From Sand and Ash(74)

Angelo felt rage shoot through his belly and his temperature climb beneath his stiff collar. He held himself back, knowing his part, knowing the genteel subservience people expected from him. But he exhaled in relief as Captain von Essen stepped back and Eva moved away from him. She walked toward the exit, nodding and smiling as she made her way through the glittering people and the tables laden with rich foods and the best Italian wine in a city of starving people. She kept walking as she neared him, and he followed her out of the large dining hall to the cloakroom where she’d stored her violin case.

“What did he say?” Angelo asked, his voice pitched just above a whisper. Eva checked behind every coat, behind every wrap, and every corner before she answered him.

“Greta is insisting that I take a room here at the hotel. The arrangements have already been made. Captain von Essen says I have earned it.” She showed him the key and the envelope filled with banknotes.

The rage in his stomach turned into an inferno.

“Does he think he will join you there?”

Eva’s eyes shot to his face, and she shook her head instantly. “No. I really don’t think that’s what he’s implying. Greta is here with him, Angelo. You saw her. I am well aware of what he is capable of, but he has never been inappropriate with me.”

“You can’t stay here, Eva. I don’t trust him.”

“I don’t either. But I don’t think his intentions are lecherous. I’m worried about something else.”

Angelo raised his eyebrows in question.

“I think they are going to raid Santa Cecilia tonight. He knows I board there. He doesn’t want me there when it goes down.”

“How do you know this?” he asked, the ramifications sending his thoughts in a million different directions.

“He said something in the office today, something about the evening’s activities. He was on the phone with Lieutenant Colonel Kappler. I thought he was talking about this.” She tossed her hand in the direction of the ballroom and swept a hand down her dress. “But there was another man, by the last name of Koch, who came to the office three times last week. He is some kind of squadristi leader.”

When Angelo heard the name he swore and crossed himself simultaneously, and then crossed himself again to cancel out his dual reaction. He wondered some days if he was cut out to be a priest. He had a foul mouth. He blamed it on the American in him.

“Koch is a notorious Jew hunter,” he said. “He’s been on Monsignor O’Flaherty’s tail the last few months. Lieutenant Colonel Kappler too. But why Santa Cecilia?”

“I don’t think it’s just Santa Cecilia. I think it may be every church, convent, and monastery in Trastevere.”

“And what makes you think tonight?”

“Captain von Essen told me I should stay here at the hotel to avoid ‘trouble.’ I asked him if he could just provide me with a car. But he said Trastevere wouldn’t be safe tonight.”

“We have to get word to the sisters,” Angelo said. The Villa Medici was a good distance from Trastevere and even farther from the Vatican.

“There are telephones in every suite. I heard the women talking in the powder room. They were all highly impressed. I’m sure they are all looking forward to eavesdropping on each other’s conversations.” She held out the key, enthusiastically. He took it, his unease growing as he stared down at it.

“We’ll ask for another room. We’ll switch,” he said abruptly. “Come with me.”

They approached the registration desk, but Eva held back when Angelo put a warning hand on her arm.

“Let me,” he whispered. “Stand here and look frightened.”

“That won’t be hard to do,” she murmured. Angelo understood completely. His own heart was pounding heavily beneath his cassock. But he smiled easily and nodded at the man behind the glossy mahogany registration desk, who took his hand and kissed it, as if he wasn’t sure if Angelo were someone important or not.

“Signore, I need your help,” Angelo said, sotto voce. “My sister is staying here at the hotel. She is a renowned violinist and she played for the dignitaries who are in attendance at the gala this evening. She is very beautiful, you understand.” He paused so the concierge could verify this truth for himself.

The little man with the slick black hair and the neat little mustache peered around Angelo’s shoulder and eyed Eva. His eyes widened slightly. “Yes. Yes. I see,” he said awkwardly, as if he wasn’t sure whether to agree that she was beautiful or refrain from commenting on a priest’s sister.

“She is receiving some unwanted attention from one of the guests. No one especially important. But I would like her to be moved, if possible. Unfortunately, he saw her coming out of her room, and my sister is now a little frightened.”

“Oh, yes, Padre. Of course. I understand.” The concierge took the key from Angelo’s hand and consulted his ledger.

“Will you be staying with your sister?” he asked judiciously. Angelo tried not to react or to think about what those words could entail.

“For a while. I would like to make sure she is all right.”

“Yes, Padre.” The man bobbed and whisked out two keys with a tidy little nod. Then he crossed himself as if it had been a while since his last confession. Angelo didn’t know whether to smile or sigh. He had a tendency to make people chatty or nervous. It didn’t hurt that this man was nervous. He’d been easy to persuade.