gesturing to the chair across from his desk.
“Thank you.” Elisabetta took a seat, and Weizsäcker returned to the cushioned chair behind his desk.
“I’m accustomed to seeing you across a delicious entrée, not a desk.”
“I know.” Elisabetta managed a smile. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”
“Not at all. What is it you wanted to discuss?”
“First, I want to apologize for the last time you were at the restaurant, with Colonel Kappler. I’m sorry about my clumsiness.”
“Oh?” Weizsäcker lifted a gray eyebrow. “I don’t think it was accidental.”
Elisabetta hesitated, disarmed. “Baron, you’re right. You and I have known each other for a long time. Nonna always called you a gentleman. Colonel Kappler is not of your ilk.”
“Discretion dictates that I keep my own counsel.” Weizsäcker pursed his lips. “Now, why did you wish to see me?”
“Baron, I’m here asking for a favor. The Jews were rounded up from the Ghetto today and brought to the Collegio Militare. One of them is my boyfriend, Sandro Simone, and the other is his father, Massimo.”
Weizsäcker’s expression darkened, but he didn’t interrupt her.
“Sandro is a brilliant mathematician, and his father is a respected tax attorney. Isn’t there any way you can get the Simones out?”
“No.” Weizsäcker frowned, leaning back in his chair. “You’re mistaking my function. I am the German Ambassador to the Holy See, a member of my government’s Foreign Office. As a career diplomat, my aim is to smooth out differences, not to create them.”
“But there must be something you can do. You’re so well-respected, so important. You must have some influence. Please, help the Simones. I’m begging you.” Elisabetta leaned forward, unable to hide her urgency, but Weizsäcker’s expression remained matter of fact.
“I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. It’s simply outside the scope of my authority.”
“But it’s horrible, what happened today. It’s wrong, it’s criminal. You must know that, Baron. You can’t agree with this. You can’t do this to the Jews of Rome. I’m sure the Pope doesn’t—”
“Again, I have no power to order their release.”
Elisabetta swallowed hard, trying to maintain her composure. If she didn’t succeed here, all was lost. “Then I have a much more modest request. If you can’t have the Simones released, can’t you at least have them sent to a labor camp in Italy, instead of out of the country? There’s a labor camp at Fossoli. It’s in the town of Carpi, near Modena.”
“Again, you’re mistaken.” Weizsäcker spread his palms. “The camp at Fossoli is not a labor camp. It’s a transit camp, a way station before deportation.”
“But Italian Jews are being sent there, aren’t they?”
“Yes, but only temporarily.”
“And I understand the camp is building a new section, too. I assume it uses prisoners to do manual labor, doesn’t it?”
“I have no idea.” Weizsäcker cocked his head. “How do you know all this?”
“I asked around. I have to help Sandro and his father. Please, Baron, can’t you get the Simones sent to Fossoli? They can help build the new section. They’re both strong and able.”
“What difference does it make to you, whether they go to Fossoli or out of the country?”
“If the Simones go to Fossoli, it gives me more time to petition for their release. I intend to ask everyone I can. There are so many important people among our clientele, like you. I’m going to ask every one of them to help. I have a chance if Sandro and his father are sent to Fossoli, but not if they’re deported.” Elisabetta paused. “And I have friends in Carpi, our balsamic producers. You love the balsamico we serve. Nonna used only the best acetaia there. Maybe I could visit Sandro, if he was sent to Fossoli.”
“You’re putting me in a terrible position.”
“I know, but I can’t help it.” Elisabetta felt tears in her eyes. “I love Sandro, and he loves me.”
Weizsäcker frowned, but had no reply.
“Baron, I’m appealing to you, as a gentleman. We have a relationship, don’t we? One of mutual respect? If you deny me this request, how can you ever look me in the eye again?”
Weizsäcker lifted an eyebrow, mildly amused. “Are you holding Casa Servano as hostage?”
“Yes,” Elisabetta shot back, unsmiling. She sensed a tiny shift in the balance of power between them. She found herself standing, instead of begging. “If you deny me, you can’t eat at my restaurant, ever again.”
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED NINETEEN
Beppe
16 October 1943
Beppe climbed the stairs to their apartment with Marco and Elisabetta behind him, but when he reached the kitchen, what he found left