Mila 18 - Leon Uris [8]
“My reward, please,” Andrei said, pointing to the piano.
Rachael played her mood. A bubbling étude. Andrei watched a moment, then Deborah took his hand and led him toward the kitchen. He stopped at the door again.
“She plays like an angel—like you used to play.”
Deborah shooed Zoshia, the housekeeper, out and set on some water for tea. Andrei sprawled and loosened his tunic. It smelled good in the kitchen. Deborah had been baking cookies. It was like the old flat on Sliska Street on the day before Sabbath. Deborah took off Andrei’s cap and ran her fingers through the array of curly blond hair.
“My baby brother.”
She set before him a large platter of cookies, which were half finished by the time she poured the tea. He took a long sip. “This is good, this is good. Sergeant Styka brews a lousy tea.”
“How are things on the border, Andrei?”
Andrei shrugged. “How should I know! They don’t consult me. Ask Smigly-Rydz.”
“Be serious.”
“Seriously. I’m home for four days—”
“We’re all worried sick.”
“All right, the German concentrations are very, very heavy. Let me give you an opinion, Deborah. As long as Hitler gets what he wants by bluffing, fine. Well, he isn’t bluffing Poland and he may damned well back down.”
“Paul has been called up.”
Andrei uncrossed his legs. The mention of Paul Bronski struck an obvious note of discord. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said quickly. “I didn’t think—”
“None of us did,” Deborah said. She walked to the sink and began rolling the thin dough for more cookies. “Have you seen Gabriela yet?”
“I came directly here. She is probably still working.”
“Why don’t you two come to dinner tonight?”
“If Brandel doesn’t find me first.”
Try to make it. Christopher de Monti will be over.”
“How is my boy Chris!”
“He has been terribly busy since the crisis. We haven’t seen him for several weeks,” she said, rolling the dough at a furious pace.
Andrei walked up behind his sister, turned her around by the shoulders, and tried to lift her chin so she would look at him. Deborah shook her head and spun away.
“Please don’t dream things up between Chris and me.”
“Just old friends?”
“Just old friends.”
“Does Paul know?”
“There’s nothing to know!”
“Did you raise me for an idiot?”
“Andrei, please ... please, we have enough to worry about these days. And for God’s sake, don’t pick an argument with Paul.”
“Who argues with Paul? He always—”
“I swear, if you two get into another fight—”
Andrei gulped down his tea, stuffed a half dozen cookies into his pocket, and buttoned his tunic.
“Please promise me you’ll get along with Paul tonight. He’s going away. Do it for me.”
Andrei grunted, came up behind Deborah, and gave her a brisk slap on the backside. “See you later,” he said.
Andrei Androfski stretched lazily on a park bench on the edge of the Lazienki Gardens facing the American Embassy. The statue of Frédéric Chopin hovered above him, patronized by the local pigeons, and the Belvedere Palace of the former Marshal Pilsudski was immersed in the greenery behind him. It was a nice place to laze. He engaged in his favorite pastime of undressing the female pedestrians with his eyes. He dug into his pocket and found the last of Deborah’s cookies and munched.
After a while the main door of the Embassy opened. Gabriela Rak came out and walked up the embassy-lined Aleja Ujazdowska. He caught up to her by the time she reached the first intersection. Sensing a masher behind her, Gabriela stepped quickly from the curb.
“Madam,” Andrei said, “would you kindly give me the name of that fortunate young lady who owns the heart of the most dashing officer in the Ulanys?”
She stopped in the middle of the street.
“Andrei? Andrei?” And she spun into his arms. The traffic policeman raised his hand, sending a flood of vehicles swirling around them. They dodged and honked their horns with the irritated understanding one gives to a soldier and his girl kissing in the middle of a street. At last an unpatriotic taxi driver shouted that they were a pair