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Elena spoke to people, but only in Italian. The interesting conversations to overhear were in German. She danced with Aiden a couple of times, close, because there was no room to do anything else.
“You all right?” he asked quietly, his head bent to her ear.
“Fine,” she replied. “I don’t understand the Serbian or Hungarian…”
“They’re not part of this. It’s strictly Austrian…”
“And German. I’ve heard a lot of German accents. Munich, Berlin, Hamburg, some from further north.”
He hesitated a moment, then asked, “Are you sure?”
“Of course I am! My German is pretty good,” she reminded him. “How could you have forgotten that? They were being secretive. They stopped speaking when I passed close to them…” She recalled the surreptitious movements, the hostile eyes, but she did not mention it to him. Possibly it was her imagination and her intense discomfort at being here at all. This was not a time for self-indulgence, let alone complaint. Her job was to get Aiden and his information out of Italy. Never forget that. And also to learn about when, or from whom, or where the Fatherland Front’s blow would come!
“The wicked flee where no man pursueth,” he said quietly. “That’s a hell of a dress you have on.”
“Hell of?” she said defensively.
“It’s exquisite, very un-English,” he explained. “It’s not even French. I don’t know what it is, but it’s gorgeous.”
“Should I thank you?” she asked, moving closer to him, but stiff-armed. “Or look for something a little more ordinary next time?” She shouldn’t let that hurt her, but nothing that was suitable for Gabrielle would ever be natural for Elena.
“Less conspicuous, perhaps,” he replied, his voice muffled by her hair.
That stung. “Do you think anyone will remember me after I’ve gone from here?” she asked.
“In that dress?” His voice rose in disbelief.
“Oh, they’ll remember the dress, but me? If I put on something different? More…ordinary.”
He held her away from him for a moment, looking at her face, her neck, which was quite bare of jewelry, and then down at her body. “No,” he said with surprise. “I see that Peter Howard has taught you a thing or two. How interesting. I wouldn’t have thought he’d have it in him. I wonder what he intends to do with you in the future. I don’t suppose he’s given you the faintest idea.”
“Actually, I didn’t learn that from Peter Howard,” she reminded him a little tartly. “I learned it when I was trying to escape from the Gestapo, in Berlin.” She could not so easily dismiss the question as to what Peter might have planned for her.
“Really? You shouldn’t have told me that. Don’t tell anybody anything they don’t need to know.”
“You need to know it,” she replied immediately. “Because you don’t trust me to have any idea what I’m doing.”
He pulled her closer again, and reluctantly she yielded. “I apologize. And you’re right about the Germans: there are certainly a lot of them here tonight.”
“Men,” she agreed. “I haven’t seen any other women here at all.” A sudden thought occurred to her. “Are they soldiers on leave or something like that?”
He stiffened, missed a step, and then caught the rhythm again.
“Aiden?” she said in a fierce whisper. “What? Is that what they are?”
“Don’t say that again!” he hissed.
She did not reply. If they were German soldiers, army or ex-army, here in Trieste, why were there so many? “What are they here for?” she said in a low, urgent voice.
He pressed her even closer so that he was breathing through the softness of her hair. “I told you—a plot to make Austria a part of Germany. They are blood brothers, just under the skin. Common language, common culture, heritage, and philosophy.” Then he added, “And above all, music and art. There’s no greater music in the world than German and Austrian.”
Elena wondered if he was mocking her, but his face was perfectly serious.
“That’s not the point!” she said tartly. “You’ve been working on this for years! Tell me the whole truth, or nothing at all, and let me work it out.” That sounded desperate, but her mind was racing, trying to think of anything that made sense.
“Fatherland Front,” he whispered. He kept his voice low so even those closest to him would not hear his words. But people seemed to be watching, assessing all the time.
Her heart was beating as if it were in her throat. So Trieste was where it was all starting from. It was absurd that such a plot should be moving so fast. Germany conquering another country, fifteen years after the war to end all wars? Germany was barely climbing up onto its feet again. Yet there was a hideous sense to it. Pictures came back into her mind of the arrogant Brownshirts in Berlin, forcing Jews off the pavement into the gutter so the bullies could pass four or five abreast. All this talk of Jews and Communists being enemies of the people. It would not be hard to persuade some Austrians of that. Hitler himself was Austrian, as were quite a few of his right-hand men. That the Fatherland Front planned to seize power in Austria, this she believed. And that they would give it to Germany she also believed. But that they should be doing it now, here…
