The Shadow Queen

by Rebecca Dean

  Wallis’s eyebrows flew high. “I wasn’t pretending, Corinne. I was genuinely interested. Why wouldn’t I be? I thought everything he said was absolutely riveting.”

  “You did?” Corinne stared at her, not sure whether her leg was being pulled. When she realized it wasn’t, she gurgled with laughter. “Gee, honey, if you effortlessly show that level of interest in male conversation, you must make a slave of every man who speaks to you.”

  “Oh, I’ve had my failures, Corinne.” Wallis spoke lightly, but her heart ached as she thought of John Jasper. She’d believed John Jasper had—in the most romantic of senses—been her slave.

  “Good night, Skinny.” Corinne kissed her on the forehead. “Tomorrow I’m goin’ to begin introducing you to people. We’ll lunch at the San Carlos Hotel. Swim in the afternoon. And Henry has invited some eligible officers to dinner tomorrow evening.”

  To Wallis it sounded an ideal itinerary. Certain she had made the right decision in coming to Pensacola, she closed her eyes and, exhausted after her long day of traveling, fell into a deep and blessedly dreamless sleep.

  She woke to blissful sunshine spilling into the room. The knowledge that every day was now going to be filled with tropical heat sent her spirits soaring. Putting on a stylish summer dress that hadn’t seen the light of day for six chilly Baltimore months, she hurried out onto the verandah to join Corinne for a breakfast of banana pecan muffins and fresh tropical fruit.

  “The first thing on the agenda this morning is a stroll down the hill to the beach and the flying area.” There was a jug of freshly squeezed orange juice on the table, and Corinne poured herself a second glass. “From there we’ll be able to see the preparations being made for the day’s flights.”

  Thinking about the aviator who had flown his airplane over their car, Wallis’s interest quickened. He’d had a brilliant smile, but the rest of his features had been hidden by his flying helmet and his goggles. Perhaps this morning she would get a clear view of him.

  The way down to the beach led through the officers’ compound, and the interest they aroused, respectful because of whom Corinne was married to, was intense.

  “There’s not a man on the air station who won’t be angling for an introduction to you,” Corinne said, pleased at the admiring looks that were coming Wallis’s way.

  A few minutes later, they reached the edge of the beach and a huge sign on which was written, WARNING! NO CIVILIANS BEYOND THIS POINT.

  “On this particular beach, this is as far as we can go, Skinny.”

  In front of them was an array of training planes around which a large number of men were milling, some geared up ready to fly, others wearing mechanic’s dungarees.

  Beyond them, in the bay, gunmetal gray battleships lay at anchor.

  They were a sharp reminder of the bloodbath taking place on the other side of the Atlantic, of the battles being waged at sea between the British and German fleets.

  “Is all this training because America might soon be at war with Germany?” she asked, suddenly fearful of what the future might hold.

  For once there was no laughter in Corinne’s lazy Southern voice. “Yes. Despite the huge lobby against such a thing ever happening, Henry thinks it’s a strong possibility—especially if the war continues into next year.”

  Icy fingers squeezed Wallis’s heart. Until now the Great War convulsing Europe had seemed so far away; it had never occurred to her that it could touch her own life or the lives of people she knew. If America entered the war, it would certainly do so—and every man on the beach in front of her would be in the thick of the fighting.

  With great effort she pushed the thought away, wanting to recapture the mood of a few moments earlier.

  “I’d never realized how fragile seaplanes were,” she said, as one of them set off across the still waters of the bay, struggling to gain height. “They’re nothing more than fabric-covered boxes with struts!”

  “Don’t let any of the pilots hear you call their pride and joy a fabric-covered box with struts, honey! And if you’re curious, this morning’s training is all about navigation.”

  As airplane after airplane set off across the bay, Wallis failed to recognize the pilot she had waved to so enthusiastically on her way to Pensacola from the station. She didn’t mind. Corinne had told her that Earl Winfield Spencer was a fully fledged pilot, not a trainee, and as there were no more than a couple of dozen fully trained pilots at Pensacola, it wouldn’t be long before their paths crossed.

  When they’d had their fill of watching the activity on the beach and in the bay, they strolled in the direction of the San Carlos Hotel to have morning coffee with a group of Corinne’s women friends. Wallis’s easy manner and sparky humor ensured that just as had happened on her first days at Arundell and Oldfields, although the group she was being introduced to was tight-knit, she was immediately welcomed into it with open arms.

  “I knew you would be, Skinny,” Corinne said to her an hour or so later as they all headed into the restaurant for lunch. “No Montague ever has a problem making friends. I think a frillier, flouncier dress might be in order tomorrow, though. The one you are wearing is wonderfully made—I guess you’re pretty good at twisting Sol Warfield’s arm when it comes to your dress allowance and only go to the best of Baltimore’s dressmakers—but it is a little on the plain side.”

  Wallis linked her arm with Corinne’s.

  “That’s because I like plain and don’t like fussy. Plain—if it’s beautifully made out of the very best fabric, like the silk of this dress—suits me.”

  “Well, that’s true. But it makes you a little noticeable, honey.”

  Wallis grinned. “That’s the idea, Corinne. Being noticeable is something I like. In Baltimore, when I was wearing a Gibson girl skirt and blouse, instead of jewelry I wore a monocle. That made me very noticeable. How d’you think a monocle would go down in Pensacola?”

  “I think Henry would have ten fits! He’d be terrified the next thing you’d do would be to take up smoking cigars!”

  After lunch they headed back to the bungalow for a siesta, and then, when the most uncomfortable heat of the day was over, Corinne took her to the beach she had spoken of that had cabanas. Wallis was a confident swimmer, and as she rolled over on to her back to float lazily in the limpid blue water, she felt as if she had been reborn. Florida wasn’t a different state. It was a different country. Though she would never have believed it possible in so short a time, her agonizing hurt and rage over John Jasper and Pamela’s mutual betrayal was already beginning to ease. They were in the past and she was now in a future she hadn’t, until a few short weeks ago, even imagined.

  That evening she took a great deal of time when dressing for dinner. The gown she chose was one of her favorites: a tubular Poiret-influenced gown in shimmering scarlet with discreet but very effective beading. It flattered her flat-chested figure and emphasized her spectacularly dark hair.

  “Glory!” Corinne said when she saw her. “You look sensational. In that color and with your hair parted in the middle and drawn back over your ears, you look Latin American!”

  “No, I don’t, Corinne. If I look something exotic, I look like an Indian princess. Don’t forget that the Warfield side of me is descended from Pocahontas.”

  “Honey, with that line of chat it’s no wonder you stand out from the crowd! How about a cocktail on the verandah before Henry’s handpicked aviators arrive? Have you ever had a pink gin? They’re delicious.”

  As Corinne’s all-purpose maid put the finishing touches on the meal Corinne had prepared, they sat on the verandah in the evening sunlight, frosted cocktail glasses in hand.

  From there they had a wonderful view of the street as it sloped down to the officers’ compound. Beyond the compound lay the beach where, earlier, they had watched airplanes taking off for a day’s navigational training, and beyond the beach lay the stunning vista of the bay, the water now the color of goldshot indigo.

  “I don’t
think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful,” Wallis said, almost as happy as she had been in the days before she had received John Jasper’s letter.

  Corinne took a sip of her pink gin. “It’s certainly an amazing view, but to tell you the truth, Skinny, until you arrived I was getting a little bored with Pensacola. As Henry’s wife—and especially as he is a lieutenant commander—I can’t flirt with the pilots as you are going to be able to do. And at Pensacola, flirting is the best way of passing time that there is.”

  There was a pensive note in her voice, as if she genuinely missed being single and able to flirt. For the first time, Wallis wondered if Corinne regretted having married a man twenty years her senior. The benefit, of course, had been that Henry was already a distinguished naval officer, holding very high rank, but he was a serious-minded man and Corinne was as light-minded as nearly all Montagues. There were, perhaps, strains in the marriage Wallis hadn’t previously been aware of.

  “Here they come!” Corinne put her glass down on the table fronting their cane chairs. “I can always recognize Henry a mile off. He has such a distinctive walk. I’m not sure whom he’s bringing with him, though. Men look all the same at a distance when they are in uniform.”

  Wallis didn’t think the three young men with Henry looked all the same. Two of them were exceptionally tall and loose limbed. The third was Henry’s height, five foot ten or so. Suntanned, broad shouldered, and muscular, he held himself well, walking with springy precision, like an athlete in perfect physical condition.

  As the men drew nearer, strikingly handsome in crisp white uniforms, she caught her breath. Beneath his officer’s cap, the aviator who had caught her attention had hair almost as dark as her own. The sun glinted on the gold braid signifying his rank, and even before Corinne spoke, she knew he was her aviator of yesterday.

  “Dear Lord!” Amusement was back in Corinne’s voice. “Henry’s invited Win Spencer! That means the evening is goin’ to be very lively.”

  Wallis made no response. With a great deal of effort she was trying to look carelessly nonchalant.

  Seconds later, Henry was saying, “Wallis, allow me to introduce Lieutenants Archie Crosby, Robert Richard Allinson, and Earl Winfield Spencer.”

  Rising to her feet, Wallis smiled and shook hands with Archie Crosby and Robert Richard Allinson. Then, with her heart feeling as if it were beating fast and light in her throat, she shook hands with Win.

  He flashed her the same smile he had flashed at her yesterday, from the cockpit of his plane. It had the same electrifying effect.

  His peaked hat was now tucked in the crook of his free arm and his military en brosse haircut suited a face that was hard-boned, the jawline strong and assertive. Beneath a close-cropped mustache his mouth was unyieldingly straight and excitingly sensual.

  It was the face of a forceful and sophisticated man; a face far removed from those of the fresh-faced boys just out of college that she was accustomed to. Even John Jasper, who, with his gypsy-dark good looks, had always been distinctive, hadn’t possessed magnetism on such a scale.

  As Win continued to hold her hand, and as Wallis made no attempt to remove it, Henry cleared his throat.

  Well able to take a hint, Win dropped Wallis’s hand, saying as he did so, “Miss Warfield and I met briefly yesterday, sir. Though from a distance a little too far to allow for a proper introduction.”

  Wallis felt her cheeks burn. No one before had had such an immediate and disturbing effect on her, and she could well understand his reputation as a lady-killer.

  “Win was out flyin’, Henry,” Corinne said, putting her bewildered husband into the picture. “As Skinny and I were nearing Pensacola by car, he flew over the top of us and Wallis gave him the longest wave in aviation history.”

  “A history that is only a handful of years old, Wallis.” Henry fell into step beside her as Corinne led the way into their home. “It’s hard to imagine, seeing seaplanes taking off and landing on the battle cruisers in the bay, that it’s only a little over ten years ago that Orville and Wilbur Wright conquered the air with the first successful flight of a heavier-than-air flying machine.”

  Silver cutlery and cut-glass wineglasses shone on the dining table’s lace-covered surface, and a bowl of pink and yellow roses gave off a light, delicate fragrance. For such a small informal dinner party there were no place cards, and as it was obvious Henry and Corinne would seat themselves at opposite ends of the table, Wallis wondered whether she should seat herself at Corinne’s right hand or Henry’s left hand. Uppermost in her thoughts was which of the three lieutenants would then sit next to her.

  “This end of the table, I think, Wally,” Henry said, drawing a chair out for her.

  He was about to suggest that Robert Allinson then sit next to her, but Win was too quick for him. As Archie Crosby pulled a chair out for Corinne, Win casually laid his hand on the back of the chair next to Wallis’s.

  Seconds later, seating himself after Corinne had sat down, he said, “Now, Miss Warfield, you will be able to tell me all about yourself without the rest of the table hearing.”

  His eyes were bold and black and frankly appraising.

  It was an expression she had seen before in her cousin Henry’s eyes and in John Jasper’s eyes. Though both had been handsome young men, neither had possessed Win Spencer’s overpowering masculinity, and Wallis was overcome with the sensation of entering deep and dangerous waters.

  She didn’t care.

  Deep and dangerous waters were exactly what she wanted, and if she could keep this rugged, tough-looking naval officer interested in her, she was going to do so.

  “There’s little to tell, Lieutenant Spencer.” She gave a teasing shrug of her shoulder. “And nothing that would be of interest to you, for I neither fly seaplanes nor want to.”

  He cracked with laughter. “Flying seaplanes isn’t for women—though I rather think that with the right tuition you’d make a good job of it.”

  “I make a good job of everything I set out to do, Lieutenant Spencer.”

  “I imagine you do, Miss Warfield.”

  Though the words were innocuous enough, the way he said them brought a fresh wave of heat to Wallis’s cheeks, especially as he was seated so close to her that his strongly muscled thigh was pressed hard against the soft silk of her skirt.

  It was a flirtation steamily outside her experience and one that could be continued no longer now that the general chatter had lulled and they would be overheard. Mindful of how odd and impolite it would be not to pay Lieutenant Allinson and Lieutenant Crosby attention—and not moving her leg away from Win Spencer’s—she smiled across at Robert Allinson.

  “When did you become fascinated with flying, Lieutenant?” she asked as the two extra maids Corinne had engaged for the evening ferried dishes of scallops, shrimp, artichoke, tomatoes, and pasta in from the kitchen.

  “I guess it was ’bout the same time Win did, Miss Warfield.” He shot her a crumpled grin. “We were both serving aboard the USS Nebraska when it became obvious what a large part flying was going to play in the Navy of the future.”

  “So Rob tagged after me when I entered the Navy’s flight training program,” Win interjected, “and I’ve still not shaken him off my tail.”

  There was laughter, and then Henry said, “Win was only the twentieth naval pilot to receive his wings.”

  “With Rob trailing behind at number twenty-five,” Archie Crosby added, enjoying the chance to have a dig at his best buddy.

  Robert Allinson grinned across at her. “Take no notice of these two clowns, Miss Warfield. They’re only jealous because I’m the good-looking one.”

  There was more good-natured laughter and Wallis joined in with it, even though it was patently obvious to her that where good looks were concerned, neither Rob nor Archie were remotely in Win’s league.

  “You can see why I get so bored, Skinny,” Corinne whispered to her as, when the meal ended, they left the dining room for the candl
elit sitting room. “Flying, flying, flying. It’s all they ever talk about. Henry even talks about it in his sleep!”

  Wallis merely smiled. Corinne didn’t have to be interested in flying in order to catch her man. She was already safely married. If Wallis wanted to keep Win Spencer interested in her, she needed to be knowledgeable enough about flying to hold an intelligent conversation with him on the subject.

  Knowing herself as she did, she knew she could succeed in that aim as easily as falling off a log.

  Chapter Eleven

  For the next few days Wallis nearly drove Corinne mad with her questions about flying, flight training programs, and what exactly Win and his fellow officers’ duties consisted of.

  “Land sakes, Skinny!” Corinne threw the core of the apple she had been eating onto the sand, where it was immediately scavenged by a seagull. “You’d think you were thinking of taking up flying yourself!”

  They were on the perimeter of the area forbidden to civilian personnel, watching, as they did every morning, training flights taking off and landing in the bay.

  “And is Win Spencer Pensacola’s senior flying instructor?” Wallis asked, ignoring Corinne’s last remark.

  Corinne shot her a bemused look. “He is, but don’t get the hots for Win, Skinny. He’s way out of your league. Married women are far more in his line—though not, I slightly regret to say, me.” The laughter that was never far from Corinne’s voice was there in full measure as she added, “Even Win isn’t so rash as to try and bed the wife of the air station’s commandant!”

  They both broke into convulsive laughter and were still laughing when Rob Allinson strolled over to them.

  “What’s the joke, ladies?” he asked good-naturedly. “Anything you can cut me in on?”

  Wallis, struggling to keep a straight face, said, “Absolutely not, Lieutenant Allinson. And why aren’t you dressed for flying? I thought you all took trainees up every day.”