The Sea Before Us Page 10

  Marino shoved the report aside. “In early March, we’re conducting an amphibious landing exercise down at Slapton Sands in Lyme Bay—Exercise Fox. The Royal Navy will conduct the bombardment, then the US 1st Infantry Division will land. I want one of you there on a destroyer as a naval gunfire liaison officer, working with the British gunnery officer.”

  Wyatt sat up straighter. What a great opportunity. But only for one of them.

  “I’d love to go, sir,” Geier said.

  “So would I, sir.”

  Marino crossed one arm over his chest, and he tapped his knuckles against his chin as he studied his lieutenants. The hesitation was an improvement, a sign Wyatt had done well today. Yesterday, Marino would have picked Geier without blinking.

  Marino pulled a thick folder from a desk drawer. “I need one of you here to keep up with the intelligence, the reports. Mr. Paxton, can you pick up the load, stay on top of things?”

  He still didn’t think Wyatt was capable, had no idea what he did. “Yes, sir.”

  The commander handed the folder to Geier. “Here are your briefing materials. Pack your sea bag, and on Saturday you’ll take a train down to Portsmouth.”

  Geier sprang to his feet and shook the commander’s hand with a big grin. “Aye aye, sir.”

  Wyatt’s teeth pressed hard together. At least the reports would get done. Those were vital to the war effort. But so were the training exercises, and Geier would botch them up. He needed to do something.

  Commander Marino dismissed them, and Geier strode out the door.

  An idea percolated, and Wyatt hung back. “Sir, may I have a word with you?”

  “Very well.”

  A measured breath. “Sir, I request permission to meet with the destroyer’s gunnery officer beforehand. Not long. I could go down on a Saturday and not disrupt the work here.”

  Marino’s brow furrowed over his dark eyes. “That’s Mr. Geier’s job.”

  “Yes, sir. But I . . . I’m more familiar with the details—the maps, the targets—”

  “Listen, I’m glad you’re carrying more of your weight, but Mr. Geier has everything he needs in his briefing materials.”

  Wyatt’s breath leached out. Would the man read them?

  “If that’s all, Mr. Paxton . . . ?”

  To go further would be to wander into slander. “Yes, sir. That’s all.”

  As for the training exercise, all he could do was pray.

  14

  Allied Naval Expeditionary Force Headquarters

  Friday, March 3, 1944

  As soon as Dorothy entered the office after lunch, Gwen Hamilton grabbed her by the arm.

  “You won’t believe what happened.” A mix of shock and fascination infused Gwen’s gray eyes. “Old Blissy transferred Helen.”

  Dorothy stared at her friend. “Helen Woolford? In intelligence?”

  “I ran into her on her way out—in tears. Blissy accused her of flirting on duty, engaging in behavior unbecoming of the Royal Navy, casting a bad light on us Wrens.”

  How could Dorothy think with her head spinning? “Oh no. She—she’s jealous because Helen stepped out with Lawrence.”

  “If she finds out you two stepped out, that you carry a torch for him . . .”

  Dorothy’s lips went dry. Papa had perked up after Wyatt’s last visit and after showing him Fairfax & Sons, but now the silent hermit had returned. In the past two weeks, the Luftwaffe had bombed London more nights than not, including a heavy raid on Kensington. Dorothy slept in the damp and chilly Anderson shelter, but Papa stayed in his room. He ate next to nothing. He hadn’t gone to the office once this week. And Mr. Montague had sent another foreboding note.

  She couldn’t afford to leave London. She wet her lips. “But Helen has family here.”

  “Blissy gave her a choice,” Gwen said in a fierce whisper. “Be disciplined and demoted, or transfer to Liverpool, the Western Approaches Command.”

  “Oh dear.” Dorothy pressed her free hand to her forehead. She hadn’t known her commanding officer to be manipulative.

  “Be careful.” Gwen squeezed her arm. “You’re more subtle than Helen—she always acted besotted—but still, be careful.”

  “I will. Thank you for the warning.” She gave Gwen a weak smile and went to her desk.

  A report lay on top, freshly typed by the Wren writers, ready to be delivered to Lawrence.

  Dorothy groaned. Did she dare? Her commanding officer wasn’t present. If she were still at lunch, this would be the ideal time. And if Dorothy saw her in intelligence, she’d turn right around and give Lawrence the report later.

  She gathered the papers and her senses. From now on she’d be subdued on duty, professional, and not even droll. Why take chances?

  Perhaps if she were distant, Lawrence would find her irresistible. A smile threatened, but she hauled it in.

  In intelligence, she scanned the office. No sign of Blissy or Lawrence, but Wyatt sat at a table with stereo glasses, photographs, maps, and papers. Just an ordinary man, quiet and steady. When he was hard at work, it was easy to forget how attractive he’d been when dancing.

  “Good afternoon, Lieutenant Paxton.”

  He looked up from the stereo glasses. An ordinary man with an extraordinary smile. “Good afternoon, Second Officer Fairfax.”

  She gave him a nod and made her way to Lawrence’s office.

  Empty. Oh bother. Was he dining with Bliss-Baldwin? Or was Dorothy in danger of being as jealous as Old Blissy?

  Dorothy gave her head a quick, cleansing shake and turned for her office, passing Wyatt—but Mr. Montague’s invitation needed to be issued. It would be rude to ignore it. “Lieutenant Paxton, may I ask a favor?”

  “Well, sure.”

  She sat beside him and lowered her voice. “Do you remember when I told you about the situation at my father’s company, how my father’s manager wrote to me?”

  “Sure do.” His eyes were the softest shade of gray blue. “I met Mr. Montague when your dad gave me the tour. Nice fellow.”

  “He is. Well, when Papa introduced you as my friend and as an accountant, Mr. Montague realized you were the man who made the suggestion.”

  “To bring in an outside accountant?”

  Issuing the invitation was not only polite, it was vital for Papa. “He’d like to meet with us.”

  Wyatt’s eyebrows bounced high. “Me? I’m not qualified.”

  “He only wants to discuss the idea. He invited us to his home for dinner on Monday.”

  He leaned back, his face scrunched up. “Doesn’t seem right to go over your dad’s head.”

  “My dad’s head is buried in the sand. The only way to save that head is to go over it. Mr. Montague only wants to talk to you.” Dorothy laid her hand on Wyatt’s forearm, but it was too thick and solid, so she withdrew.

  Wyatt’s gaze wavered and his mouth worked back and forth, but then his gaze steadied. “All right.”

  “Oh, thank you.” She snatched a scrap of paper and Wyatt’s pen from the table, and she scribbled down the address. “Eight o’clock on Monday. Please don’t get lost this time.”

  He grinned. “I won’t. I’m learning my way around town.”

  Dorothy glanced around. “Where’s your noisier shadow? I haven’t seen him lately.”

  “Mr. Geier? Commander Marino chose him to participate in Exercise Fox down in Lyme Bay, directing fire from a destroyer.”

  And he didn’t choose Wyatt. How awful that Commander Marino didn’t appreciate Wyatt’s diligence and conscientiousness. Dorothy frowned at the veiled disappointment on the Texan’s face. “And he left you to do all the work here by yourself?”

  He dipped his chin and chuckled. “That isn’t a problem.”

  She smiled at his modest good humor. “I suppose Lieutenant Geier is the sort of chap who only gets in the way.”

  Wyatt pulled over a stack of photographs, and his gaze slid to her. “For the record, you said it. I didn’t.”

&n
bsp; The door opened, and Lawrence strolled in. Alone, thank goodness.

  Dorothy wanted to spring to her feet, but she rose sedately.

  Oh dear. It would also be rude not to say good-bye to Wyatt. “I’ll see you Monday. Thank you again.”

  “Glad to do it.” Wyatt pressed his face to the stereo glasses. “Then you can tell me all about church.”

  Dorothy grimaced. Last Sunday she’d used the extensive bomb damage as an excuse to stay home, but could she use the same excuse this week? And how beastly that she hadn’t kept her end of the bargain after Wyatt had written that soul-wrenching letter.

  Lawrence smiled at her and continued on his way.

  She stopped him right outside his office. “Excuse me, sir. I have a report for you.”

  “Very good.” He took the report and skimmed it. “This also gives me the opportunity to ask if you’re free this evening.”

  Why was he free this evening? Because Helen was leaving for Liverpool? She wanted to leap at the offer, but sophisticated women didn’t leap. And they didn’t accept hand-me-downs. “It’s rather late notice.”

  “Please, Dorothy.” He cupped her elbow in his hand and slacked one hip closer to her, his hazel eyes warm and apologetic. “I’ve been dreadfully busy, but I’m dying to see you.”

  Dorothy’s heart raced, but for the wrong reasons. What if Blissy saw them in such an intimate pose? She eased her elbow free. “Did you hear what happened to Third Officer Woolford?”

  Lawrence’s eye twitched. “She transferred to Liverpool, if I heard right.”

  “First Officer Bliss-Baldwin forced her to do so, because Helen stepped out with you. I can’t afford to make the same mistake. Papa needs me here.”

  “So you won’t see me tonight?”

  His forlorn expression pressed on her heart. She had to refuse the man she’d loved forever. For Papa’s sake. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “I thought you liked danger.” Mischief lifted his tone.

  “I—I do.” Not quite true. She liked excitement, not danger. “But not tonight. I can’t take the risk of being seen.”

  “Very good, then.” He gave her an understanding smile and entered his office.

  A groan flowed up, but she stifled it. Would she ever have another chance?

  15

  London

  Monday, March 6, 1944

  Wyatt wiped the palm of his free hand on his trousers and rang the doorbell. Dining with strangers? Again? Only for Dorothy.

  Granted, he had no foolish notions. The other day he’d seen how close she stood to Eaton, the looks that passed between them, and he knew full well how she felt about the man. But Eaton’s skirt-chasing soothed Wyatt’s conscience and validated his pursuit.

  The door opened to a tiny lady in her forties wearing a dark floral dress. “Oh! You must be Lieutenant Paxton. I’m Wilma Montague. Please come in. We’re so glad you could come.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. This is for you.” He stepped inside and handed her the little cardboard box. “My mama would pitch a fit if she saw how I wrapped a hostess gift. Just some things from the store in quarters, things I know you folks are short on here.”

  Mrs. Montague poked around in the box. “Oh my. Sweets. Soap. What a treat. If my friends hear, you and your colleagues will be inundated with invitations. But I’ll keep you my little secret.” Light brown eyes twinkled at him.

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  She tipped her head to one side. “Why don’t you join Dorothy in the drawing room while I fetch Mr. Montague?”

  He thanked her and stepped into the next room.

  Dorothy stood by the fireplace in her navy blue uniform, smiling at him. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

  “I promised, didn’t I?” If only he could keep that smile directed at him forever. “Speaking of promises, how was church yesterday?”

  “Oh.” She inspected the family portraits on the mantel. “I’m afraid I was unable to attend.”

  Second week in a row, and this time she didn’t even bother with an excuse. He injected his voice with a hint of teasing. “Hey, now. I kept my end of the deal. I mailed that letter two weeks ago.” Had it reached Texas yet? What would his parents think?

  “I’m sorry, Wyatt.” Her voice caught. “I know that was difficult for you, but I simply can’t abide the thought . . . walking in alone, how people will stare. It’s been so long. And the rector, how he’ll fuss over me.”

  How could he be annoyed when her pretty eyes washed with regret, pain . . . fear? Fear of being conspicuous? More likely fear of facing the Lord. For now, he’d let her off the hook.

  Mr. and Mrs. Montague entered the room and exchanged greetings.

  Mrs. Montague squeezed Dorothy’s hand. “It’s good to see you after all these years, Dolly.”

  “Dorothy, please.” She offered an apologetic smile.

  “Of course. You have grown up. So like your dear mother in every way.” Mrs. Montague faced Wyatt with watery eyes. “If only you could have known Margaret Fairfax. Such high spirits, such charm.”

  Wyatt swallowed hard, determined not to botch the chance at a compliment. “If she was anything like her daughter, she must have been lovely.”

  Both ladies smiled. Dorothy lowered her chin, and Wyatt’s chest filled with an unfamiliar joy.

  Mrs. Montague ushered them into the dining room, smaller than at the Fairfax home and not as fancy, but nice enough to make Wyatt feel all elbows and knees.

  Potato soup was served. Small talk. War talk. Apologies for the rations. Apologies for the air raids. Apologies for the weather.

  Mrs. Montague excused herself and brought in the main course. “I do apologize for the service. Our cook is doing war work now, of course.”

  “I don’t mind, ma’am.” Wyatt shrugged off apologies again. “Where I come from, we’re really casual.”

  Mrs. Montague gave him a warm smile and set the platter in front of her husband.

  Leg of mutton. Wyatt’s stomach lurched. Not only did he hate using up meat rations when the US Navy fed him well, but he didn’t like mutton. However, if he complained, somehow Mama would find out and chap his hide. “Smells good.”

  Mr. Montague sliced the meat. “So, Lieutenant, Dorothy tells me you’re an accountant.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Is your father an accountant too?”

  “No, sir. He runs a trucking business. He wanted me to work for him.”

  One eyebrow rose on the man’s thin face. “You didn’t want to?”

  “No, sir. I did. I do, I suppose.” He glanced to Dorothy, and she gave him an encouraging smile. “I helped with the business when I was in high school, but I didn’t feel ready to help run the company. I thought a business degree would help. My dad disagreed. He never went to college and he runs the company just fine.”

  “In my opinion, university is always good for a man.” Mr. Montague passed him a plate of mutton, potatoes, and brussels sprouts.

  “I think so too, sir. So my dad and I cut a deal. I’d work for him for two years, earn my tuition money. Then my brother Adler would be out of high school and could take my place. My dad made the same deal with both my brothers.” A twinge in his gut. When he ran away from home, he’d left Paxton Trucking without a son for two years.

  “Wise man, your father.” Mr. Montague’s smile lifted the ends of his mustache.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did your education accomplish your goals?”

  Wyatt took a bite of mutton and sorted his thoughts while he chewed. “I’m good with figures. I like the books, the scheduling, figuring out loads and routes. Adler’s my opposite. He likes working with clients, vendors, truckers. I was hoping my degree would fill in the holes.”

  “Did it?”

  Daddy’s face flashed in his mind. “I don’t need fancy number tricks. I need a leader.”

  Wyatt’s jaw clenched, and he pressed the tines of his fork into his mashed potatoes, avoiding Dorothy.
“Now I’m even better with figures, but no better with people.”

  Mr. Montague chuckled. “I’m sure your father is pleased to have a good accountant.”

  “I didn’t go to work for him.” He didn’t feel like talking about his sins tonight, but he would if he had to.

  “Ah, the war, yes. So many plans put on hold. Our Harry is with the Eighth Army in Italy.”

  “We’re so proud of him.” Mrs. Montague’s face lit up.

  “As you should be.” Wyatt smiled from the evidence of parental love and from the merciful reprieve.

  “Let me explain why I invited you here tonight.” Mr. Montague sipped his tea. “Something isn’t right at Fairfax & Sons. Business is stronger than ever, but we’re losing money. Like your brother, my strength is with personnel not mathematics. I’ve inspected the books but can’t locate the source of the loss. And Mr. Fairfax . . .”

  “He rarely goes to the office, especially since this ‘Little Blitz’ began.” Dorothy fingered the linen napkin in her lap. “He denies there’s a problem.”

  “But there is,” Mr. Montague said. “If the situation doesn’t change, our coffers will soon be empty, and we’ll be forced to cut back. Since we already run a tight ship, any cuts would only curtail business. I’m afraid the company is in dire straits.”

  Wyatt frowned at the concern on all the faces. “And your accountants . . . ?”

  “They haven’t found the source either.”

  “What if they are the source?” Mrs. Montague leaned closer to Dorothy with an eager look in her eye. “I do love a good mystery, don’t you, dear?”

  Dorothy’s smile looked feeble.

  Mr. Montague fixed an appraising look on Wyatt. “Dorothy told me you suggested having an outside accountant investigate.”

  Wyatt shoveled in a brussels sprout so he’d have time to choose his words. Nasty vegetable. What he wouldn’t give for a bottle of hot sauce. “Yes, sir. An experienced man who could look at the books with fresh eyes.”

  “Are you willing?”

  “Me, sir? I’m not experienced.”

  “But you are an accountant. If word of scandal leaks out, our contracts with the crown will be endangered. I wanted to keep the investigation within the company, but we’re small. It would be best to engage someone without links to the British business world. Someone like you.”