The Sea Before Us Page 5

  Just as well he hadn’t asked. Yesterday, he’d dropped by Norfolk House for some data, and he’d overheard Lawrence Eaton invite her to dinner. She’d accepted, although she acted uninterested. However, as soon as Eaton left the room, Dorothy ran squealing to her girlfriends.

  It was clear. Dorothy had known the man for years and had a crush on him.

  At least Wyatt’s debt saved him the embarrassment of rejection. And he could nip his own crush in the bud.

  Wyatt opened the door to Commander Marino’s office, crowded with his fellow officers.

  Jack Vale joined him by the door, looking pale. “Ready?”

  “Yep.” He knew his material and couldn’t wait to present it. “How about you?”

  “Nervous.” Jack ran his hand over his dark brown hair. “It’s swell that Marino’s giving his junior officers a chance to do the presentations, but this is an admiral. Admiral Kirk.”

  “You’ll do great. You always do.” He gave an encouraging smile.

  “Ready to cover for Geier?” Jack said in a low voice.

  “I don’t mind as long as the work gets done.”

  Geier stood talking with Marino by the commander’s desk. Marino looked over Geier’s shoulder at Wyatt, then back to Geier and he nodded. What was that about?

  Commander Marino worked his way to the door. “Let’s go, men.”

  Wyatt and Jack followed the group of officers in dress blues down more hallways and up more stairs.

  The Allied Naval Expeditionary Force had just released the Initial Joint Plan for Operation Neptune, and now Rear Adm. Alan Kirk, commander of the Western Naval Task Force, had requested reports from all divisions.

  An amphibious assault on this scale had never been undertaken, and many interlocking components were required to make it work.

  Ships needed ports, oil, and maintenance. Sailors needed food, housing, and training. Then the ships needed to be loaded and arranged in convoys. The shipping lanes needed to be swept of mines and protected from attack.

  During the assault phase, the Navy would bombard and would guide landing craft to the beaches. Then in the build-up phase, convoys would ferry reinforcements and supplies.

  It was a massive operation. Wyatt grinned at Jack. What an honor to play even a small role.

  Marino led his officers into a conference room, where they met Adm. Alan Kirk. A trim man in his fifties with lean features, Kirk had experience as a military attaché in London, on destroyers, in intelligence, and in the landings in the Mediterranean—a perfect blend for Neptune.

  The officers sat around a long table. Jack looked gray, so Wyatt sent him a smile. They frequently joked about how sociable Jack hated public speaking but reserved Wyatt loved it.

  Marino introduced his division’s work and called up Jack’s team. They were coordinating communications with the Royal Navy, the Shore Fire Control Parties, and the RAF pilots who would serve as air spotters. Jack’s team took turns presenting their report, sharing the credit as they’d shared the work. Despite a warble in Jack’s voice, he came across as bright and knowledgeable.

  When he finished, Wyatt gave him a discreet thumbs-up.

  Commander Marino stood again. “Now we’ll hear from Mr. Geier.”

  Wyatt winced at the oversight and scooted his chair back.

  But Marino caught his eye, shook his head, and motioned for Wyatt to sit.

  He obeyed because he was ordered to, but his jaw drifted low.

  What was going on? Geier had only read the report once. He had no depth of knowledge and wasn’t familiar with the background and details.

  Geier stood with a confident smile, his blond hair sleek. He presented the report—Wyatt’s report!—in a superficial way. He kept referring the officers to the report, kept saying, “I don’t want to bore you with facts and figures,” and kept up that cocky stance and breezy manner.

  What a phony.

  “Any questions?” Geier asked.

  Vindictiveness knotted in Wyatt’s gut. Now he’d get nabbed.

  Admiral Kirk flipped through papers. “None at this point. The report is thorough and well written. Excellent work.”

  Geier bowed his head. “Thank you, sir. We worked hard on it.”

  That knot burned inside. We? Now he chose to be humble and inclusive?

  More teams presented, but Wyatt couldn’t listen, couldn’t see, couldn’t look at Jack or Geier or Marino, and he couldn’t leave. But he had to control his jealousy. Had to.

  Wyatt drew slow breaths, praying, cooling down, unraveling that deadly knot. It didn’t matter who presented. It didn’t matter what the other officers thought of him. The work was done and done well, and nothing else mattered.

  At last they were dismissed. While the men chatted, Wyatt tucked his officer’s cover under his arm and sneaked out.

  “Wy! Wait for me.” Jack jogged up beside him. “What happened in there? Why did Geier do the presentation when you did all the work?”

  Wyatt’s footsteps resounded in the hallway. “Most, not all.”

  “That’s more credit than he gave you.”

  “Reckon Commander Marino thought he’d do a better job speaking.” Was that what they’d conferred about in Marino’s office? He could imagine what Geier might have said—how Wyatt was too shy, too awkward, too obsessed with numbers.

  Wyatt flexed his fingers. It didn’t matter, didn’t matter one bit.

  “Why’d you let him take credit for your work?”

  “The commander ordered me to stay seated. And Geier didn’t actually take credit.”

  Jack led the way down the stairs. “You’ve got to stand up for yourself.”

  He exhaled a long stream of air to calm down. “I refuse to let jealousy control me.”

  “Jealousy?” Jack stopped at the bottom of the stairs, eyebrows twisted. “What’s jealousy have to do with it?”

  Wyatt strode past his friend toward the front door. “Who cares if I get credit?”

  “But if Commander Marino thinks Geier does all the work, he’ll edge you out for projects.”

  “So what?” If he kept telling himself that, he’d come to believe it.

  Jack shook his head. “You always say you don’t want to fail. But if Marino gives a crucial project to Geier instead of you, and Geier fails . . .”

  Wyatt sucked in a breath. Then the project would fail. Possibly endangering the invasion.

  Nonsense. He was thinking too highly of himself again—the only man who could save the invasion, the only man who could protect Oralee.

  He shoved open the door and slipped his cover onto his head. “Geier won’t fail. He’s plenty capable when he puts his mind to it.”

  “Hope you’re right.” Out on the sidewalk, Jack checked his watch. “Say, it’s noon. Want to find some fish and chips? We have an hour before our next meeting.”

  His face scrunched up. “Transportation costs are killing my budget—”

  “My treat and don’t argue.” Jack whacked him on the arm and marched across the street. “I was supposed to treat you for your birthday that night at the restaurant when you got lost.”

  Wyatt checked to the left and stepped off the curb.

  A horn bleated at him, and he hopped back as a black taxi sped by—from the right. Kept forgetting to look the other way.

  On the other side of the street, Jack spread his hands wide in mock exasperation. “You’d do anything to get out of doing something fun.”

  A glance to the right, and Wyatt jogged across to his friend. “I like fun. As long as it’s free.”

  They stepped through a split in the hedge around the park. “I know you want to pay off your debt, but you have to stop punishing yourself.”

  Not until every penny was paid off, with interest and a hefty fine. “I miss them, you know.”

  “Your family?”

  A huge silver barrage balloon lay limp on the grass, waiting for the next air raid. “Adler and I fought, but we loved each other. And Clay? He
could do no wrong. The nicest kid. If anyone picked on him for being half-Mexican? Well, that’s one time Adler and I always agreed. No one picks on our kid brother.”

  “Yeah. I have a little sister. I understand.”

  “That’s why it hurts. I always stood up for Clay—until I betrayed him. That’s why I have to pay him back. I want my family back. They may not forgive me, but I’ve got to try.”

  “You could write now, let them know the money’s coming, send what you have.”

  “Nope.” Wyatt picked up a pebble on the path and chucked it into the grass. “Every penny. I need proof that I’m sorry, that I know I was wrong and regret what I did.”

  Jack shrugged. “You should at least let them know you’re alive.”

  Wyatt chuckled. “Once they have my address, I may no longer be alive. The Paxton boys—well, Adler has a hot temper. And Clay—he has a long fuse and a longer burn.”

  “And you?” Jack edged to the side with a comical look.

  Wyatt winked. “You don’t want to find out.”

  Jack laughed. “Still—”

  “Nope. Absolutely not.”

  “Stubborn old Wyatt. Your theme song should be ‘All or Nothing at All.’”

  A slow smile. Yes, it should.

  7

  Kensington

  Friday, February 4, 1944

  “I don’t like all that paint on your face.”

  Dorothy suppressed a groan and studied herself in the mirror by the door. “It’s the twentieth century, Papa. Women wear makeup.”

  “I don’t care. I don’t like it. I hardly recognize my own daughter.”

  That was the idea. Not one freckle showed, mascara made her eyes shine, and a burnished shade of lipstick complemented her hair color and would accentuate every droll smile.

  “I wish you’d step out with Wyatt instead of Lawrence.”

  Why wouldn’t he give up? With an affectionate smile, she faced her father. “I’ve adored Lawrence for years. He’s so exciting.”

  Papa’s face turned to stone.

  Footsteps sounded on the front steps, and Dorothy’s heart bounded. “Now, be kind, Papa.”

  She waited for the doorbell to ring, counted to ten so she wouldn’t look eager, and opened the door.

  Lawrence removed his officer’s cap. “Good evening, Dorothy.”

  How could any man be so unspeakably handsome? “Good evening. You remember my father.” She stepped back from the doorway.

  “I do.” His eyebrows sprang, but then he recovered and smiled. “Good evening, Mr. Fairfax. It’s good to see you again, sir.”

  Papa returned his handshake but not his smile. “Lieutenant Commander Eaton. You don’t seem changed at all.”

  “Thank you, sir.” His hazel eyes shone. “That’s a fine compliment.”

  “If you choose to see it that way. Good evening.” He retreated to his study.

  Dorothy glared after him. She worked so hard to save that man’s neck, and now she wanted to wring it.

  “Shall we?” Lawrence held open the door.

  She glided down the steps to the cab and slid into the backseat. Lawrence joined her and tapped the back of the driver’s seat. The cab pulled away.

  Now she could apologize for her father’s rudeness. She faced Lawrence, opened her mouth . . . and halted.

  He leaned close, his expression intent. “Please excuse my impertinence, but there’s something I must do.”

  He was so close she couldn’t speak, this man she’d loved for a decade, and he pressed his lips to hers, smooth and confident.

  All too soon, he pulled away. “Pardon me, but I couldn’t think of anything but kissing you. Now it’s taken care of, and I shall be able to concentrate properly on you over dinner.”

  Dorothy struggled to catch her breath. How was she supposed to concentrate on conversation? All she’d be able to think about was that kiss.

  Somehow she had to be droll. “I’m glad we put that unpleasantness behind us.” A tiny lift to the corner of her mouth to say she’d found the kiss anything but unpleasant.

  A chuckle, and Lawrence settled back in his seat.

  If only her friends could see how sophisticated she was acting. “Where are we dining?”

  “At the River Restaurant at the Savoy.”

  Her breath stopped—for a different reason. “The Savoy? Isn’t that near where the Nazis bombed last night?”

  “The hotel wasn’t damaged.”

  She clenched the strap of her handbag. Didn’t he remember her mother had died in an air raid? “What if they come back tonight? They often do. They often target the same area.”

  “That’s the fun of it—taking risks, flirting with danger.” The darkness concealed his expression, but not the disappointment in his voice. “I thought you were the sort of girl who liked excitement.”

  Oh no. How could things have gone so wrong, so quickly? “I—I do like excitement. Very much.”

  “Ah, that’s more like it.” His voice warmed. “I seem to recall a girl who always wanted to join her brothers’ escapades.”

  “I did.” She made what she hoped was a charming pout. “But they always excluded me. Terribly unfair.”

  “Terribly wise.” Lawrence laughed. “I’m afraid I was a rather poor influence on your brothers. Did they tell you about the time I absconded with some poor Frenchman’s motorbike?”

  She clucked her tongue. “You did no such thing.”

  “I did. And the three of us—all three of us on that motorbike—careened through the village—upsetting apple carts and such. I’m afraid we wreaked a bit of havoc.”

  She laughed at the amused regret in his tone. “Please tell me that was the end of it.”

  “If only I could, but I’m a frightful rogue.”

  He was, and she adored him. “Do tell me more.”

  For the rest of the cab ride, he regaled her with anecdotes. Not only was he a delightful storyteller, but his tales brought back happy memories of Art and Gil and Normandy. And when he did the talking, being sophisticated only required occasional clever comments.

  They arrived at the Savoy, and Lawrence led her inside. “There was the time we found a bottle of Calvados—I won’t say who found it or how—and the three of us drank it in one sitting. I believe a herd of goats was involved in that night’s havoc, but I can’t quite remember.”

  As he helped with her coat, she gazed up at him through her lashes. “I didn’t realize what a naughty boy you were.”

  “But your father did. It appears he hasn’t forgotten.” He made an adorable hangdog face.

  “If you can behave yourself, I daresay he’ll forgive you.”

  “But I’m not behaving myself. I’m taking his daughter out on the town, and I’m not to be trusted.” His eyes glinted.

  A tingle shivered its way from her belly to her throat. He was sublime.

  As they were escorted to their table, Dorothy tried not to stare at the elaborate furnishings and the well-dressed patrons. A sophisticated woman would be accustomed to such things, so she tried to look blasé. Since a woman in uniform was always well dressed, she refused to bemoan her lack of silk, lace, and jewels.

  At the table, Dorothy studied the menu and ordered the suprêmes de volailles Jeannette.

  “Speaking of your father . . .” Lawrence frowned at the candlestick. “I’m saddened to find him so altered.”

  She smoothed her serviette in her lap. “The war’s been hard on him, I admit, but he’s muddling through.” No need for him to know how poorly Papa was doing or about the potential scandal at Fairfax & Sons.

  “I’m glad you’re stationed in London.”

  “I am too. I hope I can stay.”

  He tilted his head. “Why wouldn’t you?”

  “First Officer Bliss-Baldwin believes it’s the duty of every Englishwoman to tour the Empire. She’s determined to have me transferred. I’ve told her I don’t wish to serve overseas, but she won’t listen. She said she’s going t
o draw up the papers for me, but I won’t sign them.”

  His smile gleamed in the candlelight. “You’d like her to relent.”

  “Yes, but she won’t.”

  “I’ll talk to her. She’ll listen to me.”

  Dorothy sat up taller. “Would you? I’d appreciate that. I told her my father needed me at home. She asked, ‘Why? How old is he?’ I told her he was fifty-four, and she said, ‘Why, that isn’t old at all. Is he an invalid?’”

  Bliss-Baldwin’s clipped tones were fun to mimic, and Dorothy added the woman’s signature gestures. “‘No, he isn’t an invalid,’ I told her. ‘But he misses my mother and brothers, and I’m all he has.’ Then she said, ‘He needs a stiff upper lip. We have all made sacrifices in this war, and he mustn’t hold back a good officer.’” She mimicked the imperious expression with a flourish.

  Lawrence hailed the waiter, who brought over a basket of bread. He hadn’t responded to her.

  Her mouth went dry. What had she done? Jolly Dolly had reared her fat, freckled head.

  While Lawrence buttered his bread, Dorothy pulled herself together. Composed, urbane, droll. “Now, Lawrence, you’ve told me about your mischief in Normandy. Surely you were better behaved at Cambridge.”

  He chuckled. “Surely you know better.”

  It was safer to let him talk. She leaned forward, listened, and responded properly, locking naughty Dolly back in her room where she belonged. If only being droll Dorothy weren’t so difficult.

  8

  Kensington Gardens

  Sunday, February 6, 1944

  Wyatt drank in the scent of earth and grass and water. As much as he loved London, he pined for the country. Kensington Gardens helped fill that void.

  “Who’s up for a swim?” Jack pointed to the marble pools of the Italian Gardens. “Awful hot today.”

  Wyatt laughed and stuck his gloved hands in the pockets of his overcoat. It was maybe forty degrees. “Go ahead. Dare you.”

  Ted Kelvin leaned back against a stone urn. “Yeah, Vale. Bet you two bucks you won’t.”