"Now, that is a fine figure of a woman," said Hogan.
"If you ask me, she's got enough for two fine figures," observed Newkirk, regarding the lady with an assessing eye. "I never quite fancy those Brunhilda types. They always have to have things their way."
"I wouldn't mind," murmured LeBeau. "She has beautiful eyes. I could lose myself in those eyes."
Newkirk snorted. "You don't even come up to her elbow, LeBeau."
"I'll stand on a chair."
"Incorrigible, that's what you are, mate." Newkirk shook his head, steadied the tray of drinks in his hand, and went off to circulate.
The lady whose ample charms they had just been discussing was the guest of honour for whom Burkhalter had thrown this whole elaborate shindig. Newkirk's reference to Brunhilda was not entirely inapt, although Claudia Valensizi was an Italian, rather than a German, soprano. She was stunning; tall, blonde, voluptuously built, with sleepy dark eyes and a mouth that seemed to be permanently smiling. If the way she filled out her low-cut crimson satin gown was anything to go by, she had excellent lung capacity.
Apparently she had something of a name in the world of opera, and the organisers of the fund-raising event for which she had been engaged were extremely pleased at having obtained her services. And as General Burkhalter's wife was a leading light in the local choral society, who were also on the concert programme, it was only natural he would have become involved in making the lady feel welcome.
She seemed to appreciate his efforts. She had spent the first part of the evening in close consultation with the general; then, when his wife started to take notice, she had switched without any hesitation to Colonel Klink, who responded with an equal mixture of flattered delight and sheer terror.
Hogan studied the prima donna with an expert eye. If only he could stay in the ballroom, and set about establishing an Italian connection, instead of having to meet the ubiquitous Max and get the receiver parts Kinch needed, this evening would probably be a lot more fun.
It appeared that the soprano had noticed his interest. She glanced at him once or twice, before excusing herself from Klink's company and making her way across the room towards Hogan. She walked very lightly; tall women often moved awkwardly, but Valensizi had grace.
"It's not often I meet an American these days," she said. Her speaking voice was beautifully modulated, and pitched quite low for a soprano. He was surprised at her accent, which was more New World than he had expected.
"Well, we don't socialise much," he replied, with a smile. "Kommandant Klink thinks it's bad for us to stay out late. Your English is very good."
"Four years of boarding school in England, five years with an opera company in Boston," she explained, returning the smile. "It's Colonel Hogan, no?"
"It's Colonel Hogan, yes," said Hogan.
"I've heard about you," the soprano murmured. "From a mutual friend - a Major Teppel, in Berlin."
Hogan knew that name, all right. Teppel was someone he'd had dealings with once before. But he wasn't yet prepared to give too much away. "I wouldn't exactly call him a friend," he replied.
She lowered her gaze, then glanced up at him through long dark eyelashes. LeBeau was right. She had beautiful eyes.
Steady, boy!
"Signorina." Burkhalter, of course. Even with his wife still in the room, he couldn't keep away. Valensizi's smile deepened, as she turned her attention towards the general. "I was wondering if we might have the pleasure of hearing you sing for us."
"Oh, please, General. I'm - what is it you say? Off duty. And the party's going so well. It would be a shame to spoil the atmosphere."
"My dear lady, you cannot deny us such a treat. I am sure there is not one person in this room who would not agree with me. Colonel Hogan, I'm sure you would be most eager to hear the signorina's voice."
Hogan would very much rather keep talking to her.
"Well, you know, General, I'm not so big on...yep, love to, can't wait." The look of astonishment the prima donna had turned on him was enough to change his mind real fast. Apparently nobody ever declined the chance of hearing what this lady could do.
"Va bene. Just one song, and only because Colonel Hogan is so very keen." Valensizi looked around the room. "But I will need my accompanist."
"Fräulein Moller? I think I saw her a few moments ago," said Burkhalter, also peering around. "Yes, there she is, talking with Captain Gruber."
"She doesn't seem to be enjoying his company," observed Hogan, taking note of the bored, sulky expression on the young woman's face. She was tall, though not in Valensizi's league; slender and elegant, with dark hair drawn back from her face into a neat chignon. Then his eyes travelled to Gruber. "But then, who does?"
From the half-smile that passed briefly across Burkhalter's face, it seemed he didn't much care for Gruber, either.
Valensizi smiled languidly, gave Hogan another of those unsettling upward glances, and moved away. Burkhalter followed, as if on a leash. He was going to be in big trouble when he got home.
Newkirk, completing his circuit of the reception room, stopped near Hogan, regarding the accompanist with an appreciative gleam in his eye. "Now, that's more to my liking," he said. "Shame about the sour face on her. Could turn milk just by looking, that one."
The accompanist, with an indifferent shrug, went to the grand piano that stood on a platform at one end of the room. She seated herself with deliberate precision, adopting a posture of almost textbook perfection; glanced at the soprano to confirm she was ready, and then began to play. A simple four-note phrase, repeating, the second note delayed each time.
La Valensizi, standing in front of the piano, raised her head, and swept a look around the room. The sleepy, good-natured look was gone, replaced by something else; fiery, demanding, enticing. She turned her gaze on Carter, who stopped in his tracks as if he'd just blundered into the spotlight from the guard tower at camp.
L'amour est un oiseau rebelle
que nul ne peut apprivoiser,
et c'est bien en vain qu'on l'appelle,
s'il lui convient de refuser.
She sang very softly, but there was an energy in her voice, a suggestion of strong, self-willed passion held in check. The result was almost intoxicating. Hogan had only a limited acquaintance with the operatic repertoire, but if this was a representative sample, he started thinking maybe he could find the time for a bit more; and a quick glance around the room suggested he wouldn't be the only one. Hardly anyone in the room, save LeBeau, understood the words, but there wasn't a man present who didn't get the meaning.
For the space of three minutes, nobody made a sound. The entire party was transported by the power of Valensizi's voice and personality. And as she finished, with a derisive, mocking warning - Si je t'aime, prends garde à toi! - a collective sigh seemed to generate spontaneously.
The lady bowed her head gravely, and sauntered off. Hogan waited for a moment, then looked around and caught LeBeau's eye.
"Can you handle the pickup from Max?" he murmured. "There's something I need to look into. Tell Newkirk to cover for you, if you're missed."
"No problem, mon Colonel," replied LeBeau, his dimple appearing and vanishing as he tried not to smile.
Hogan went towards the French doors, through which the soprano had gone out on to the balcony. On his way, he passed Carter, who was still standing as if transfixed, a dazed look in his eyes.
"You okay, Carter?" asked Hogan.
"Gosh," replied Carter. "That was...Gosh."
Hogan couldn't have expressed it any better. He laughed quietly, and moved on.
The balcony, overlooking the courtyard garden, was cool and peaceful after the crowded ballroom. Signorina Valensizi was standing by the balustrade, looking down at the rockery below. She still seemed to retain some of the essence of her performance; there was nothing indolent in the look she turned towards Hogan as he approached. But she didn't speak; she waited for him.
He was in no mood for beating about the bush. "Okay. How do you know Teppel, and how much did he tell you?"
Valensizi's eyelashes fell briefly, and she seemed to be considering her answer with care, before she replied.
"He told me quite a lot about you, Colonel," she said sweetly. "And I know him very well indeed. I know his real name is Robert Morrison, he is an American, and he was placed in Germany as a deep cover agent before the war. I know he has worked with you in the past. And I know he needs your help now, if he is to get out of Germany alive."
Notes: The Habanera sung by Claudia Valensizi comes from Bizet's opera Carmen.
Major Teppel appeared in Bad Day In Berlin