Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves(78)



Gideon flashed his engaging smile that jacked up his scar. “And if I have anything to say about it, I am here to persuade her to join me.” His grinning eyes took on a more meaningful look. “Well, me, I say – meaning myself and her grandfather. He is alive and still cantankerous, according to Giorgio here.”

Her heart nearly jumped from her ribcage. “Old Duke, he’s really alive, he’s here? In Berlin?” Unaccountably, her eyes blurred with dampness.

“Nearby, in fact,” Gideon said. “We three – your grandfather, you, and I — can light out for Ireland, Romy. Think of it!”

Now all eyes were focused on her, awaiting a response. She looked to Duke, half hoping he would intervene, step forward and swoop her up high against his chest and carry her off as charming prince had Snow White in the moving picture. But, of course, that was only a fairy tale, because Duke merely stood solidly in the door, giving her the option.

She was rooted. Ireland! In her mind’s eye, she saw once more the three Tarot cards – the High Priestess, the Magician, the Emperor – the Queen of Clubs, the King of Diamonds, and the King of Clubs.

And, always, that final card, the Ace of Spades. The Death card.

At last, she narrowed her eyes on Giorgio. “Why didn’t ye tell me about Old Duke?”

An offended look crossed his narrow face with its high, Slavic cheekbones. “You were in a hurry, to get here, remember? Besides, you should know we Gypsies know better than to mess with Fate. The decision had to be based on your intuition, Romy baby, not outside information.”

Her mouth twitched. “I want to see Old Duke.”

As if taking that as a signal she wasn’t committing to anyone, and certainly not Gideon, Duke slouched his length into the tufted chair opposite the sofa. His burnt-brown eyes shifted to her. “I don’t care who tags along, but I am determined you and I are hightailing it out of Europe.”

He would not have come all this way just to retrieve a fugitive employee, she told herself. She wanted to believe that. But she and Duke came from different cultures, looked at things in different ways. Mayhap, he did care. But did he care enough to marry her?

“All in good time,” Irina said, crossing to take her hand and leading her to sit beside her on the sofa. “First, we need to cobble some plans. A plan to spring Luca. And then another, how to get you, your brother, and your grandfather out of Germany.”

Her eyes fired salvos at both Gideon and Duke, both of whom Romy thought looked like they had been wrestling steers three days straight. “After that, with whom you go, Romy – and where – well, obviously, it is your choice.”

Gideon seated himself in the partnered chair, while Giorgio plopped on the sofa’s rolled arm rest and leaned with arms braced proprietarily over Irina, almost like her guardian angel with wings spread.

“Gideon,” she said, taking from Romy the sketch and shoving it across the coffee table toward her half-brother, “can you add anything to this from memory?”

His brows met over the bridge of his patrician nose. “Not that much,” he said, after studying it. “It seems I recall a newspaper article about a SS-owned bakery built next to the Klinkerwerk. Prisoners were to bake something like 10,000 loaves of bread daily.”

Irina considered this. “Yes, now I do remember that. All right. So, we have several options. Sachsenhausen’s kitchen, its infirmary, or its laundry room, anywhere of which we could try to plant an operative. Then there is the bakery. And Klinkerwerk’s dock. The march to and from? But after that?”

She turned an inspective gaze on Romy. “Well? What is it to be? Either way, the route out of Germany lies straight through to Rotterdam and on to the English Air Force Base at All Hallows in Kent. From there – Ireland or Texas? You do realize we need to know this now – how many and the destination – before we can go any further with our planning.”

Romy shrank from the demanding, collective gazes. In particular, Gideon’s and Duke’s. Who would have thought she would have been the object of desire of not one but two men? Desire. But love? Marriage?

And what would Old Duke want? Of course, he would want Ireland. As she did. But a stolen sidewise glance at this Duke’s uncompromising countenance gave her second and weakening considerations.

Wrestling with this life-changing dilemma, she shrugged, at last. Why not? Why not chance that at which she had always scoffed?

The cards.

The three of them together – herself, Duke, and Gideon – meant death awaited one of them – if she believed in fortune telling and fated events and such bloody rot as destined soul mates, which she didn’t.

But after Sachsenhausen’s atrocities, she was no longer certain she believed in prayer, either.

“Give me until tomorrow morning.”

§ § §

That night, Giorgio decamped with Duke and Gideon to a rundown, abandoned hunting lodge in the closeby, still green Grunewald Forest, where anyone could get lost, including Hansel and Gretel. The plan was to meet later the next day, at noon, at Café Central, a popular meeting point of young writers and painters, and within walking distance of Irina’s flat.

Duke’s scowl had made for an uneasy parting among the five. Clamping his Stetson low on his head, his eyes had singed each of the other four in turn, lastly Irina. “Just so you understand, I am not leaving Germany without Romy. After that, where she goes is her choice.”

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