The Rules in Rome (26 page)

The rest of March and
all of April fell into a routine. Bastien slowly got better over his long convalescence leave, and Gracie was there every time he needed to eat, every time he needed help dressing, every time he needed help to the bathroom. And she was there when he needed to talk, even if it was the middle of the night.

Heinie stopped by most days, but usually it was just Bastien and Gracie, and it had gradually become easier for him to open up to her. They talked about the news from the front, about the bread riots taking place all over Rome, about the massive roundups for forced labor, and about their families. Bastien hadn’t talked about his family with anyone since arriving in Europe, but it felt natural to share everything with Gracie.
Almost everything.

She left at least once a week to meet her other contact and send in his report, but Bastien didn’t ask for details. Some days they borrowed Heinie’s chess set; other days Bastien drew maps of the front line—or at least the front line as he remembered it.

It was discouraging to be stuck in his hotel room, unable to work. Gracie seemed to sense when his cabin fever was building to the boiling point, and she usually suggested some sort of distraction, but none of the crossword
puzzles they found presented much of a challenge, and he could only lose so many chess games before that too grew old.

Gracie handled all the meals, usually picking something up from the hotel cook. Bastien could tell things were getting worse for the German Army as the quality of food gradually deteriorated.

“It’s still better than what most civilians get,” Gracie said.

“Probably better than what most of Fifth Army is eating too.”

Bastien had known Gracie was brilliant when it came to codes and wireless operation, but he was surprised by how gentle and patient she was as he convalesced, even when he grew frustrated with his slow progress. He was even more surprised by how natural it felt to see her every morning and every evening and most hours in between. On the few days when he woke before she did, he’d stand in the doorway to his bedroom and watch her sleep on the couch and wonder why it felt so normal to be sharing his suite with her. And sometimes he’d catch himself thinking about the possibility of sharing his life with her.

On the first day of May, he felt well enough to shave his face in the bathroom rather than having Gracie bring his things to the bed.

She examined the results when he finished. “Maybe I need more practice. I don’t think I ever got it this smooth.” Her fingers lingered on his face, and he mirrored her gesture, running one hand through her hair and the other along her chin. They were already close to one another, but he leaned closer, then caught himself the instant before he kissed her. He let his hands fall to her shoulders as he straightened and pulled away. She seemed disappointed that he’d stopped, and he felt a stab of guilt that he’d hurt her feelings and a realization that he’d completely lost his focus.
It’s time to get on with your mission. You didn’t come to Rome to fall in love with Gracie.

She looked at the floor. “Maybe I should go back to my apartment now.”

He didn’t want her to leave but knew she should. “I don’t really need a nurse anymore.”

She didn’t immediately move to get her things, but when she did, it was as if she was moving in slow motion. “I’ll check on you tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” The words seemed inadequate—she’d done everything she could to help him for more than a month—but he wasn’t sure he was ready to say
I love you
, and even if he was, he couldn’t say something like that in Rome.

She slung a bag over her shoulder and ran her fingers along his face again. He closed his eyes, savoring her touch, her nearness. He wanted to ask her to stay, wanted to wrap his arms around her and kiss her, but he’d already let things go too far.

When she left, the room felt empty.
That’s how it’s supposed to feel
, he reminded himself. He was supposed to be alone. He was supposed to be concentrating on his mission. He wasn’t supposed to be letting a good little Mormon girl become the most important thing in his life.

* * *

The bed in Gracie’s new flat was far more comfortable than the couch in Ley’s hotel suite, but she had trouble sleeping. Ley could walk by himself now and stand long enough to shave, but he was still feeble. What if he needed her while she was away?

She tried to use her new kitchen as a way to pass the time, but most days, she spent hours waiting in line and rarely ended up with more than pane nero, so there was nothing to cook. Some days, if it wasn’t for her visit with Ley, there wouldn’t be anything to eat at all.

Gracie had been lonely before, but the first few weeks after she left Ley’s suite felt far worse than any of the other twelve weeks that had passed since meeting him. She still had a key to his suite, so she let herself in each day
when she came to visit. The need for kissing in the hallway had passed, and she longed for physical contact again.

The second Friday in May, Gracie had a meeting with Angelo.

“Have you heard the news?” he asked when they met in the center of a plaza an hour before curfew.

“What news?”

Angelo grinned. “The British crossed the Rapido River yesterday.”

“They did?” Gracie’s heart beat a little faster. The Rapido was so tiny that it only appeared on the most detailed of maps, but it had been one more obstacle near Monte Cassino blocking half the Allies from crossing the Gustav Line. The other half was still trapped on the beachhead near Anzio.

Angelo nodded. “Maybe they’ll show up here before too long.”

Please let them make it to Rome soon
, Gracie thought.
I don’t care which group gets here, but please let them come quickly.

Angelo slipped her his report, then took her hand and studied her as they strolled through the plaza. “Are you getting enough to eat?”

Gracie gave a short laugh. “Is anyone in Rome getting enough to eat?”

“Doubtful. Maybe German officers and a few of their favorite collaborators.” He paused, glancing at her face. “I guess I expected you to be happier about the news.”

“I am happy.”

“You don’t look it.”

Gracie sighed. “It’s been a rough week.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Angelo asked.

Gracie shook her head.
I should be happier
, she thought. But an hour a day wasn’t enough time with Ley, not when she’d grown used to being near him constantly. Other than her loneliness and worry about getting caught, there wasn’t anything she could pinpoint as a problem. At least she had Angelo for a few minutes to break up the time until she could visit Ley again. She looked at Angelo more carefully. He seemed skinnier than she
remembered, and there was less of a bounce in his step. “Are you all right?”

“I’ve been worried since the Via Rasella. I feel like half of Rome is searching for me and the other half is judging me.” He frowned. “The reprisal was harsh. Just about everyone knows someone who’s disappeared, and they wonder if maybe their son or their uncle died in the caves. But I’m not going to let the Nazis win, no matter what they do to us.”

Gracie nodded. If the Allied Armies were finally gaining momentum, the Gappisti were more important than ever. But that didn’t make the deaths in the Ardeatina caves any less tragic.

Angelo’s steady stride skipped a pace. “Let’s cross the street. I’d bet my Beretta those two men are some type of plainclothes police.”

Gracie followed Angelo, sneaking a glance at the two men walking toward them with squared shoulders and steady gaits.
Definitely police or military.
Gracie glanced over her shoulder and saw another pair of men. “There’s another group behind us.”

Angelo swore under his breath. “We’ll see if we can lose them in that apartment building.”

Gracie realized she’d tightened her grip on Angelo’s hand, and she forced herself to relax. The building ahead was a large one, and there would be scores of rooms to hide in and probably several exits. Then she looked ahead of her and gasped. “Is that who I think it is?”

“Yes,” Angelo whispered. It was the man who’d chased them the day they’d met by the pyramid, the one Angelo had gunned down as they’d escaped. They were surrounded.

“Let’s try the side entrance.” Angelo pulled her into a narrow side street, and they ran to a door. It was locked. Angelo picked up a damaged brick lying in the gutter and broke out the glass in a nearby window. As he ran the brick along the windowsill to dislodge the remaining shards, three of the men who’d been following them turned into the alley.

The window was three feet off the ground. Angelo nimbly climbed through, and Gracie tried to follow. It shouldn’t have been difficult, but she couldn’t find a handhold that wasn’t covered in broken glass.
You can choose glass in your fingers or bullets in your back
.

“Halt!” one of the men shouted. As Angelo pulled Gracie the rest of the way through the window, she looked back. All three men were armed with handguns.

“Come on!” Angelo ran through the room they’d entered—somebody’s living room—and opened a door leading to a hallway. Gracie ignored the stinging in her hands as she followed Angelo down the corridor and up three flights of stairs. The Italian shouts of their pursuers followed them each step of the way.

“Check if any doors are unlocked,” Angelo said.

They were in a long hallway with doors on either side. He reached for one on the right, and she began checking the doors on the left. The first knob she grasped was locked, and as she moved to the next one, she saw the
red smear she’d left on the doorknob. The third door down was unlocked. She shoved it open, ran inside, and stopped.

A mother and three small children sat around a table, and they looked horrified that a stranger had just broken into their flat. Angelo rushed in
after Gracie and closed and bolted the door behind him.

The mother stood and moved between her children and Angelo. The youngest, a little girl of about two, started crying.

Angelo took his pistol from his jacket pocket. “Keep her quiet. Take them into a bedroom.”

The woman didn’t move, and another child, a boy not much older than his sister, joined the crying.

“Now!” Angelo said. He kept his pistol pointed at the family and one ear against the door. The men following them couldn’t be far behind.

The mother glared at Gracie and took her children into another room.

“We can’t stay here,” Gracie said. The furniture was worn, and the four chairs around the table were mismatched, two of them with obvious repairs.
The meal at the center of the table was barely sufficient for one, but it was divided into four parts.

“Why not?”

“What if one of the children gets hurt?”

“I’m not going to hurt them,” Angelo said. “If the Fascists do, let it be on their conscience.”

Gracie knew if anything happened to the family, it would also be on her conscience. She glanced at her hands. They were smeared in blood, and she
could see about a dozen cuts of varying sizes. “I left blood on all the doorknobs. They’ll know we’re here because the next doorknob will be clean.”

Angelo glanced at her hands. He grabbed a pair of threadbare cloth napkins from the table and quickly bandaged her palms. He took a piece of bread off the table when he was finished and bit into it as he jogged to the balcony.

Gracie followed Angelo outside. Each apartment had a balcony with a low wall, and only a few feet separated each one from its neighbor. Down
below, the street was emptying as curfew approached.

“We’ll go down one floor, then through an apartment, and we’ll be on a different level than where they expect us.”

Gracie looked at Angelo’s suggested path and felt her head spin. The balcony walls were smooth concrete, and they were spaced far enough apart that anyone climbing between them could fall to their death. “But there aren’t any footholds.”

“Can’t be helped. I’ll lower you down first. We better hurry.”

Gracie took a deep breath, hoping it would give her courage. She’d never been scared of heights before, but she’d never attempted to climb down buildings before either. She swung one leg over the wall where the balcony attached to the building and felt her shoe slipping. Her hands were sweaty and bloody, and she worried the napkins would make it impossible for her to grip anything. Someone pounded on the apartment door, and she slid her other leg over the side. She gripped the inside of the wall with her forearms
and tried to balance on the wall’s outside surface with her feet. She winced when Angelo took her hands.

“Sorry.” He moved his hands to her wrists. “Time to let go
.”

Gracie hesitated. Angelo couldn’t weigh much more than she did.
I’m going to have to trust him.
She eased her forearms off the wall and felt herself falling. Angelo didn’t drop her, but his face showed strain. She couldn’t see
how far she was from the balcony below because her face was right next to the concrete wall.