by A W Hartoin
“Bathroom.” He pulled his arm away and kept walking, slowly, but he was walking. “I couldn’t stand my own breath anymore.”
“Why are you wearing a coat?”
“You didn’t buy a robe and the one we have is too small.”
“Oh, right. I’m sorry. I didn’t think of it.” Stella opened the door and he went in, limping to the bed. She closed the door and took off her hat, stabbing the crown with Great Grandmother’s pin.
“I still hate that thing.” Nicky dropped his coat on the end of the bed and laid down on his good side.
“Do you?” She rolled the pearl between her fingers. “I think it’s my good luck charm.”
“Let’s not talk about luck. I can barely walk to the bathroom.”
“I think you look great. You were barely limping.” She sat down and pulled off her boots. “I have to tell you something and you’re not going to like it.”
“Same here,” said Nicky, his blue eyes boring into her.
“What happened? Did Bartali come back?”
He tossed Karolina’s book in her lap. “I read it.”
“Did you like it? Karolina said it was very American.”
“Why did you pick that out?”
She leaned back and flexed her toes. It felt wonderful to be able to do that without burning pain. “I didn’t.” She looked up and he was eyeing her in a way she’d never seen before. It was chilling.
“You didn’t pick out that book?” he asked.
She picked it up. “No. Karolina did. Was it that bad?”
He slumped back on the bed. “You haven’t read it?”
“No. What’s it about?” Stella climbed onto the bed. She would’ve straddled him, if it wouldn’t have hurt him so much.
“It’s about a wealthy man in the twenties.”
“Is he blond?”
“Probably.”
“Tall?”
“Yes.”
She grinned. “It’s you.”
“He’s in love with a woman he can never have.”
She crawled up beside him and snuggled into his shoulder. “Not you. I hope.” Then she sat up. “What were you thinking?”
“I don’t know.”
“You do.”
“It doesn’t matter. You didn’t pick it out,” he said.
Stella leaned over and she kissed him. “And what was she like, this woman he can’t have?”
“Daisy. She’s not worth it,” he said, smiling.
She pushed back and slapped him on his chest. “You devil.”
He pulled her close, kissing her like he hadn’t since Paris. “Don’t you forget it.”
Nicky’s kisses were almost enough to make her forget. Almost.
“I have to tell you what I found out,” she said, breathless as he worked his way down her neck.
“If it’s a reason not to leave tomorrow, I don’t want to hear,” he said.
“Tomorrow? It hasn’t been three days.”
“You saw me walking. I can go and we’re going.”
Stella sat up and pushed him back onto the pillows. “Peiper knows why we’re here.”
He grimaced and made for her neck again. “That makes no difference.”
She pushed him back a second time. “It does. Peiper has that kid going around to the swank hotels, asking about the Sorkines. He might find them before us. He’ll try to use them to get the book.”
“Well, it won’t work, will it? He’ll find that out if he gets a chance to try it.” Nicky put his hands behind his head. “So he’s using the kid, huh? Interesting strategy.”
“The local population hasn’t exactly warmed to Peiper and the kid is convincingly innocent. People are talking to him.”
“He must be Peiper’s son.”
“I don’t think so. He must be one of the kids from that club you talked about.”
“The Hitler Jugend? It’s just a club for sports and get them ready to join the party.”
“Maybe it’s not,” said Stella. “Nobody, not even Peiper, would bring their child to do this job. Besides, there’s something wrong with that boy.”
“What do you mean?” Nicky asked. “Did something else happen?”
Stella bit her lip and regretted saying anything.
“You have to tell me now.” Nicky clenched his muscles so tight, Stella was afraid he’d open up his wounds.
“Okay but try to stay calm.”
“If I was going to be calm, you would’ve already told me.”
Stella sighed and told him about Maria and how she got the wallet. Nicky went paler than when he’d been vomiting and tried to get out of bed. “We have got to pack and leave in the morning. That kid could’ve killed you.”
“This is not news.”
“It is to me. I didn’t know they’d seen you again. If anything, this will make Peiper more obsessed with us,” said Nicky. “Pack your bags. We leave in the morning.”
Stella laid back on the bed. “Good luck with that.”
“Are we seriously going to argue about this again?”
“Nope.”
“No?”
“No,” she said. “I’m not packing because I can’t.”
“Because you’re as obsessed with the Sorkines as Peiper is with us,” he said.
She stretched out and yawned. “Because I have no bags to pack.”
Nicky stood there at a loss for a second. “God damn it. Did you do that on purpose?”
“No, but I would’ve, if I’d thought of it,” she said.
He stared at her and then threw up his hands. “What’s your plan, Stella? Stay here until kingdom come? Until Peiper arrests us or worse?”
“He knows we’re looking for the Sorkines and that they’re looking for us. We can’t just leave them to that jackal. We led him here.”
“You don’t know that,” he said. “Peiper might’ve known where they went all along and finding us was an accident.”
“It doesn’t matter how it happened. If we leave, he’ll think we gave them the book,” she said.
“So what? They don’t have it and, might I remind you, they aren’t wanted by the Reich. We are.”
“Anything could happen. We just don’t know.”
“That’s right. We don’t, so we’re leaving,” he said.
“I have to try,” she said. “Just a little while longer.”
He laid back down on the bed. “I’ll give you some time tomorrow, but that’s it.”
“Says who?”
Nicky grabbed her handbag off the side table and pulled five hundred dollars out. “Says me. I don’t care where we go, but we’re not staying here.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah and I’m completely willing to hire Antonio and Matteo to truss you up like a turkey and toss you on a train. Don’t test me on this, Stella. I’ll do it.”
She sat up and looked at him. He would. He really would.
“Okay. Fine. I need to get the rest of our money from Daniel and check the telegraph offices.”
“And then we go,” he said.
“What if I get a lead?”
“You won’t. Venice seems like a small place, but it’s not. You’ve gone to the top hotels and struck out. You won’t find them.”
“But if I get a lead, I have to see about it.” Stella leaned over and kissed him. “Please try to understand.”
“I do, but if you can’t get it done by, say, two o’clock tomorrow, then it’s not getting done,” he said.
“Why two?” Stella asked. “That’s early.”
“It’s not that early and there are always trains at two.”
She shook her head. “It’s not enough time. Abel—”
“I care about Abel as much as you. But this is beyond what he would expect. You know that, right?”
She met his eyes and she did know. “All right. Fine. By two, I have to find them or get a lead.”
Nicky’s eye twitched, but he asked, “If you don’t, you’ll be on that trai
n?”
“I will, but be prepared to be wrong. I’m going to find a way.”
“Nope. Never going to happen.”
“Want to bet?” She grinned at him.
He ran a finger up her thigh. “What do you have in mind?”
“I bet St. Louis. You bet New York.” She rubbed her hands together. This would solve it. And she would win, if she had to be out the door at five in the morning, going door-to-door.
“What does that mean?” he asked, suddenly suspicious.
“If I find the Sorkines or a lead, we live in St. Louis. If you win, we live in New York.”
He laughed. “I don’t need to bet that. We were always going to live in New York.”
She stared at him, flinty-eyed. “What gave you that impression?”
“I work in New York. United Shipping and Steel is in New York.”
“Bled Brewing is in St. Louis.” She held out her hand. “Do we have a bet?”
He rolled his eyed. “Fine. It’s your funeral.”
“I’m going to hold you to this,” said Stella.
Nicky yanked her over to him. “I’m very worried.” He began kissing her in earnest and sliding her dress up over her garter.
“You do feel better.”
“Yes, I do.”
Before it could go any further, a soft knock came from the door. “Mr. Myna,” called out Sofia. “I have the dinner.”
“Perfect timing,” groaned Nicky and Stella slid off the bed, laughing. She answered the door and Sofia rolled in a cart with two dinners on it.
“Thank you so much, Sofia.”
“You are welcome,” she said. “Mr. Myna, you look much better.”
“I am,” he said, “and I’m sorry to say that we will be leaving you tomorrow.”
She looked at Stella. “Yes?”
Stella shrugged. “That’s what he thinks.”
“We need luggage,” said Nicky. “Can you recommend a decent shop?”
“Yes, of course. Bagagli du Venezia has good pieces.”
“Perfect,” said Stella.
“Is there anything else I can get you?” Sofia asked.
Stella went to the wardrobe and pulled out her fur coat. “Can you have this cleaned?”
She took the matted coat and said, “It is very good quality to have survived so well.”
“Like us,” said Nicky with a grin.
“Subtle,” said Stella.
“I thought so. Sofia, do you know if there’s a train leaving tomorrow at two?”
Sofia nodded. “Yes. I believe it is to Rome, but I am not sure.”
“It doesn’t matter. We are going to be on that train.”
Sofia looked at Stella again and Nicky eased himself up to sitting. “Why are you looking at her? I’m telling you we’re leaving.”
“We will see, Mr. Myna.” Sofia left, smiling.
“She’s on my side,” said Stella.
“There’s only one side,” he said.
Stella crossed her arms. “Yours.”
“Ours. Let’s eat. I’m starving.”
He was starving. Dinner was a seafood risotto and he ate both his portion and Stella’s, since she’d already eaten at Dr. Spooner’s house. Then he polished off the bread and cheese, but Stella wouldn’t give up her slice of almond cake.
When they were done, she yawned and closed her eyes, but Nicky got up, groaning slightly, and went to the window. “I can’t believe it’s still raining.”
“I can’t believe you’re not asleep.”
“I slept half the day. I’m antsy,” he said. “Maybe I’ll go out for a little walk. Dr. Davide said it was good for me to walk.”
That woke Stella up. “You can’t be walking around. You’ve got cholera.”
He grinned. “I’m over it.”
“You still limp. How about that?”
He screwed up his face and admitted that was a problem.
“How about I go get you another book from Karolina? I have to tell them Dr. Spooner is coming tomorrow anyway.”
“What have they got in English? I need something to put me to sleep.”
She yawned and put on her boots, hoping that no one would be out and about. It was pretty odd to be tromping around in galoshes if you weren’t going outside. “Not a tremendous number of authors.” She said the first name that popped into her head. “E.M. Forster.” Why did she think of him? She greatly preferred Jane Austen and Agatha Christie.
“What does he write?” asked Nicky.
“Literary. Mother loves him.”
Nicky groaned, “You’re killing me.”
“You wanted something to put you to sleep and Howard’s End isn’t exactly boring,” said Stella.
He eyed her. “You’ve read this one then?”
“Yes, I have and there’s no hidden meaning, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
He plucked a crumb off her dessert plate and popped it in his mouth. “What’s it about?”
“There are all these intersecting characters and it all comes together in a rather explosive way in the end.”
“But what’s it about?” he asked.
She sighed and sat down, trying to think. Howard’s End. Howard’s End. “There are these two sisters, Margaret and Helen, and they met this family. I can’t remember the name. Helen falls in love with one of the sons and—”
“Let me stop you right there. Is this a romantic story? Lots of longing and star-crossed lovers?”
“Well, a little, but it’s really about class. Margaret and Helen are middle-class and artistic. The family they meet…” Stella trailed off. There was that feeling again. The feeling that something was right there and she could almost reach it.
“Stella?” asked Nicky. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just…I can’t remember something.”
“About the book?”
“I don’t know.”
Nicky captured another crumb and said, “Keep telling me about it. Maybe it will come.”
She picked up Karolina’s books so she could return them and stroked the spines. “They, Margaret and Helen, meet this other family and they’re rich. That’s right, the Wilcoxes. They have this house and it’s a whole thing about who should have the house.”
“Not exactly a class war,” said Nicky. “I’m going to sleep already.”
“Well, that’s not all. There’s this clerk. He’s—” Stella jolted up. “Oh, my God.”
“What?”
“Mr. Bast!” She ran for the door.
“Isn’t that the writer?” asked Nicky as she whipped open the door.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Wait!”
But she didn’t wait. She closed the door and hurried down through the halls to the von Bodmann’s room. She’s knocked softly, although she wanted to pound.
“Yes?” asked Karolina without opening the door.
“It’s me…Eulalie,” said Stella. “Can I see your copy of Howard’s End?”
She opened the door. “Of course. Is something the matter?”
“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” She pushed the books into Karolina’s hands and rushed over to the window to yank Howard’s End off the window sill. She flipped through the pages and found it immediately and it was exactly as she remembered. Mr. Leonard Bast, right there on the page.
“May I ask what is the matter?” asked Karolina.
“Mr. Leonard Bast,” she said.
“Yes. The writer. He writes the travel books. He told me.”
Stella held up the book. “Mr. Leonard Bast is a character in Howard’s End.”
Rosa shifted in the bed and coughed before whispering. “Perhaps he was named after the character. He is a good character.”
Karolina shook her head. “He’s too old.”
“Or the character was named after him,” whispered Rosa.
“Please rest, dear,” said Karolina. “You must not get excited.”
“I’m sorry to bother you bo
th,” said Stella, still looking through the book. “But it’s not that either. Mr. Bast told me where he lives in London and when he told me…”
“What?” asked Karolina.
“I don’t know I just felt funny about it.”
“Doesn’t he live in London?”
“He does, but he was very particular about where he lived. He told me the exact names of the streets. Most people would just say London and that would be it. He said—oh, I don’t remember. It didn’t seem that important at the time.”
Rosa raised her withered hand. “Leonard Bast the character” —she took a ragged breath— “lived at…”
“Don’t try,” said Karolina. “It doesn’t matter where a character lived.”
“It does,” said Stella. “The Mr. Leonard Bast that is in this hotel isn’t who he says he is.”
“Look in the book.”
“I will. I am.” Stella peered at the pages, scanning for Mr. Bast and his homes. It wasn’t a huge book, but it was still difficult.
Rosa took a deep breath and said, “Camelia Road.”
“That’s it,” said Stella. “That’s where he says he lives and before that…it was Wickham Place.”
Karolina went to Rosa and took her hand, white as the sick woman. “What does this mean?”
“That’s in the book, right? Wickham Place?”
The ladies nodded.
Stella leaned against the books and pressed Howard’s End to her chest. “It can’t be a coincidence. He told me purposefully. He wanted me to know or notice or something.”
Rosa trembled. “He…is the SS.”
“What?”
“Sofia told us that there is an SS in town. He shoots at people,” said Karolina.
She shook her head. “No, it’s not him.”
“How do you know?”
Their eyes met.
“I know. You’ll have to trust me on that.”
Rosa took a deep painful breath and whispered, “The Nazis are looking for us.”
“Why? Because you’re Jewish?” Stella asked.
“It does not matter,” said Karolina. “But there is a warrant for our arrest and a reward. Are you very sure? We would have to go and quickly.”
Stella bit her lip and thought back to all the conversations she had with Mr. Bast. She knew accents and she’d detected nothing strange about it, but he said he was originally from Hertfordshire. What did that sound like? Similar to London and how many accents did London have? It was a big city.
