The Lisbon Crossing (20 page)

I slammed my hand
down hard on the steering wheel. Damn! But I couldn’t help laughing at the same time. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about how to get inside the villa. The problem was what I’d have to do to get back out again!

The thought of being “devoured” by the Duchess of Windsor was enough to turn my stomach in several different directions at the same time. I could skip the whole thing, of course, which was tempting, but there wouldn’t be another chance like this. No, I’d have to go ahead with it. Maybe I could fend the lady off and find a few minutes alone to look around. Not likely, though, I had to admit. She’d have her claws in me the minute I walked through the door and she wouldn’t let go until…Well, I didn’t want to think about it.

I guess the duchess never really got the Shanghai whorehouse out of her system, and the duke, it seemed, just wasn’t up to the task. It certainly wouldn’t surprise me, with that limp hand…

I tried to recall a similar circumstance, with an equally unappealing female, who I’d managed to perform for. None came to mind. Not even Betty Hooper of Louisville, Kentucky, measured up,
although I’d been so tanked up that night that it would be impossible to say for sure just how low I’d sunk.

Hell, I’d just have to grit my teeth and use my imagination. I turned the engine over and was about to slip into gear when I sensed a movement behind me—somebody tucked down below the backseat, lying on the floor. I froze. The .38 was in the glove compartment, three feet away…

Go easy, I thought, no sudden movements.

Slowly lifting my right hand off the gear stick, I extended it out across the darkness, revving the engine slightly to drown out the noise as I took hold of the latch, twisted it around, and let the door fall open with a soft
click.
Grasping the handle of the gun, I slipped my finger around the trigger, took a deep breath, swung around sharply, and pointed the gun at the stowaway…

“Jesus Christ!”
I yelled. “I almost shot you!”

Eva pulled herself up into a sitting position. “Yes, I noticed that.”

“What the hell are you doing back there?!”

“Coming with you.” She climbed over the seat and settled into the front.

“How did you get here?!”

“By donkey!” she shot back, shutting me up. “Why did you leave me stranded?”

“Well…I…”

She scowled. “What happened to you and me against the world?”

“Nothing…”

“Then why did you abandon me?”

I shrugged. “I feel better doing this on my own.”

“Two of us have a better chance of finding something.”

“Yeah, well…it’s dangerous,” I said, unable to come up with anything better. She just laughed.

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, Jack, but I’m not exactly helpless.” I felt a bit foolish and decided to change tack.

“It’s good that you’re here, anyway. We’ve got a kind of a…well, a situation.”

“What kind of a kind of situation?”

“The duchess went back to the villa. Claimed she had a headache.”

“I see. That is awkward.”

“More awkward than you think.” I produced the key. “She gave this to me.”

It took a moment for it to sink in, but once it did, Eva started to laugh. “Oh, no…Do you mean to say that…The Duchess of Windsor…Oh, Jack!…Can’t you see how comical that is?!”

“I’m having a little trouble with it,” I said, stony-faced.

“All right,” she said, getting control of her funny bone. “Fine. It’s fine. In fact, it works out perfectly.”

“You think so, huh?”

“Well, it must mean that she’ll be alone.”

“Just the housekeeper, who’ll be asleep, and the driver, who lives over the garage.”

“Good. That’s good…I can look around while you keep the duchess occupied.”

“Occupied?”

“Yes. In the bedroom.”

“I keep her occupied in the bedroom?”

“Yes.”

“While you look around?”

“That’s right.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“What?”

“Me and the duchess…In the bedroom…”

Eva looked over at me. She was trying not to smile, but not doing a very good job of it. “Jack…”

“Forget it,” I said, trying to sound breezy, which is pretty tough when you feel like an idiot.

“Jack…”

“No, you’re right. Why should it bother you? I’m the one who
has to—” I shook my head. “Something about that lady gives me the creeps.”

“It has nothing to do with how I feel about you.”

Eva slid over, pulled my arm around her shoulder, and leaned into my chest. As she turned her face toward mine, the soft light caught the curve of her lips just right, and her brown eyes pulled me into their deep, dark depths. I felt I had an angel in my arms, and I wanted to tell her so. But, for one reason or another, I didn’t. I kissed her instead. I kissed her long and hard. But it was something more than a kiss, too. It said what I hadn’t been able to say out loud. And Eva said it back to me.

T
he key slipped effortlessly into the lock, and with a turn of my wrist, the door fell open. I’d left Eva and the car in a scenic view area about a hundred yards up the road—not far from o Boca do Inferno—and entered the grounds through the unlocked back gate, as the duchess had instructed. Aside from a faint light coming from the room over the garage, there wasn’t a sign of life anywhere. The duchess had thought of everything, including a route through the garden that kept me downwind of the kennels, ensuring that the monsters wouldn’t pick up my scent and start raising unholy hell. She had it so meticulously planned, in fact, that I wondered how well trodden the path to her back door was.

Stepping into a dimly lit vestibule, I shut the door behind me—making sure it stayed unlocked for Eva—then turned left along a short corridor, and through a swinging door. Once my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw that I was standing in an elegant dining room that opened through a wide arch onto a spacious living room with high ceilings. I passed under the arch and, as promised, spotted the stairway that would lead me to the duchess’s boudoir. I paused to look around. At one end of the room was a gathering of large sofas and snug armchairs arranged around a big stone fireplace. The other end featured a fully stocked bar, with a half-dozen stools lined up
along the counter. In between were Persian rugs, objects of art, and a mix of old master and contemporary paintings. The place smelled like money.

Something on the far wall caught my eye. It was too dark to be sure from a distance, but as I picked my way across the room I could see that it was indeed the Pissarro landscape that I’d admired in Popov’s warehouse. I stood in front of it for a moment, absorbed by the light and color of the apple blossoms set against the vibrating violet sky, wondering who else had received a piece of the stolen treasure trove.

“Like it?”

I swung around to find the duchess posing seductively at the bottom of the stairs. Kitted out in a long, red-and-gold dressing gown that was tied loosely at the hips, her pasty-white skin, deep red lips, and black hair pulled back in an impossibly tight bun, made her look like a ghostly china doll.

“You should,” she said. “It’s a Monet.”

“Pissarro,” I corrected her.

An eyebrow shot up. “Well, now, isn’t that impressive? You know art.” She tossed her head and gave me her best provocative smile. “What else do you know?”

Then she turned and sashayed it back up the staircase, throwing a glance over her shoulder at precisely the right moment. She was well practiced in her art, that’s for sure.

The mood in the bedroom had been set with a couple of red silk scarves thrown over standing lamps, a cozy fire on the hearth, and a whiff of incense in the air. The duchess herself was on display in the center of the room, arms falling limply at her side as she rotated her hips to some crazy music that was playing on the Victrola. It sounded like Indian snake-charmer music, which seemed appropriate enough.

I stepped inside, closed the door firmly behind me, and took up a position against the wall. Digging a Lucky Strike out of my pocket, I lit up and waited for the show to begin. The duchess took her cue and, keeping an alluring eye on me, began turning in a slow circle,
hips gyrating to the music as she allowed the robe to slide slowly off her shoulders and down her back. Coming around for a second rotation, the gown plunged dramatically to the floor, leaving me with the demoralizing vision of this Cinderella sister bound tightly into a low-cut black leather corset with matching garter belt and stockings. I cupped my hand to my mouth, faking a drag off my smoke as I choked back a laugh, transforming it into a smile of delight.

Nothing seemed to be expected of me at that point, so I stayed put and waited for more. She wriggled around for a couple more minutes and, I had to admit, she had a certain hypnotic style that might’ve been erotic if it hadn’t been so damned funny. I was having serious doubts about how I was going to manage this when her eyes led mine over to the bed and I saw the equipment that was spread out across the satin sheets.

I’d been on the receiving end of a cat-o’-nine-tails on
The Buccanneer
—Paramount’s excellent picture starring Fredric March as the famous French pirate Jean Laffite, who saved New Orleans from the Brits in the War of 1812—but that was a make-believe flogging and the look in the duchess’s eye made it clear that she wasn’t kidding around. She started slithering toward me and I pulled myself off the wall.

“Look, Duchess…”

“Perhaps you should call me something else.”

“Such as…?”

“What would you like to call me?”

I had a couple of ideas, but I let them go. “Look, I’m not really…This isn’t something that I have a lot of experience with…”

A wicked smile crossed her lips. “Don’t worry. I can show you. You might even like it.”

“I’m not really…”

“Shush…” She was on me now, face-to-face, winding herself around me. “You see, Jack…My husband is a very powerful man, but he has a great deal of self-doubt. He needs a strong hand to guide him, and I provide it for him. It gives him satisfaction. But we all have our needs, don’t we…?”

She slipped her her hands up underneath my jacket, pushed it back across my shoulders and down my arms, letting it fall into a heap on the floor.

“Because with all those self-doubts, my husband finds it impossible to…well, to meet my needs. You don’t have any self-doubt, do you, Jack? No, I can sense that you don’t, and that’s why I think you’ll be able to give me what I need.”

I wasn’t really sure what she was talking about until, instead of stripping off my shirt, she started to roll up my sleeves. “I want you to do whatever you like to me, Jack. I’m entirely at your disposal.”

She shot a meaningful glance toward the bed. There was quite an array of equipment to choose from. Laid out beside the whip was a riding crop, a collar and chain, a wooden paddle, some silk bindings, a pair of leather gloves, a black satin mask, and a few things I wasn’t too sure about. I looked back at the duchess, who tipped her head to one side in a coquettish expression of hope.

“Anything?” I said.

She smiled submissively. “And everything.”

The
CRASH! BANG! THUMP!
coming from downstairs must’ve had the same heart-stopping effect on the duchess as it had on me, but two very different images flashed through our minds. In her scenario, the Duke of Windsor—considerate and loving husband that he is—was coming home early to check on his poor wife’s condition and, being a bit tipsy, had tripped over a piece of furniture. At the same moment, my head was conjuring up a picture of Eva, stumbling around in the dark and knocking over a lamp.

I made a move for the door.

“Stay!” the duchess barked, and I did. She twisted her head around as best she could, given her position on the bed. “Untie me!” she ordered.

I stood there for a beat, considering my options, and quickly realized that I had none, not really. If I left her there, I’d have to keep going and never come back. I crossed to the bed and started fiddling with the knots that bound her wrists to the headboard.

“For God’s sake, can’t you do it any faster than that!”

“You said you wanted it tight.”

She gave me a look. “Do you realize what my husband would do to you if he found me like this!”

“Chop off my head?” I joked, but she didn’t appreciate it. I finished unraveling her and she came off the bed like a shot. After pulling her dressing gown on, she stuck a stiff index finger in my face.

“Don’t move!” she hissed. “Don’t even fucking breathe!”

She stopped at the door, took a deep breath, put on a “slightly scared, and in a great deal of pain” look, then swept out of the room. I glanced down at the riding crop in my hand, and regretted that I probably wouldn’t get another shot at her.

Unable to hear anything through the solid wooden door, I cracked it an inch. Nothing at first. Complete silence. I’d given Eva plenty of time to stow herself away, but there’d been no doubt that something was down there. I hoped the duchess would get scared and come back once she realized that it wasn’t the duke.

Then voices. Two women. The second voice didn’t sound like Eva, but I couldn’t be sure, it was too muffled, too far away. I let the door swing open and stepped cautiously into the hallway. The conversation was less garbled, but I still couldn’t make heads or tails of it. I moved along the wall until I was standing at the top of the stairs, where I could hear what sounded like a middle-aged woman speaking French.

I knew enough to pick up that the woman, who I took to be the housekeeper, had heard a noise and fell down the back stairs on her way to check it out. The duchess, not showing much sympathy, said something about her headache, then tried to get the maid, who she called Marguerite, to go back to bed. After that, I lost the thread, but Marguerite seemed to be saying that she couldn’t sleep because she was afraid of something. Maybe she thought there was still someone in the house, but that was just a wild guess on my part.

I slipped back into the bedroom, picked up the crop, and sat on the bed, doing my best to look innocent. The duchess came through the door looking like she’d been sucking on a lemon. Figuring that
our playdate was over, I stood up, placed her key on the bedside table, and flashed the most charming smile I could muster.

“Well,” I said. “Thanks for a memorable evening.”

All I got back was stony silence, and I let it go at that.

“I
really must thank you, Jack.” The duke was standing in Lili’s doorway, gripping my hand and dripping with sincerity. “For all you’ve done tonight.”

““We all do what we can, sir,” I said.

“Quite right, quite right.” He was ready to move on now, eager to get back to his doting wife, no doubt. Santo appeared from the living room, where he’d been saying his farewells to Lili, and greeted me as a new member of the brotherhood. He literally patted me on the back.

“Well done, Jack,” he grinned. “Extremely well done. I promise you that your efforts tonight will not be forgotten.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I’d like to arrange for a more substantial token of our gratitude…”

“A handshake will do,” I said, and I got an enthusiastic one, along with a big grin.

“If you decide to stay in Europe, please let me know.” Santo winked as he exited to join the lonely-looking duke in the hallway. “I could use a man like you. Your powers of persuasion are quite impressive.”

I was glad he thought so. Lili and I had worked on the scene for a couple of hours that morning, when I showed up at the hotel after skipping out on Eva. We hadn’t actually scripted anything, but we’d bandied enough lines back and forth that we had a pretty good idea about how to play it. It was the kind of improvised rehearsal that I’d seen Howard Hawks run, which was one reason his pictures were so watchable.

Espírito Santo had been confident enough of success that in his breast pocket he carried the letter, which he handed over to Lili once she’d finally come around. She had no intention of giving it to Roosevelt, of course, but we’d convinced Santo and the duke that
she would not only hand it over, but would also argue their case with the president. Why they thought he would pay more attention to a German-born actress than the British government, I don’t know. I suppose Churchill couldn’t flutter his eyes like Lili Sterne could, but it still smacked of wishful thinking.

I
found Lili puffing madly on one of her Rothmans as she paced the living room. She was firing on all cylinders.

“Well?!” she said, watching me flop onto the sofa.

“It was interesting.”

She put hands to hips. “Come on, Jack. You didn’t break into the villa while she was there, did you?”

“Not exactly, no.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Lili’s eyes widened as I told her the story of the backdoor key, and how I almost shot Eva when she surprised me in the car, and the plan for me to keep the duchess busy in the bedroom while Eva looked around downstairs. When I described the duchess’s costume and what she had in mind for me, her mouth dropped.

“I don’t know why I should be shocked.” She smiled gleefully. “It’s quite clear that she’s a tramp. But, really, can you imagine?” She tossed her head back and laughed. “He must be the most foolish man on the face of the earth! And I can tell you from experience that there is some significant competition for the title!”

Lili wanted all the gory details, of course, but I managed to get her off the subject by suggesting that we read the duke’s letter to Roosevelt. She liked that idea, quickly tore the envelope open, and read it out loud:

Lili frowned and folded the letter back into its envelope. “He
is
the most foolish man on earth. ‘These two great nations,’ indeed…” She sighed, dropped onto the sofa beside me. “Do you know that tonight he invited me to visit him in Buckingham Palace once this nonsense, as he put it, has ended?”

“He’s confident, I’ll say that for him,” I said.

“And do you know what he talked about all evening?”

“What?”

“All the friends we have.
WE!
As if I’m one of them!”

She flew off the couch and went back into caged-lioness mode. I thought she could use a drink—and I knew I could—so I went over to the bar and filled a couple of snifters with brandy.

“All his lords and ladies. Lord Halifax, Lord Redesdale, the Marquess of Graham, the Duke of Hamilton, Wellington, Westminster…I can’t remember them all! And this isn’t the only letter he’s written. He has one for his little brother—that’s what he calls the king—sug
gesting that he sack Churchill and replace him with someone who would take a more reasonable stance toward Hitler!”

She paused long enough to accept the brandy.

“It’s not just them, either,” she said, gaining steam again. “He wants to put me in touch with other ‘like-minded’ people in America. Like Charles Lindbergh and Joe Kennedy. That Irish pervert, I should have known that he was a Nazi.”

She sipped at the brandy, and shook her head.

“I guess they can come from anywhere,” I said.

Lili looked me in the eye, and I saw a sincerity that I hadn’t seen in her before. In fact, I’m not sure I’d seen it in anyone before. Whatever the case, it was disconcerting.

“I feel ashamed, Jack,” she said.

“Why would you feel ashamed?”

She shrugged. “Because while the future of mankind is hanging in the balance, my only concern was getting a part in a movie. So I could hold on to—” She stopped. “I don’t even know what it is I’m trying to save. Is it the fame? Am I really that pathetic?”

“It’s not pathetic, Lili,” I said. “You’re an artist. A great one. You don’t need to be ashamed of that.”

She smiled gently and placed a hand on my shoulder. “I think you’re a good friend, Mr. Teller.”

“I hope so.”

I thought I saw a tear forming in the corner of her eye, but she managed to pull it back. Or maybe it was just a piece of dust.

“All right, then,” Lili said cheerily. “What next?”

“P
aris?” I repeated.

Aside from the furious swish-swash-swish-swash of the car’s wipers, we’d made the drive back from the villa in total silence. I chalked it up to the failure of our mission, but it crossed my mind that maybe my bedroom time with the duchess was bothering Eva more than she’d expected. It turned out that I was wrong on both counts. She’d been plotting.

“I’m going tomorrow morning,” she said. “I’d like you to come, but I’ll understand if you don’t.”

I thought for a moment. Not about whether I’d go or not. Of course, I’d go. I was working on the why. It didn’t take long for the penny to drop.

“Marguerite?”

Eva nodded. “She’s taking the eight o’clock train. She’s to go straight to their house on Boulevard Suchet, empty the contents of the safe, and return to Lisbon the following evening.”

I recalled the duke telling me that he and his wife had been in Antibes when France fell, and had had to drive straight to Spain, abandoning their house and its contents in Paris. Apparently, one of the things they’d left behind was their ticket back to the throne.

“They’re sending their housekeeper on a mission that could determine the outcome of the war?” I said.

Eva shrugged. “They can’t very well go themselves.”

“Does she know what she’s doing?”

“She knows that she’s to get the documents, but I doubt she knows what they are. She knows they’re important, though. She’s afraid. The duchess promised her that she’d be perfectly safe.”

Neither of us said anything more, but we both knew that it was a promise that the duchess might not be able to keep.