He had grumbled that she could take Sylvie with her if she must and the two of them could go to the Devil together. Then he had suggested a trade: Sylvie, for Marie’s diary. Wanda had agreed and the count had set out to twist the arm of one of his corrupt contacts in Genoa’s city hall. Perhaps it hadn’t even required that much pressure—Marie’s notes revealed that there were plenty of corrupt officials to choose from. However it had happened, Wanda now held a birth certificate proclaiming that Sylvie was her daughter, born while she was visiting the de Lucca family. She would have to take this to the authorities in Lauscha. Or would she have to go into Sonneberg for that? She didn’t know. And then? What name would Sylvie have growing up? Who would . . . She shook her head in irritation, as though trying to shake off a fly. She mustn’t think too much.
Wanda didn’t care whether the doctor, the priest, or the servants knew about the deception—perhaps the old man had paid them to keep quiet as well. The de Luccas were living in a web of lies and would entangle themselves in it ever deeper—she had only done what she had to.
One thing at a time. First she had to get the baby to Lauscha. And there was nobody who could help her do that.
Though Wanda longed for Richard, she couldn’t let herself think of him—and of his broad shoulders that she could lean on if he were here. He would probably be worried when she didn’t show up in Venice as planned. But she mustn’t think of that either. She would tell Richard everything when he got back to Lauscha.
The immigration officials were in the next compartment. Wanda could hear their clipped tones. Her heart was beating like a drum. She had to stay calm, had to think of something else.
Would the count have given way to her threats if the baby had been a boy? Perhaps he would not have let go of a young heir to the title so quickly. As it was, he had simply insisted that Wanda sign a declaration that Sylvie had no claim on the de Lucca family. Wanda had signed. It was only when the ink began to dry that she wondered whether she had given in too easily. Her signature had robbed Sylvie of any rights to a share of the de Lucca family fortune. Wanda wondered nervously what they would say to that in Lauscha. Probably that Wanda had let Franco’s father swindle her. But it was done now. And the others hadn’t been there when Marie begged her to take Sylvie, Wanda decided stubbornly. Marie had said very clearly that she didn’t want her daughter to grow up having anything to do with the de Luccas. That meant financially as well, didn’t it?
Patrizia had put up more of a fight, pleading with Wanda to leave Sylvie with her. How was she to explain to Franco when he got back that his daughter would grow up in a foreign country? He would never forgive her for that, or for her failure to tell him when Marie died.
What a dreadful woman! She hadn’t felt the least bit guilty, not even after Marie’s death.
“If Marie had stood by her husband the way a wife should, we need never have taken such drastic measures. But she wanted to leave Franco at the very moment when he most needed her support,” the countess had declared, her voice quivering. Wanda sensed that she still hadn’t forgiven Marie.
I feel sorry for Franco, Wanda thought as she opened her passport. Franco was a victim of that web of lies. But no, he was guilty as well; there was no way around that. How could they all have been so wrong about him? Her handsome Italian, Marie had called him.
“Good day, miss. Your papers, please!” A uniformed official was standing in front of Wanda with his hand out. When he spotted the baby in her bassinet, he frowned.
“Good day.” Wanda handed over the papers with a smile. Don’t tremble, look cool and collected but not condescending, breathe calmly, she told herself silently as though this were a class in finishing school.
The man studied Wanda’s American passport. He seemed especially interested in her entry stamp.
A vein in Wanda’s neck began to throb. Surely he could find nothing wrong with her passport! She fought against rising panic. How disdainfully he looked at her! She cleared her throat. He must have seen her as a fallen maiden who somehow had the money to travel across Europe with her illegitimate baby. Perhaps he thought her family had disowned her. That she was on the run—and he wouldn’t be far wrong. Wanda was almost cheered by the thought.
At last the official handed her documents back. “Did you know that my colleagues in Germany put their stamp in the wrong place?” The man tore the passport abruptly from her hands and pointed. “That’s supposed to be where the American exit visa goes!” He waved it impatiently in front of Wanda’s face. “If everybody went on this way, we would never find our way around a passport!”