Brave Hearts

by Carolyn Hart

  Jack wanted so much to comfort her, but he knew without being told that this was sorrow he couldn’t assuage. “Tell me, Catharine,” he urged again, softly.

  “That night our house was bombed, the girl, Priscilla, she’d asked me if I had any children—and I said no. I said no.” Tears filled her eyes, spilled unchecked down her cheeks. She looked imploringly up at Jack. “It was a lovely day in April, and I told the nurse to take him to the park. I was busy.” Her voice rose. “Oh, God, I was busy.”

  Jack gripped her shaking shoulders, but he knew she wasn’t there in the room with him—she was in another room on an April day.

  “He was in his carriage, and he laughed and waved at me. He had on his blue sweater with a soft cap that matched. He looked very good in blue, he was so blond and fair. We were giving a dinner that night for the Danish ambassador, so I told the nurse to take him to the park.”

  She stared past Jack; her hands convulsively squeezed the gloves.

  “The storm blew up in just a few minutes.” She looked at Jack then, her eyes pleading. “It was clear when they left for the park, but suddenly the clouds rolled in, and there was a cold, pelting rain. By the time they got back, Charles was drenched. I helped her bathe him, but he was cold, and he fell sick in the night.”

  Catharine’s mouth twisted. “He called for me, and when I came and touched him, he felt like he was on fire. His hair was wet with sweat, and there were great patches of heat in his cheeks.”

  She raised one hand, pressed it against her mouth for a long moment, then said dully, “He died a week later. If only I hadn’t sent him to the park, he wouldn’t have been sick. Wouldn’t have—died.”

  Jack shook her then, shook her roughly. “Catharine, it wasn’t your fault.”

  “Oh, yes, yes, it was my fault. I didn’t take care of my baby.”

  Jack picked her up and cradled her in his arms and buried his face against hers; his tears mingled with hers. “Oh, God, Catharine, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “Go right on in, Mr. Cavanaugh, the ambassador’s expecting you.”

  Spencer nodded his thanks to the secretary and opened one of the huge double oak doors that led to the ambassador’s office. Ambassador Winant insisted on working in his office even though most embassy papers and materials were stored belowground. The ambassador had permitted his staff to move his desk away from the immense windows, now boarded over, to a far corner of the long and elegant room. As Spencer entered, Winant rose and came around his desk to shake hands.

  Inside Spencer churned with questions. Why did the ambassador want to talk to him? He knew he was on top of his job. The flow of Lend-Lease supplies was steadily increasing. Winant couldn’t have any criticism to make there.

  “Good morning, Mr. Ambassador.” Spencer smiled, but his eyes anxiously scanned Winant’s face. Did Winant know about Peggy? “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”

  “Certainly is. London in August is lovely, even now.” The ambassador waved Spencer to a seat, then returned to his own red leather seat behind his gleaming oak desk.

  Winant glanced down at a telegram on his desk, then said briskly, “You’ve done extraordinary work this past year, Cavanaugh, and it hasn’t gone unremarked. The department is pleased, very pleased indeed.”

  “Thank you very much, sir.” But this session wasn’t just to commend him. Spencer felt very sure of that. There had to be something more, something major.

  Winant nodded heavily. “A very outstanding job with a difficult, if not impossible, task.”

  Spencer waited and felt the smile on his face was going to crack.

  Winant thumped his hand down on the telegram. “Now the department has another tough job for you.”

  Spencer was very alert. He tried hard to look pleasantly attentive, but he sensed trouble. He should be promoted in rank this year. He was counting on it. What assignment could possibly be as important as the one he held? Being sent anywhere else would surely be a demotion.

  “We’re at a critical point in the Lend-Lease program, sir. It could be disastrous to change staff at this time.”

  Winant leaned comfortably back in his red leather chair. “I know you’re committed to the program, and that’s admirable. I know the kind of hours you’ve put in. That’s one reason you’ve been so successful of course, but the department needs those qualities of yours, that willingness to work whatever hours it takes, that single-minded determination to win out, in another theater.”

  “The Lend-Lease program needs the personal attention of the finance officer, sir. I have good rapport with several of the British officials and . . .”

  “Of course you do,” Winant said a little impatiently. “In fact, you have the program pretty well whipped into shape, and that’s why it would be a good time to make a change. Fact of the matter is, you’re needed for a new task, and it’s damn important, Cavanaugh. State needs you in the Philippines.”

  Spencer stared at him blankly. The Philippines. Automatically, he pictured a string of various-shaped splotches in the midst of the vast Pacific Ocean. If not the end of the world, it was the next thing to it. How could anyone’s career be enhanced by a move to the Philippines? The war in Europe was all-important, however much the Japanese postured and threatened in the Pacific. Spencer’s mouth tightened to a thin line. It was a demotion, surely, and it must be tied to Peggy. That was the only possible explanation.

  “. . . damn important,” Winant continued. His voice dropped. “And very ticklish. It will require a supremely gifted diplomat. You see, we’ve got to get a handle on the gold and silver in the Philippines. If the negotiations underway in Washington fail, it may mean war, and all the military experts say the Japanese will take the Philippines if we come to war. We can’t be caught napping. The department wants you to go to Manila to account for all the gold and silver in the islands and prepare it for shipment to the United States if war breaks out in the Pacific.”

  “Would I be sent out as finance adviser?” Spencer asked sharply. Surely he would at least have the same title he held in London, though no one, and certainly no one in the diplomatic service, would ever equate Manila with London. It was a demotion, of course. This was ridiculous, acting as though he’d been singled out for an honor.

  Then Spencer heard Winant say, “Oh, no, this is too sensitive. It’s a very critical task. You’ll be sent out as a special envoy.”

  Special envoy. He would outrank the high commissioner who headed the U.S. mission to the Philippines.

  “Of course,” Winant said quickly, “you understand that your authority would extend particularly to the registration and shipment of the gold and silver.”

  Spencer understood the addendum. He would be expected to defer in all other matters to Francis B. Sayre, the high commissioner.

  Special envoy. It would mark him as one of the most successful of all American diplomats. Short of a major ambassadorship, it couldn’t be topped.

  “Certainly, Mr. Ambassador, I would be both pleased and honored to accept the new post.” He paused and smiled. “I want you to know I appreciate this vote of confidence, and I’ll be delighted to accept the challenge. I’ll do the very best job I possibly can.”

  “Of course, you will,” Winant replied warmly. Then he frowned. “There is one point, Cavanaugh.”

  Unease stirred within Spencer. “Yes, Mr. Ambassador?”

  “This is a sensitive post in a number of ways.” Winant looked decidedly uncomfortable.

  Spencer kept his face impassive. Was the ambassador going to mention Peggy?

  “We need to go the extra mile to reassure the Filipinos of the depth of our commitment.”

  Spencer waited.

  “As you may know, the president ordered all military wives home from the Philippines last spring, but State Department dependents are staying. This is a deliberate effort to show President Quezon that we aren’t going to cut and run, no matter what happens.”

  Spencer waited.

  “
The point is, Cavanaugh, will your wife go to Manila with you?”

  Relief made Spencer’s voice expansive, relaxed. “Of course, she will.” He even smiled a little. “After all, sir, Manila will seem like a holiday after London. You know our house was bombed, and Catharine was trapped for a while.”

  Winant nodded. “I know. I just hope it isn’t a case of going from the frying pan to the fire.”

  Spencer’s smile broadened. “I doubt it, sir. After all, the Japanese aren’t an industrial people. None of the chaps I’ve talked to take their armed forces very seriously.”

  “I hope they’re right.” Winant’s voice became brisk. “In any event, Washington will be pleased to know you’ve accepted. It will be an immediate transfer.”

  The ambassador stood and Spencer scrambled to his feet. They shook hands. Spencer turned to go, then paused and said casually, “There’s one thing, sir.”

  “Yes?”

  “If possible, I’d like to take some of my team here with me. Jim Donaldson and my secretary, Peggy Taylor.”

  “Certainly. Anyone you wish.” Winant smiled. “Within reason, of course.”

  In the privacy of his own office, Spencer Cavanaugh stood stock-still for a long moment; then his mouth curved in a triumphant smile. Special envoy. Special envoy. Special envoy. There would be no stopping him now. He leaned over his desk and punched Peggy’s buzzer.

  When she hurried into the office, carrying her stenographer’s pad, Spencer said, “Close the door.” He smiled at her. When the door was shut, he crossed to her, his eyes electric with excitement. “Peggy, I’ve got great news!”

  Catharine was in no particular hurry. It was such a lovely August day. Since the bombing had stopped in mid-May, London had seemed almost like her old self. Passersby no longer looked exhausted, their faces sunken from lack of sleep. There was a feeling of hope in the air.

  Perhaps love could triumph in a world which gave so little time for caring. Ever since that difficult day when Jack had asked her to marry him and she’d told him about Charles, they’d met without discussion of their future. She knew he understood how very much she wanted to be his, that she would give her life to be his. And understood, too, that it had to be done with as little harm to Spencer as she could manage. She owed Spencer that much, at the very least. Thank God, Jack understood. Perhaps when Spencer received a new assignment, she could make the break, then permit him, of course, to divorce her.

  She walked slowly up the street toward the flat where she and Spencer had moved after the bombing. She wished instead that she was on her way to Jack’s apartment, but he was off on a story about coastal defenses and wouldn’t return to London until next Wednesday. She pictured his small, plain apartment and the bedroom with a rather narrow double bed. She felt his presence so dearly, remembering the feel of his mouth and body.

  She was reaching for her keys at the apartment door when it swung open. She looked up, startled.

  “Spencer! It’s midmorning. What’s wrong?” She stared at him. She’d rarely seen him look so alive, so excited and buoyant. “What’s happened?”

  He held the door for her. “I had to come home to tell you. It’s wonderful news, Catharine.”

  Something at the embassy, of course. The promotion he’d hoped for? Excitement touched her, too. If he’d received it, if it were certain and sure, perhaps he wouldn’t need her any longer. Her heart began to thud.

  “It’s everything I’ve ever hoped for,” he began.

  Joy surged through her. It was happening, oh, God, it was. This could be the right time, perhaps the only time. He wouldn’t be hurt if she left him, not if he had his future assured. She could even suggest some kind of settlement—that is, with particular care that she not offend him by suggesting he’d sought her out because of her wealth. She began to smile. “Spencer, you’ve received your promotion.”

  “Better than that. Of course, it isn’t at all what I’d expected. At first, I thought it was a disaster—until the ambassador told me I’d be a special envoy.”

  Catharine understood his excitement. She’d been a diplomat’s wife long enough to know what the title meant. A special envoy carried extraordinary power.

  The president wouldn’t appoint a special envoy to Great Britain. So where would Spencer be sent? But that didn’t matter to her now because if he had reached the level where he was a special envoy, he no longer needed her—and she could easily say she was going home to spend time with her family.

  She smiled at him, sharing his excitement. “That’s wonderful, absolutely wonderful. I’m so happy for you, Spencer. I know this means everything to you, and I’m so delighted you’ve been recognized. This means your career is assured now, doesn’t it?”

  “Well, if I can do a good job.”

  “Of course, you’ll do a good job. You always do a superior job.”

  He smiled at her gratefully. “Catharine, you’re a sport. I’ve always said that. I’ve always told everyone that. No man could be luckier in his wife than I am.”

  Her heart twisted at his words. Oh, God, don’t let him be grateful to her. Not now. Because she was going to tell him as soon as she could—not today so it wouldn’t tarnish his happiness in any way, but as soon as possible—that she wanted a divorce. She honestly thought that he wouldn’t care, not deeply. She felt certain of it. He depended upon her, and she’d been important to his career, to his progress up through the ranks, but they didn’t love each other. If he’d reached the level of special envoy, it wouldn’t matter if they were divorced. And he could put all the blame squarely on her. She would insist upon it.

  “Where is the assignment, Spencer?”

  “Hell of a distance,” he said ruefully, but his voice was still ebullient. “And it will mean some danger; the ambassador stressed that, but I told him we expect to take risks. Everybody knows crossing the Atlantic’s a chess game now, but torpedoes are no worse than bombs.”

  “Crossing the Atlantic?”

  “We’ll go back to the States on our way. I’ll spend a week in Washington, being briefed. You can stay with Ted and Betty; then we’ll be on our way to San Francisco. We’ll ship out from there to Manila.”

  “Manila.” She could scarcely take it in. They’d spent their lives in European capitals. She’d never been to the East, and she couldn’t imagine what it would be like, but she smiled happily. It didn’t matter to her. For the first time in years, she would make her own choices, her own decisions. No one in Manila would even remark about Spencer coming to his new post without his wife. After all, a stint as a special envoy was never permanent. It was a post assigned in response to a particular problem. The emphasis would be upon Spencer’s skills, not his family.

  He was smiling, too. It is odd, Catharine thought, how little we know one another. Spencer assumed she was happy because of his advancement.

  He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. She realized it was the first time Spencer had touched her in a long, long time. He beamed at her. “You are a good wife, Catharine. The ambassador was worried that you might not be willing to go, but I told him there wouldn’t be any problem.”

  Catharine felt a sudden, terrible emptiness. She listened to Spencer’s bright, happy words, and her own happiness drained away as water seeps from a cracked vase.

  “Of course, you’d come with me. You’ve always come, and this time it’s essential. Winant said the Filipinos mustn’t feel there’s any danger of the Americans pulling out on them. As the ambassador said, what can be more reassuring than for diplomatic personnel to bring their families with them.”

  “The ambassador especially wanted to know if I would come?”

  He heard the constraint in her voice. He looked at her sharply. “Yes. It’s imperative, Catharine.”

  She stared at him, her face pale but composed. For an instant, happiness had seemed within reach. Images whirled in her mind, of Jack, his face dark with anger, of Spencer, sleek and satisfied, absorbed in the excitement of his futu
re.

  If she went to Manila, she would close the door on the only happiness she’d ever known. It had been such a short spell of happiness, days snatched out of fear, brief moments filled with life and love.

  Spencer needed her.

  Jack loved her.

  But Spencer needed her. He didn’t have Charles. He didn’t have her love. All he had was his career.

  She knew Spencer didn’t love her, but could she shrug away his long-ago kindnesses to her in Paris when they first met, his gentleness after Charles’s death that brought her back from black despair, and all the skeins of commitment between a man and a woman, whether they were in love or not? If Charles were alive, everything might be different, but Charles was dead and Spencer had nothing left but his career.

  Deep inside, she heard her own cry of need. She would have nothing, nothing at all. With Jack there was life and the beginning of true healing with her willingness once again to love.

  Catharine lifted her chin. “Of course, I’ll come, Spencer.” She heard herself speak as if from a long distance and marveled at how easy the words sounded, how simple. There was nothing in her tone to suggest that her heart was breaking. Oh, Jack, Jack!

  Spencer heaved a sigh of relief. “God, Catharine, you had me worried there for a minute.” He smiled again, his good humor restored. “I know Manila sounds like to hell and gone, but this will only be the beginning. If I handle this one right, there’ll be no stopping me.” Then he glanced at his watch. “Look, Catharine, I’ve got a million things to see to, but I didn’t want to spring this on you over the phone.” He glanced around the apartment living room at the rented furniture. “I never thought I’d be glad we didn’t have anything, but it’s going to make our move a lot simpler.” He gave a half-laugh.

  She nodded numbly.

  “So you can be ready to leave in the morning, can’t you?”