by Sarah Sundin
“I’ll toss in another two.” Jerry Hobson crossed his arms. “It’d be worth it to see your teeth chatter.”
Jack, the only one of the four men without an overcoat, glanced back at them with a gleam in his eye. “Four bucks? Easiest money I’ll ever make.”
Good thing Wyatt didn’t have anything to chip in. Jack would take that dare, and Wyatt would have lost the money. But he could still egg him on. “He won’t do it, fellows. He’s full of hot air.”
Jack took the bait. He plopped onto a bench and pulled off his black shoes and socks.
“Hey, if you frolic in that fountain, I’ll even throw in a buck.”
Jack squinted up at him as he rolled up the legs of his navy blue trousers. “You go too far. Frolicking is conduct unbecoming an officer. Unbecoming a man.”
So was wading in greenish water among the lily pads, but Wyatt just grinned at his friend. Best entertainment of the month.
“Paxton’s right. One toe in that water, and he’ll go crying for Mommy.” Ted curled his fingers before his chest, drew up one leg, and squealed like a little girl.
Wyatt flapped his arms like a chicken. “Bawk.”
That pushed Jack over the edge. He marched to the nearest pool. “I’ll show you who’s chicken.”
“Excuse me, young man.” An elderly man strode up to Jack. “What in heaven’s name do you think you’re doing?”
“Um . . . wading, sir.”
“Absolutely not. These are ornamental fountains and not for bathing.”
“I beg your pardon, sir. I didn’t know.”
“Yanks.” The Londoner marched away. “We fight off the Nazi invasion, and then we invite these savages right in.”
Jack looked so chagrined, so disappointed, so ridiculous in his bare feet—Wyatt burst into laughter, Ted and Hobson right with him.
“Yeah? Go ahead and laugh.” Jack sat on the bench and rolled down his pant legs. “You owe me four bucks because I was going in.”
Something bumped Wyatt’s leg.
A black dog sat in front of him and pawed his shin. A Scottie dog like . . .
“Charlie!”
He spun around.
Dorothy ran down the path, her unbuttoned coat flapping, one hand clamped on her cover and the other dragging a leash. She stopped at the bench, her mouth and eyes round. “Lieutenant Paxton—Wyatt?”
He laughed and squatted down to ruffle the dog’s ears—and to conceal the breadth of his smile. “Second time I ran into you. We’re out for a Sunday afternoon stroll. I promise I’m not following you.”
She laughed too, such a pretty sound. “No, but it appears my dog is following you.”
Better remember his manners. He scooped the pup into his arms and stood. “Second Officer Fairfax, these are my friends, Lieutenants Jack Vale, Ted Kelvin, and Jerry Hobson. Fellows, this is Second Officer Dorothy Fairfax—and this is Bonnie Prince Charlie.”
Jack shook Dorothy’s hand. “So you’re the one who adopted the orphan boy when he got lost.”
“I am.” Then she glared at her dog. “And you are the naughtiest creature.”
“I don’t mind.” Wyatt scratched Charlie behind the ears. “I miss having a dog.”
Her eyes looked even bluer in the sunshine. “I don’t know what got into him. He’s usually so good. I let him off the lead to chase squirrels—he believes they’re all Nazi spies—instead he abandoned his duties and chased after you.”
Wyatt shifted his gaze from blue eyes to black. “Charlie and I are buddies—war buddies. Something special happens when men go through battle together, right, Charlie?” With those heavy black brows, the dog looked like a grizzled old sea salt.
“I suppose so,” Dorothy said.
As much as he enjoyed seeing her, she was dating Eaton and he’d better get moving. But his friends had pulled to the side and were talking to each other. One more minute, and he’d make his escape.
“I don’t believe I properly thanked you for bringing him into the shelter.” She tucked a loose strand of hair into her bun. “I appreciate it.”
“Shucks. It was the right thing to do.” The Luftwaffe had bombed London twice more since that evening—nothing big but still disconcerting. “How’s your father doing?”
One cheek puckered. “The same.”
“Well, I’m praying for him. At least the war is turning around. You know it better than most women.”
Her lips bent in a sad smile. “I do.”
“Say, Wyatt,” Hobson called. “We’re going to find a pub and get some chow.”
“Teatime.” Ted crimped his pinkie finger. “The British get two dinners. Why did we fight for our independence again?”
Wyatt’s stomach sank. It would be rude to go to a pub and not order anything.
Jack knew he couldn’t afford to go, but he was inspecting the polished toe of his shoe and didn’t meet his eye.
“Sorry, fellows. I’ll pass. See y’all back at quarters.”
“Suit yourself.” His friends didn’t argue, didn’t offer to pay for him, and they left. Jack dropped a quick wink over his shoulder.
What? Did they think they were helping, leaving him alone with Dorothy? He’d told Jack about her—but he’d also told him she was dating someone.
Wyatt handed the dog to Dorothy. “Well, it was nice seeing you two. Enjoy your afternoon.”
She chewed her lips as if deep in thought. “My father keeps asking about you.”
“That’s nice of him.”
“Do you suppose—I understand if you have plans—but would you mind stopping by for a little while? Only a little while.”
That didn’t seem wise. He needed to keep his distance. Yet her father . . . something about that man. “Sure, I could drop in for a few minutes.”
“Thank you.” Her face relaxed. “He’s asked about you almost every day.”
And this was the first time she’d mentioned it. He stepped over a stone curb and crossed a grassy strip to the path. Things like that would help him keep his heart in check.
“It’s too nice a day for you to be in quarters anyway.” She set Charlie on the path, his leash clipped back onto his collar. “Chilly, but not dreary.”
“I like it. And I like this park. Almost forget I’m in a city.”
“Isn’t it splendid?” She strolled down the tree-lined path. “Charlie and I love to come here on walks.”
“Hunting spies?”
“Oh yes. He’s a member of His Majesty’s Royal Highlanders, after all.”
“I see.” Boy, how this woman made him smile. He walked a good five feet from her so she knew he didn’t see this as a date. Just to be safe, he’d mention her boyfriend. “So I understand you and that Eaton fellow go way back.”
If only his name made her brighten so quickly. “We do. He and my brothers were Cambridge chums. He didn’t like going home on holidays, so he often came home with Art and Gil. He even came to Normandy with us one summer.”
Wyatt gave her a brotherly smile. “And now y’all are dating.”
She gasped.
“Gossip gets around.”
“It does. But it was only one dinner.” Her dreamy look said otherwise.
“How was it?”
“Simply divine.” She told him all about the fancy restaurant and the fancy food with long French names.
Wyatt could never afford a date like that, the kind of date she deserved, so he was glad he’d asked. She was crazy about Eaton, and now Wyatt could give his crush a proper burial.
If only she’d stop being so cute and animated and enthusiastic. If only she’d stop breaking into her musical laughter. If only she’d stop mimicking the people she’d seen. She sure didn’t make it easy.
“Oh, look. Here’s Peter Pan.” She passed Charlie’s leash to Wyatt and hopped up two steps onto the low flagstone pedestal. Peter Pan topped a bronze hill teeming with bronze fairies, rabbits, and squirrels.
Dorothy put her hands on her hips, looking for all
the world like the little dumpling on the seawall—except she was trim and womanly now. “I always wanted to be Wendy.”
“Why is that?” He led Charlie in a circle around the statue.
“Isn’t it obvious?” She stepped up onto a bronze outcropping and grabbed a fairy’s arm for support. “How thrilling for a girl to be spirited away by a dashing boy into a world full of adventure.”
“For a little while, sure.”
“A little while?”
“Yeah.” He caught her eye from the far side of the statue. “It’s no way to live. Peter Pan will never grow up. She had no future in Neverland. That’s why she went home.”
“You’re a very practical sort of person, Lieutenant Paxton.” Her Winston Churchill impression was spot-on.
“I am.”
“Oh, I’m not. I’m just like my mother. I like excitement.” She leaned away from the statue and swung one black-stockinged leg in front of her. Her foot wobbled.
“Careful there.” Wyatt lunged forward and grabbed her arm as she landed. “Still the daredevil, I see. You all right?”
“I’m fine.” She took back the leash and headed down the path. “That ankle is weak. I sprained it a few years ago.”
“How’d that happen? Climbing statues? Trees? Seawalls?”
She gazed down at Charlie, his stubby legs in motion. “A word of advice. If you ever search for your mother’s body in the rubble, do remember to wear sensible shoes.”
Wyatt’s heart and feet stood still.
Dorothy turned to him and sighed. “I’m sorry. You Americans aren’t used to our black humor. It’s how we endure.”
“I understand.” Wyatt resumed walking. To his left, a long lake flashed in and out of sight between the trees and bushes. A wide lawn opened up to his right, marred by bomb craters and sandbagged antiaircraft batteries, but brightened by older couples strolling, children playing, and British and American servicemen arm-in-arm with their girlfriends. “When your mama died—was that when your father shut down?”
One corner of her mouth tucked in. “We were never close—he was always closer to my brothers—but he was kind and warm. Then Art died, then Mum, then Gil. All within one year. Papa . . . he lost interest in everything.”
Including his own daughter. “I’m sorry.”
“He barely eats. It’s hard to believe, but he was rather hefty before the war. And . . . well, he rarely goes to the office. I’m worried, and that’s why I invited you today. He likes you, and he ate well that evening. Maybe you’ll cheer him up, stir his appetite.”
“Maybe I can talk him into going to work.” He pictured himself wagging his finger at the older man, and he smiled.
“That would be lovely.”
Wyatt shook his head and chuckled. “Don’t know, but I’ll see what I can do.”
A squirrel zipped across the path. Charlie barked, loud and deep, and pulled at the leash. The squirrel scampered up a tree and chattered down at the dog.
“Hush now.” Dorothy tugged on the leash and brought Charlie back to her side.
Kerrville, Texas, had a park, but nothing like this. Kensington Gardens stretched out in all directions, with city buildings peeking over the treetops in the distance. How incredible to be in a park where kings and queens had strolled for hundreds of years, to be surrounded by history in every blade of grass.
Rats. He hadn’t spoken for a while.
But Dorothy hadn’t either. Probably wished she were with Eaton. That man would have no trouble making conversation.
“Wyatt?” she said. “Didn’t you tell my father you were an accountant?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Could I ask you something? Your opinion? It’s rather strange, and I can’t puzzle it out.”
“Well, sure.”
She recounted a letter from her father’s manager about how the company was losing money although sales were good, about rumors of embezzlement, the need for discretion, and the necessity of Mr. Fairfax returning to the office to handle the situation.
Sounded messy to him. “Too bad I can’t see the books, see what’s going on.”
“Could you?”
He waved his hand back and forth to wipe the idea from her mind. “Just trying to figure it out. I think better when I see numbers. But it does give me an idea. Sometimes you look at things so often you can’t see the obvious. Maybe Mr. Montague needs a fresh set of eyes.”
“What do you mean?”
“Not me, of course, but an accountant from outside the company to look at the books and trace the money.”
Her mouth scooted to one side. “I wish we could, but Papa would never agree. He’s very proud. Our only hope is to convince him to return.”
Wyatt would have an easier time with the books than with persuasion.
“Thank you anyway. And please don’t mention this to anyone. Papa would be mortified.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Thank you.” She pointed across an expanse of grass to an elaborate monument. “That’s the Albert Memorial, and Prince Albert Hall across the street. How Queen Victoria loved him.”
She led him across the street and into the neighborhood, chatting like a tour guide, pointing out the Royal Geographical Society and the Royal College of Music and the Natural History Museum and the Victoria and Albert Museum, with colorful stories attached to each one.
He still couldn’t believe he was in London, a city that had stood since Roman times. No building in Kerrville dated before 1850.
Soon she turned onto a smaller street, but he had no idea which one. He hadn’t seen a single street sign. No wonder he’d gotten lost.
Pretty swanky neighborhood now that he saw it in daylight. The houses were crammed side-by-side, same as he’d seen in New York City before he shipped out. Each three-story house was built of tan bricks with bright white trim, complete with columns around the porch.
Dorothy trotted up the front steps and swung open the door. “Hallo, Papa! I found something in the park. Come see.” She whirled to Wyatt with one finger pressed to her lips and mischief in her eyes.
He stepped inside quietly and closed the door behind him.
Dorothy unhooked Charlie from his leash, and the little dog trotted to a pillow in the parlor.
Mr. Fairfax leaned over the railing on the stair landing and broke into a smile. “Wyatt? What a lovely surprise. What a lovely surprise indeed.”
“It’s good to see you, Mr. Fairfax.” Wyatt shook the man’s hand after he came downstairs. “I ran into Dorothy in the park, and she asked if I could drop by for a moment.”
“Yes, yes. Take off your coat and have a seat.” He motioned to the parlor.
“I’m glad she asked, because I have a question for you.” Keeping his coat on, Wyatt took a seat in a stiff upholstered chair. “As a businessman, I’m curious how British companies are run. I’m sure there are differences, and I’d love to see. I don’t want to be a pest, but I was wondering if someday you could give me a tour.”
“Brilliant idea. We’ll arrange a date, next week perhaps.” Mr. Fairfax sat forward in his chair and gestured to Wyatt’s chest. “Why are you wearing your coat? You’ll stay for tea, of course. Dinner too.”
Wyatt fought a grimace and glanced Dorothy’s way. “Thank you, but I just dropped by. Only have a minute.”
“Nonsense. Where do you have to be on a Sunday evening? You’ll stay, and I won’t hear another word. Dorothy?”
Her eyes darkened, and her mouth pursed. “Yes, Papa.” Then she marched away.
Swell. He’d made a big mistake. He took off his overcoat, hung it by the door, and glanced down the hallway in time to see Dorothy shove the kitchen door open.
“Excuse me, Mr. Fairfax. I’ll be right back.” He didn’t wait for a reply but headed into the kitchen.
In the pantry, Dorothy yanked food off the shelf. No sign of Mrs. Bromley. Sunday had to be the housekeeper’s day off.
“Sorry, Dorothy. I didn�
�t expect the invitation. If you don’t want me to stay, I won’t.”
“Nonsense. Why wouldn’t I want you to stay?” But she kept her back to him and her voice cool.
“Well, you didn’t act too pleased when he invited me, then you hightailed it out of there.”
She passed him and laid the food on a table, her face averted. “You’re a stranger. A complete stranger. And he shows more interest . . .” She shook her head.
Understanding sank in his gut. “He shows more interest in me than in his own daughter.”
She didn’t respond. She didn’t have to.
“Listen.” He motioned over his shoulder with his thumb, though she couldn’t see him. “I’ll tell him I forgot I promised to meet a friend for dinner. I’ll stay half an—”
“Nonsense. You’ll stay, and I won’t hear another word.” She ripped open a box.
The lessons of the past three years told him to leave. “Jealousy is a dangerous emotion. I know too well. I refuse to provoke it in others.”
Her shoulders drooped. She faced him, eyes closed, and rubbed her forehead. “He smiled. Did you see? He smiled when he saw you. I haven’t seen him smile for years.”
Once again he’d stolen something that didn’t belong to him, but how could he repay this debt? “I’m sorry.”
She drew a deep breath and opened her eyes. “Please forgive me, and please stay. You make him happy. If I love him, I’ll do what’s best for him.”
“Even entertain a rebel?” He tried a sheepish look.
Her smile rose, rueful but warm. “Even that.”
9
Allied Naval Expeditionary Force Headquarters
Monday, February 7, 1944
If only Dorothy had an excuse to visit intelligence. She stared at the door leading to Lawrence’s department and nibbled on the tip of her pen.
Those two kisses! The good-night kiss so delicious she forgot every morsel from dinner.
Her cheeks heated from the memory—and from the knowledge that she was daydreaming on duty.
She turned back to the diagram on her desk. The artist in her loathed the confining gridlines, but the officer in her knew the necessity.
With careful strokes, she marked the features between the D-1 and D-3 beach exits. Each rise and fall of land. Each tree. Each structure. Each gun battery. She’d redrawn this diagram several times, and she’d do so again as new intelligence arrived.