The Rules in Rome (11 page)

Bastien had nearly made the
building’s front exit when someone called his name. “Adalard!”

Bastien turned to see Heinie hailing him. “Hello, Heinie. On your way out?”

Heinie nodded, and when they stepped outside, he lifted his eyes skyward as if he felt as much relief to be leaving the building as Bastien did.

“Long day?” Bastien asked.

“Vogel!” Sturmbannführer Reinhart Scholz called them back.

Heinie saluted sharply, as did Bastien. “Yes, sir?”

“Is that report finished?”

“I left it with your aide, sir.”

“Hmm.” Scholz scrutinized Heinie’s uniform as if hoping something was sufficiently out of place to require a reprimand, but Heinie’s uniform was immaculate. Scholz turned to Bastien. “Dietrich, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir,” Bastien said.

“Are you on duty Saturday?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. There’s a curfew party tomorrow night. Over in the Parioli district. Contessa Tignorio’s estate. Do you know it?”

“Yes, sir.” Contessa Tignorio, still a fanatical Fascist, owned a mansion
in one of Rome’s more prestigious neighborhoods.

“Come.” Scholz’s request sounded like an order.

“Thank you, sir.” According to rumor, the contessa wasn’t intelligent enough to be a worthwhile contact, but she was rich enough to host dozens of useful sources.

Scholz looked at Heinie again but didn’t extend an invitation. “Good day, men.”

Bastien and Heinie saluted, relaxing only when Scholz was out of sight.

“I suppose he’s still unhappy that I offered to resign my commission,” Heinie said.

Bastien nodded. It made more sense for Scholz to invite Bastien to the party as a snub against Heinie than to invite him for his own sake. Before today, they’d only spoken once, briefly. “I’m sorry, Heinie.”

Heinie shrugged, then grinned. “The only person I’d want to take to something like that is in Schweinfurt.”

Bastien smiled back at his friend, then wondered why Heinie was at the Via Tasso. “What are you doing at Gestapo headquarters?”

“Scholz says he can liaise better with the rest of the SS if he has an office here. He dragged me along as unofficial penance, but I suppose it’s not too awful. There’s a window only five desks away.” The smile fell from Heinie’s face as they turned the corner. “That report, on the other hand, was real punishment.”

“What was it about?”

“Busywork. Mind-numbing busywork.”

It took only a bit of prying for Heinie to give more details. He’d been asked to catalog which fortifications had been hit by Allied air raids, then organize the data by month and severity. By the time they reached their rooms, Bastien had enough information for a report.

When Gracie came to his suite an hour later, Bastien wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her as he pulled her inside. He was growing fond of her lips, but the instant the door clicked shut, he ended the kiss and dropped his arm.
“Is your houseguest gone?”

“I went back around lunchtime, and he was just leaving. He’s supposed to meet one of his comrades today and thinks he’ll get more permanent help from him.”

“Good.” Bastien motioned to the report on his table. “Details of the new fortifications along the Rapido River. The workers should be finished within two days,
so in three or four days, it should be on the list of bombing targets. And, ironically, German assessments of past air raids.”

Gracie picked up the papers and began reading through them. “All right. I’ll send this in tomorrow morning.”

Bastien watched her read and hesitated for a moment before plunging ahead. “Also, I’ve been invited to a curfew party tomorrow. I expect a dozen or so other officers to be there, so it could be a good chance to learn something. I’d like you to accompany me if you can.”

Gracie set the papers down and nodded her agreement.

“I don’t remember seeing anything fancy in your luggage, so try to find an evening gown.” Bastien took out his wallet and handed her some money. “Something you’ll be comfortable in but something that will make men turn to get a second look.” Bastien suppressed a smile. Gracie was lovely enough that most men would turn to take a second look at her regardless of what she wore.

She stared at the floor.

“Is something wrong?”

Gracie shrugged, then made a dismissive motion with her hands. “A nice dress won’t turn me into a movie star. If you want a beautiful woman on your arm, I’m not the right person.”

Bastien wasn’t sure if she was fishing for compliments or if she really didn’t know how pretty she was. “Actually, I’m hoping for a woman with a brain to join me since there might be useful information flowing about. The fact that you’re gorgeous is a bonus.”

“Gorgeous?” Gracie’s voice was barely a whisper. “That’s not what my mother thought.”

His competent radio operator had somehow morphed into what reminded him of an insecure teenager—like his sister Hannah after she’d seen the boy she’d liked for years kissing someone else. Bastien was tempted to change the subject, but he wanted Gracie at her best during the party, and if she was self-conscious the entire time, he didn’t think she’d be much help. “Well, fortunately for us, it’s not your mother’s opinion that matters tomorrow night. Given the fact that I’m male and most of the guests we want information from are also male, I think we can safely rely on my opinion over your mother’s.”

Gracie forced a weak smile but didn’t look convinced as she lowered herself into one of the dining chairs.

Bastien sat opposite her. “You don’t believe me?”

Gracie opened her mouth, then shut it again, a hand moving in frustration. “I just don’t want you to be disappointed, and I don’t want to ruin your plans if you need the other guests to find me attractive.”

“The more attractive the woman, the more likely they are to talk to her, but most of them won’t complain as long as the woman in question is between the ages of fifteen and forty-five and has bathed within the last week.”

“Oh.” She reached for his report, but he watched her eyes, and she didn’t seem to be reading the papers in front of her.

Bastien wondered just what type of hornet’s nest he’d stirred up. “What exactly did your mother say to you?”

She glanced up, then away before answering. “She didn’t say anything to
me
. I just overheard a conversation once when I was thirteen. My dad hurt his back, so he couldn’t fix a broken closet door. I tried, but I wasn’t strong enough, and my mom was frustrated. She said if the Lord was going to send her a child at age forty, He should have had the decency to send a boy. My dad told her to be quiet, and she said he didn’t need to worry about me overhearing because I was probably upstairs doing a crossword puzzle or reading a book. But I wasn’t. I was in the next room still trying to figure out how I could fix the door. Then she talked about what a waste it was for a girl to spend so much time reading and what a shame it was that my hips were so big and my birthmark so ugly.” She frowned and ran her hand along the edge of the table. “It was the only time I ever heard my dad yell at my mother.”

Bastien remembered how sensitive his sisters had been about their appearances at age thirteen; he thought their reactions would have been similar. “Most women are far more beautiful at age twenty-three than they are at age thirteen. I’m sure even your mother would agree that you’re no exception.”

Gracie nodded but didn’t look convinced.

“I guess I expected your mother to be different. I’ve known a few Mormon families, and their mothers were saints.”

“My mother’s not very religious. Not anymore. She used to go to church all the time because her parents were devout. But I made her sick before I was born, and she got out of the habit.” Gracie’s hands gestured again, the movement holding a hint of sadness. “My dad was the one who took me to church. We started going with some neighbors when we moved to Utah, and we liked their church so we kept going back, and eventually we got baptized, my dad and I.”

“So you’re closer to your father than your mother?”

“Yes,” Gracie said, a smile forming. “I was always his little shadow. And he was always my champion.”

Bastien recalled the times his own father had called him and the other children his little shadows. “Maybe it’s time you started listening to your champions instead of your critics.”

Friday was a busy day
for Gracie. Ley’s report was long, and whoever was on the other end of the radio took his time replying. Then there was the problem of finding a dress. She didn’t have much time to look for one, so she went back to the shop with the black dress Otavia had drooled over. The shopkeeper raised her eyebrows when Gracie asked to try it on, as if she doubted Gracie’s ability to pay or didn’t want to sell such a beautiful dress to someone with such an ugly birthmark. In the end, the dress fit, Captain Ley’s money was sufficient to pay for it, and the shopkeeper cracked a smile.

Gracie had wanted to take a nap before attending the all-night party, but when she got back to her apartment, she barely had time to change and wash up. As she tried to make her water ration stretch, she was tempted to borrow Ley’s shower again, but there wasn’t enough time for that either.

At least the bathroom was empty so she could use the mirror without waiting. It wasn’t a real mirror, just a piece of polished metal, and scratches on its surface made her face look like it was crisscrossed with scars. The edges were so damaged that it gave her neck a foggy appearance, but it showed enough for her to pin her hair up and apply lipstick. She stood away from the metal plate to give herself a final look, but all she could pick out was dark hair, two eyes, lips, and a birthmark. She grabbed her extra hairpins and lipstick tube from the cracked countertop with a sigh. By 9:00 p.m., most of the party-goers would probably be too tipsy to notice her anyway.

Captain Ley was in the hallway outside her flat when she left the bathroom. Even though he smiled when she opened the door, Gracie’s initial glimpse of a stern Wehrmacht officer almost stopped her in her tracks. He looked so real. A Hollywood casting director would have had a hard time finding someone more fitting.

“You look perfect.” He bent down and kissed her on the cheek. Gracie was tempted to kiss him back. He’d look less intimidating with lipstick smeared across his face.

She held her reply until he followed her into her room. “I was going to say the same thing about you. Sometimes you don’t look like a person; you just look like a Nazi.”

“Most Nazis are, in fact, human,” he said, looking at the flimsy walls and automatically matching her low volume.

Gracie waved her hand. “I know. I just . . . Well, sometimes you look a little scary.” Gracie put her unused hairpins in the top drawer of her dresser. “I’m sorry I wasn’t ready when you arrived.”

“I was early.”

Gracie nodded. “Will you put this in your pocket for me?” She held out her lipstick. “My dress doesn’t have any pockets.”

Ley smiled as he took it and slipped it into his trouser pocket.

“Is something funny?” she asked.

“Not really. I just remember my sisters asking the same thing. My youngest sister was the worst—it was never just lipstick. If I’d let her, I think she would have had me carry around a complete change of clothing along with all her cosmetics, an address book, a novel, no fewer than three writing utensils, and enough food for five people.”

Gracie couldn’t remember Ley ever talking about his family before. “How many sisters do you have?”

“Two.” Ley frowned. “But Adalard didn’t have pictures of anyone other than himself, so I’m not sure about him.”

“Do you have any brothers?”

“Two.” Ley glanced at his right hand. Gracie followed his gaze, wondering why he’d chosen that moment to study his scars. “I probably made Stefanie sound like a pack rat. She just likes to be prepared. When she was fourteen, I picked her up from school and we went straight to the train station. I’d packed a bag for her, but I’d missed the diary she had hidden in the closet, and I didn’t pack her favorite dress because it wasn’t practical for traveling. My mother and I had been planning to leave Germany for a few weeks, but we didn’t tell the others because we were afraid they’d let something slip. I think it was hard for them to leave Frankfurt with no warning, no chance for good-byes.”

“How did you get out?” Gracie wondered if he’d always been competent with things like spying and sneaking people out of totalitarian countries or if
it was something he’d learned gradually.

“That’s a story for another day.” He unbuttoned his uniform and took out a folded paper. “I have a few things for you. First, my report. It’s not urgent, so it can wait until tomorrow.” She took his paper and hid it under her mattress. When she straightened, he was holding something wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string. It was too big for a normal-sized pocket, and she wondered where he’d hidden it. “And a present.”

Gracie’s jaw dropped. Ley had a present for her? She hesitated long enough that the moment became awkward. “Should I open it now?”

“Yes. I mean, it’s yours, so you can do whatever you want with it, but I’d planned on you opening it before we left.”

Gracie fumbled with the string for a few seconds, then Ley took out a pocketknife and handed it to her, handle first. She sawed the string until it broke, hoping her face wasn’t as red as it was hot.
You don’t need to be embarrassed just because he’s giving you a present and you’re not good with knots.

As she pulled the paper off, Ley continued. “It’s not new or anything. I just wanted you to see how pretty you are before we go.”

It was a hand mirror with a flawless surface and a decorative silver-colored handle. Outlines of birds and flowers were carved into the back and onto the hand grip. If it wasn’t new, it was still in pristine condition. “Thank . . . thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said softly.

She glanced at herself, focusing on the clearly reflected brown circle on her cheek. At least her hair had cooperated and her lipstick was on straight.

“So, um, about tonight,” Ley began. “Wander wherever you want in the house or on the grounds. We’re supposed to be a couple, but I think it’s more effective if we split up, so don’t feel like you have to hang on my arm all night. I’m not sure who will be there, but keep your ears open for anything useful. Don’t ignore any potential sources.”

Gracie nodded and placed the mirror next to the pitcher. Her fingers caressed the handle one last time. It was a beautiful gift.

Ley moved toward the door, and she followed. Once they were in the hallway, the thoughtful, sober look on his face disappeared, replaced by a confident, charismatic one. She wondered which was real and which was an act.

Outside, a car and driver waited. “I didn’t want someone setting off a bomb while I was inside,” Ley explained.

Gracie smiled at the driver, a German-enlisted man, as he opened the door for her. She slid across the seat so Ley could enter from the same side, and she sat close to him for the driver’s benefit and to calm her nerves. She felt safe next to Captain Ley and hoped she could channel some of his competence and courage. She’d been trained on how to trick information out of people, but she’d never done it in the field.

As they drove through the city and into a residential area, the houses grew larger and larger. They stopped in front of a mansion with an exquisite
lawn, a huge fountain, and a pair of marble lions guarding the entrance.

Ley helped her from the car and told the driver to return at oh six hundred hours. It was going to be a long party.

Imitating a dozen other couples, Gracie and Ley strolled along the grounds. The gardens were extensive, probably involving the labor of multiple servants. Gracie couldn’t see so much as a single wilted petal.

“My mother would love the flowers,” Gracie said. “She’s never more content than when she’s out in her garden.” Ley slowed his pace, as if sensing her hesitation to go inside.
Maybe he’s nervous too?
As quickly as the thought came, she dismissed it. Captain Ley, nervous? That was ridiculous.

An elegant woman greeted them when they arrived at the mansion. Her gold dress shimmered with a metallic finish and flowed gracefully to the floor. Her hair was jet black, but the lines around her eyes revealed her age. She examined Gracie from head to foot, stopping briefly to eye Gracie’s
very un-party-worthy shoes and then again to stare at her birthmark.

With the hostess was an SS officer, the equivalent of a major. “Hauptmann Dietrich, good of you to come.”

“Thank you for the invitation, Sturmbannführer Scholz.” Ley and Scholz shook hands, then Ley continued. “May I present Signorina Concetta Gallo?”

Scholz set a hand on the hostess’s shoulder, intimacy hinted at in their touch. “This is Contessa Tignorio.”

A contessa?
Gracie’s meager confidence disappeared completely. Captain Ley had told her the hostess was a rich Fascist, and though Gracie should have guessed based on the size of the estate, she still found the woman’s nobility intimidating. Their hostess warmed slightly when Captain Ley took her hand as Scholz introduced them, but then she quickly turned her attention to the next guests.

The décor inside the mansion was part museum, part grand-hotel lobby. The other guests looked as if they belonged in a magazine. The men wore dress uniforms or tuxedos, the women formal gowns. Michael had taken Gracie to see the new Utah State Symphony Orchestra just before he’d left, and she had enjoyed getting dressed up and being surrounded by others in their best clothing, but the dresses the women in the mansion wore made the Salt Lake women look shabby. It was like a different world from the
squalor she saw on the streets of Rome. She glanced down at the black sheen of her own dress and wondered if she measured up.

Michael would have made a joke about the excessive amount of skin the women in Rome were baring. Ley took two glasses from a waiter in a black uniform and handed one to her. “The houseplants will be thirsty,” he whispered in her ear.

Gracie smiled but felt the momentary lightheartedness vanish as she glanced around the room and locked eyes with Otto Ostheim, the SS officer she’d flirted with at the café before Captain Ley had interrupted them. Ostheim’s friend, Kornelius Zimmerman, stood next to him. Ostheim whispered something in his ear, placed his empty glass on the rim of an enormous marble planter, and strode toward her.

“Let’s not split up yet,” she whispered to Captain Ley. He glanced at Ostheim before looking back at Gracie and winking.

Ostheim nodded to Ley before giving Gracie an appreciative glance. “Concetta, you look marvelous.” Ostheim tilted his head toward Ley. “Did you come with him?”

“Yes, she did,” Ley said.

“If there’s dancing, I hope you’ll let me borrow her for a song or two.”

“That will be entirely up to Concetta.”

Gracie was tempted to kick Ley. She didn’t want to dance with an SS officer. It would have been easier if Ley had just said no. Now she was the one who’d have to be rude and snub Ostheim again.
Or you could act like a professional spy and use the dance as an opportunity to learn something or at least open the door again after slamming it shut in the café.
Gracie took a deep breath and forced a smile. “If there’s dancing, I’d be delighted to take a turn with you, Otto.”

The upward curve of Ostheim’s lips hinted at triumph more than pleasure. “Wonderful.” He gave them each a curt nod. “Until then.”

“I hope there won’t be any dancing,” Gracie whispered after Ostheim returned to Zimmerman.

“I’d be surprised if there wasn’t.”

Gracie frowned before she realized what she was doing.

“Don’t look so unhappy.” Ley took her arm and gently pulled her into another room. “We’re supposed to be at a party.”

Gracie poured most of her drink into a nearby plant, then left it on a polished, dark-wood table next to another glass, that one empty. Within a minute, one waiter had retrieved both glasses and another was offering her a second drink. Gracie took it, deciding it would be less awkward to hold the thing in her hand than to repeatedly turn down such persistent waiters.

As they mingled with the other guests, Gracie was separated from Ley, and although she would have rather stayed near him, she told herself to be brave and did her best to make new friends.

Roughly three dozen men and women filled the mansion. From the wife of the late Count Tignorio’s business partner, Gracie learned that the Tignorios had earned their wealth in the munitions business. The luxurious mansion, purchased with profits earned by bloodshed, suddenly seemed less beautiful. She tried to learn more about the business but ended up with only snippets of information about weapons and enough secrets about the other guests to write lurid gossip columns on nearly all of them. It wasn’t the type of information she was looking for, but it made the time pass quickly.

Captain Ley found her just before supper and offered her his arm. He led her to a long table covered in a crisp white tablecloth and set with fine china and silver. Just before the waiters served the first course, Zimmerman sat across from her and Ostheim sat beside her.