message for me,” said Stella.
“Of course. What is the message?”
She thought about it for a moment and then the image appeared in her mind. Gutenberg’s portrait of his beloved wife. “Tell them that Stella Bled Lawrence said Nissa is safe and not to look for her anymore.”
“Nissa is a person?”
“Yes. Just tell them. They’ll understand.”
“What if they ask about Abel?” he asked.
“I don’t know if they will ask,” she said.
“If they are Abel’s family and he is connected to this Nissa person, they will ask, and I believe you most likely owe them an explanation,” said the butler who served people and knew people.
“You’re right and they might keep looking if I don’t say.”
“Is he somewhere they can’t go?”
“He’s somewhere I’m trying to keep them from going,” said Stella. For some reason, this information was hard to give up, harder than saying Nicky had been shot, harder than being hungry, harder than begging their butler for help and money, but she had to say it. They had to know.
“Abel was sent to Dachau,” she whispered.
“What’s Dachau?” he asked, puzzled.
“It’s a kind of prison. They sent the Jews in Vienna there.” She could see Abel being pulled back into the boxcar. Uncle Josiah hadn’t found him. He wasn’t safe and it was her fault.
“This information will scare them?”
“It will hurt them. It hurts me.”
He nodded. “But he may have already been released. They can’t keep those people locked up forever.”
“Says who?” asked Stella. “The United States? England? No one has done anything about the Kristallnacht.”
“It’s impractical and what purpose does it serve? None. Mark my words, Abel has been released and is looking for you right now.”
He really believed that. Probably the whole world thought it, too, but they didn’t really care as long as there wasn’t another war.
“There’s going to be another war,” she said softly to herself more than Daniel.
“No. It won’t happen. Chamberlain has avoided it. Hitler has what he wanted. He signed the agreement. Peace in our time.” Daniel smiled. He believed in Chamberlain and she let him.
“Thank you again.”
“Where are you going? To check the hotels?”
Stella opened her umbrella and stepped out into a deep puddle. “To telegram my father.”
“To tell him you’re coming home?”
“Yes.” If she was going to lie to her father, she might as well lie to Daniel.
Chapter Fifteen
STELLA HURRIED AWAY from the hotel, composing the telegram in her head. Maybe she wouldn’t lie. Maybe she would just do what Father had done. He hadn’t said what had happened with Abel. She wouldn’t say they were leaving. She wouldn’t mention it at all. A simple “Thank you,” and “All is well,” would do to calm her mother down, if she didn’t think too hard about it.
First, she’d do the shopping. When she had clothes she could go to those hotels and fit in. She could pay for water taxis now, so it wouldn’t take that long. Half the hotels today and the rest tomorrow. If she didn’t find them, she’d start on the telegraph offices. There had to be more than one.
A kind of peace came over her, a plan could do that, but she needed a map. Then she remembered she had one. For the first time, she had a destination and knew exactly how to get there, in Venice, no less. That was a miracle and deserving of appreciation, all on its own.
She pulled out her father’s telegram with Daniel’s list and Elena’s map to the shop. She’d helpfully marked the Grand Canal and the square on it for reference. Stella found one of the marked crossroads and ended up at the shop without getting lost. It was just a little place, like the Vittoria, not what Daniel would’ve considered up to standard at all. But the dresses, while cheap, were stylish and had all the right bells and whistles.
Stella opened the door, smiling at her good fortune, and a little bell made her jump. A lady came out of the back wearing a smock and smoking a long cigarette. Her painted-on brows shot up when she saw Stella, hatless, in her soggy fur coat and ill-fitting, ugly galoshes. The woman’s mouth frowned, but her eyes were calculating. Was she a Jew? Probably. How much money did she have left? Not much.
Stella absolutely had to get another coat. She’d chosen the fur because of its distinctive style. That was now a liability.
The woman waited, taking a long drag on her cigarette before asking something in rapid Italian that Stella didn’t quite catch.
Stella pulled out her dictionary, cobbling together enough sentences to get her point
and flush finances across in an Irish accent. The woman smiled, relieved. She understood completely and they found they didn’t need to talk. Fashion was a common language. A wrinkled nose was enough to say no. A tapped chin, a yes. The lady, whose name Stella never knew, did a speedy measure of Stella’s proportions, tapped her lips twice, and it was off to the races. Stella bought two suits, five dresses, a new, rather spectacular, green swing coat, and then they got to shoes. Stella refused to try them on, not wanting to reveal her feet. The lady shrugged and wrapped up shoes to match everything, plus panties, bras, stockings and new garters. Stella got herself and Nicky pajamas and then got him two new suits, an overcoat, and shoes. The lady looked like it was Christmas. Stella imagined she didn’t sell that much in a week or maybe two weeks. So what if the clothes weren’t the highest quality? Stella decided that was to her advantage. Peiper would be looking for Stella Bled of the Paris ateliers. Miss Myna was a different character altogether. She wore off the rack and silk wasn’t her mainstay.
They finished with hats, sensible ones that were more about covering the head than making people look at it. Perfect. It did take a little dictionary work to explain that she wanted to wear one dress, a pretty little emerald shirt dress with a matching hat and the new coat, but she didn’t want to wear the shoes. This was bizarre, Stella had to admit. The road outside was dry, but she managed to say that her hotel was flooded and the lady understood, although it obviously pained her not to see her work complete. They did have fun trading words. Stella pleased her by getting the accent perfect, eliciting clapping and Stella bowed. The language was starting to come to her, like putting together the little model train tracks that it was her job to assemble under the Christmas tree every year. Soon, the train would be chugging away and she wouldn’t need a dictionary for every sentence.
After she’d changed clothes and had the extreme pleasure of putting on something brand new, the lady boxed up her purchases, her fur, and wrecked red suit to be delivered to the Vittoria and Stella paid her, peeling off crisp bills and adding a generous tip. So generous that she got kisses on her cheeks and what she thought was an invitation to come back anytime.
Stella stepped out of the shop and opened her umbrella. For the first time, she truly felt like Eulalie Myna. She’d put on another skin, it fit, and she liked it. This other girl took care of things, got money, and figured it out. This was good. This was right.
