Madam Milla’s flat was just off Leidseplein and farther out of the center than Stella would’ve expected. It wasn’t unfashionable but not posh either. The designer was, as always, full of surprises and so was her choice of homes, a normal street in a pretty brick building with arched windows and decorative brickwork. That wasn’t particularly surprising. That she lived above her shop was. The first sign of success was typically moving away from the everyday work, but there Madam Milla was, living above her cutters and seamstresses, who were hard at work on a Saturday.
The dresses pinned to the mannequins were stunning and they appeared to be working on a fall collection with shades of brown, green, and gray. Stella pushed aside her longing and looked for someone to help her find the way to the flat, but everyone was hard at work. They didn’t even glance up when the door opened.
“Excuse me,” Stella called out and a tousled grey head popped up.
“Yes?” Paola asked and then her face lit up. “Madam Dubois.”
“Micheline, please.”
Paola took five pins out of her mouth and stuck them rather viciously into a dummy wearing a stunning jacket in silk brocade and mink. “Why do you come? Was your dress seen well?”
“Very well,” said Stella. “In fact, I was a great success and I wanted to thank Madam Milla in person before I left Amsterdam.”
Paola clapped her hands together. “Yes, yes. She said you are very good at the baron’s party. He like you very much.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Is she up yet?”
“She barely sleeps. I will take you.” Madam Milla’s squat little mother herded her through the back of the shop past tables of cutters working with gorgeous silks, velvets, and oddly, tulle to a narrow back stairs that wasn’t what Stella pictured at all. No marble or glossy wood. Nothing that said the most fashionable person she’d ever come across lived there.
“Go up and it is the only door,” said Paola before rushing away to continue her pinning.
“Thank you,” Stella called after her and then went up the creaking stairs to find a black lacquered door that was more like it.
“Come in,” called out Madam Milla in response to her knock.
“It’s Micheline.” Stella walked into a room that was completely open. No walls at all. It comprised almost the entire floor and Stella could see everything from the kitchen to the bedroom.
Madam Milla was lounging on a daybed, wearing a suit of extraordinary design. It was made of a plush black fabric with pads in the shoulders, decorative buttons that wrapped around her slender torso, and a kind of puffy bow that came out of the buttons on her hip, turning into a waterfall of striped fabric that trailed off the daybed to pool on the floor.
“Were you expecting someone?” Stella asked.
She smiled and took a puff on her long, black cigarette holder and blew out a perfect O. “I’m always expecting someone, even when no one is expected.”
“It feels like there should be a camera and a director at the ready.”
“Exactly.” Madam Milla set aside a newspaper and swung her long legs to the floor. “Did you come about the news?”
“The news?”
She gave the paper to Stella and went to make tea. The headlines were grim. The Nazis were massing their troops on the border. The invasion was eminent, but they claimed to still be in talks with the Dutch government.
“How long?” Madam Milla asked.
“I have no idea,” said Stella.
“You must know.” She brought over a simple wood tray laden with a modern tea set done in the oriental style.
“I’m a small cog in a large machine.”
“They were talking last night.”
“About the invasion?”
Madam Milla smiled, her makeup stunning. No one would guess that she’d been up all night. Stella, on the other hand, looked more like the age she was supposed to be. “They are very confident. The Germans and the NSB,” she said.
“I would be if I were them,” said Stella.
“You won’t tell me what you know.”
“Honestly, I’m surprised they’re not here now.” She pointed to a map on the front page. “If this is accurate, any day now.”
Madam Milla gave Stella a delicate little butter cookie and checked the tea. “You will go now.”
“As soon as I can,” she said. “You should consider getting out.”
She puffed on her cigarette. “Where would I go? This is home.”
“If they find out about you, they’ll put you in a camp at the very least.”
“I know. I’ve heard the rumors.”
“They’re not just rumors. It’s true. It’s all true and worse than you can imagine.” Stella couldn’t continue. For a second, she was in Brandenburg, looking into a little girl’s crib and seeing what they had done to a child.
Madam Milla reached out and touched her knee with a gentle hand. “You have seen it?”
“I have.”
“Tell me.”
“I can’t,” said Stella. “But please listen, it’s bad and they have no limits when it comes to what they want.”
“What do they want?”
“Everything and the Jews annihilated.”
Madam Milla’s perfection cracked for a second showing her shock, but she quickly recovered. “That is ridiculous.”
“Not to them. Get out while you still can.”
“I’m not a Jew.”
“There are rumors going around that you are,” said Stella.
“I’m not,” she said.
“But you’re not Aryan either. There’s no room for anything but.”
She poured the tea and offered cream and sugar. “Is that what you came to tell me?”
“Yes, but I was hoping you could help me with one last thing before I go,” said Stella.
“Of course.”
Stella told her about following Jan Bikker and gave Madam Milla the address. The designer didn’t know who lived there and had never heard of it before. She didn’t know of any lover that Bikker might have. There weren’t any rumors to that effect.
“What did you think of him?” Madam Milla asked. “I saw you in the same rooms.”
“Was I obvious?” Stella asked with a start.
“Not at all. I had to remind myself of your interest. You are…almost invisible.”
“Thank goodness. As for your question, I thought he was different than usual. No one said he could be charming.”
“It was new,” she said. “Did you notice who he talked to?”
“Everyone, but he avoided the Jews.”
“He knows how to—” she blew a smoke ring “—work a room. People were talking to him.”
“I know. Everyone thought he was on their side.”
“Then you have enough?”
“I do.”
“And the baron?” Madam Milla asked after blowing on her tea.
“Something’s wrong there,” Stella said. “Do you know what’s going on?”
She frowned and shook her head. “Wrong? Nothing is wrong.”
“His servants watch him very carefully.”
She shrugged. “What do you expect of an aristocrat? They are born being pampered.”
“It’s more than that.”
“What are you thinking?”
“Nothing really. It’s just off.”
“But you’re still leaving?”
“I am,” said Stella. “So, you’ve never heard any rumors about him? Nothing odd?”
Madam Milla lounged back on her daybed and looked at the ceiling. “There were rumors about a child, but that’s nothing to do with what you’re talking about.”
“A love child?” Stella asked.
“Yes, but that was a while ago and no child has shown up in Amsterdam.”
“Would the baron acknowledge an out-of-wedlock child?”
Madam Milla expected that he would. The Dutch were an open-minded society, especially where money and aristos were concerned. If the baron had offspring, it wouldn’t be surprising if the child was acknowledged and could take the last name of the baron but not the title. Since the baron was far less conventional than the average citizen, Madam Milla was certain a child would be accepted, if they existed.
“What made people think he did have a child then?” Stella asked.
“He would go off to the country every once in a while and cut himself off socially. It was odd. You saw how social he is. When he travels, it’s usually in pursuit of a woman.”
Here we go.
“He’d just go off into the country for a vacation and people thought he had a baby to what? Visit?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what they thought, but then the child never turned up.”
“And he doesn’t go to the country anymore?” Stella asked.
Madam Milla froze. “He does actually. Not often.”
“He just runs off to the country? Does he tell people about where he’s going?”
“No. He’s just gone for a while and then he comes back.”
“Like nothing happened?”
She nodded. “Like nothing happened.”
Stella pursed her lips and then concentrated on her tea. That was familiar. Stella was a Bled after all and it wasn’t unusual for Bleds to go to the “country” for a rest. In their case, “rest” meant private hospital. The Bled insanity reared its ugly head in every generation and was practically expected. For every Nicolai and Aleksej, you got a Josiah or worse. Stella’s second cousin, Imelda, was taking a rest and it included a rubber room. She’d been biting again, but by way of consolation, Francesqua had written that Imelda was coherent this time and feeding herself. The bar was low for the crazy Bleds as Ludwik would have called them.
“What are you thinking?” Madam Milla asked.
“Just that people go to the country for other things, not just illegitimate children,” said Stella. “But it doesn’t matter.”
“He’s not ill. You saw him. A man could not be more energetic.”
That was one way to put it and now that Stella thought back to the party, the baron was too energetic. Frantic would be another way to put it.
“You’re right. He seemed healthy and happy.”
Madam Milla smiled and relaxed. “He always is. I do think he just goes off to write a memoir or something. He would have a lot to say.”
“I don’t doubt it. He’s lived a rare life.” Stella checked her watch and drank the rest of her tea. “If you think of anything with that address before eight tonight, please message me at the hotel.”
“I am very curious about that and I’ll see what I can find.” She raised an eyebrow at Stella. “How can I get in touch with you after you leave?”
“You can’t,” said Stella.
“But you will come back, won’t you?”
“I can’t say,” she smiled, “but if you insist on staying, I’ll find you.”
Madam Milla got to her feet, a smooth elegant move that made her look more like a dancer than anything else. “I find that comforting with what is coming.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Stella returned the jewelry and they went to the door, but as they walked a kind of change came over the designer. Something in the way she was moving, a stiffness that wasn’t there seconds before. “What is it?” Stella asked when they got to the door.
Madam Milla looked down from her great height and said, “You’re sure about what you said? About the invasion and what they will do.”
Stella took her hand, warming it between hers. “Think of the worst thing you can imagine them doing.”
“Yes?”
“They’ll do it.”
“Ludwik says you work for a company in New York.”
“I do.”
“It is called B.L. Imports?”
Stella hesitated but got her card out of her handbag. There were so many cards floating around now, one more couldn’t make any difference. “If you ever need a buyer or a piece of art, call them for help.”
“They will oblige me?” Madam Milla asked.
“I think they will.”