Catching the Wind(59)

Eddie rapidly buttoned his shirt.

“Apparently the New Year’s party has already begun.” A mink fur was wrapped over her bare shoulders, across the low sleeves of her shimmering blue dress, but her most prominent feature was her protruding stomach. Clearly the woman was expecting a child and had no qualms in letting the world know.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

A smile slid smoothly across her lips, glistening from a fresh coat of gloss. “I’m a secret.” The woman walked toward the bed. “Hello, Mummy.”

Her ladyship straightened her shoulders like a soldier preparing for a battle. “Hush, Rosalind.”

When the woman saw Lady Ricker’s attire, she looked back at Eddie. Then she laughed again. A gut-wrenching, awful laugh that echoed down the corridor.

His gaze shuttled between the two women. Was Rosalind really Lady Ricker’s daughter?

Eddie closed the door so none of the servants would hear.

“The maid said you weren’t to be disturbed. I can see why.” Her gaze traveled from the top of Eddie’s head down to his toes. “Where’d she find you?”

Lady Ricker responded. “He was a photographer for London Life.”

Rosalind cocked her head. “And now?”

It was none of her business what he did now.

“Let me guess.” She eyed him again. “You were pressed into the service of agriculture so you won’t be called up.”

“I manage the gardens,” he said, refusing to let this woman humiliate him, even if she was Lady Ricker’s daughter.

Rosalind turned back toward her ladyship. “Stop looking at me like that, Mummy. I thought you’d welcome me home.”

Lady Ricker tied the cord around her robe. “We have friends coming soon. And Lord Ricker.”

Rosalind shrugged. “I’m not the one sleeping with the gardener.”

Lady Ricker studied her stomach. “You’ve been sleeping with someone.”

“A distinguished gentleman. To make you proud.” Rosalind collapsed onto a chair, looking out over the deer park covered in a fresh snow. “It’s been a long journey.”

Eddie wasn’t certain what to say. He’d known Lady Ricker had been married before she’d moved to England. Her first husband, the staff had whispered, owned half of Boston. But Eddie had been working here for almost four years now and no one had whispered about a daughter.

Rosalind tossed off her leather pumps. One of the heels was missing. “Papa sends his love.”

Eddie looked between the two women before settling his gaze on Lady Ricker. He’d known she had other lovers over the years, but thought she’d ended all of her relationships, except perhaps with Admiral Drague. “Who’s her father?”

Lady Ricker lit another cigarette and then took a long drag on it. “No one of significance.”

Rosalind swept her hands around the upholstered arms of the chair. “He’ll be thrilled to hear you say that.”

Anger boiled inside him. The women were playing some sort of game, and he wasn’t going to play along with them. “Where’s your father?” he asked.

“In Paris at the moment, meeting with Goebbels.” Rosalind leaned back on the chair, closed her eyes. “I’m famished.”

“Eddie will fetch you some food.”

“Oh, would you, Eddie?” She glanced over, winking at him.

“Don’t say anything to the others about her,” Lady Ricker commanded.

“Of course not.”

He looked away, deciding right then and there that the sooner Rosalind was gone, the better it would be for them all.





CHAPTER 35





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Quenby chugged down a cup of Colombian coffee made in her room’s Keurig. She’d been up much of the night, rereading the translations of Brigitte’s letters on her iPad, trying to piece together any hint of where Brigitte might have gone after the abrupt ending of her story in 1943.

Maybe she ran away with her new friend in spite of her fears. Or maybe another one of Hitler’s men had broken into her room, and she’d decided to run from him.

God forbid that any of those men had their way with her. The thought of it made Quenby’s stomach roll.

If Brigitte had left with an acquaintance, it meant someone else knew where she went, but nothing in her letter hinted at the age, nationality, or even gender of this mystery friend.

After showering, Quenby dressed in cropped jeans and a taupe blouse, switching her clumsy wellies to summer sandals since they had no plans to trek back into the forest this morning. She and Lucas would return to London today, though she wasn’t anxious to go home. Some days she liked getting lost in the crowds, but other days, like today, she didn’t want to be lost at all.

Back in her flat, she would read through the letters one more time, along with her notes, before she continued her search.

At a quarter till eight, she met Lucas down in the small library on the bottom floor of her inn. After closing the door behind her, she joined him on the formal settee. His laptop was propped up on a stack of books, the screen facing them as they waited for Mr. Knight’s morning call.

Mr. Knight’s face was darkened by shadows on the screen, the windows behind his desk black. It was almost midnight in the San Juans.