A chill filled her. There was more to this than chasing after old letters, she could feel it. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Not at all.” Wallis’s cool blue eyes and bland expression betrayed nothing. She’d spent her life pretending to the press, society, and the Duke that she was above worry or care or human emotion. It’d become as easy to her as breathing. “I’m simply looking out for you and everyone’s best interests.”
“By sending me into the lion’s den?”
“I’d never ask you to do this if I thought it was dangerous.”
“You wouldn’t ask me to do it if you cared about me.”
“I’ve told you before, you’re like a daughter to me, but this is no time to be overly sentimental. You’re a brave, adventurous girl. It’s nothing you can’t manage.”
“I won’t go.”
The ice of controlled anger hardened Wallis’s blue eyes and made Amelia take a step back. “You owe me this, especially after all I’ve done for you. I educated and dressed you, introduced you to influential people, and made something of you. Aren’t you grateful?”
Amelia’s stomach dropped. “Of course, but—”
“Then it’s time for you to help me, and a great deal to lose if you don’t. I paid off your debts. I’d hate to have to undo that arrangement.”
Amelia stared at Wallis, her cousin unrecognizable and familiar all at once. “It would ruin me.”
“Then let’s not allow it to come to that.”
It was like a punch in the gut, hitting her so hard it was a wonder she could stand up straight. For the first time, she saw what Theodore, Mrs. Gordon, and others had seen, the demanding woman who placed her own self-interest above everyone and everything else. She didn’t doubt for a moment Wallis would call in the debt if she refused to go and she struggled to think of some excuse to stay, a reason why this was an awful idea, but deep down she knew there was no argument she could make. Wallis wanted that safe and nothing else, not even Amelia and everything they’d been to one another, mattered.
Amelia fiddled with the button on her blouse, one Wallis had bought and paid for at Schiaparelli. Everything Amelia had, from her social connections to her career and the very clothes on her back, had come from Wallis, and suddenly her present life wasn’t a new start but a silver web spun by Wallis to entrap her. No matter which way she turned she was caught.
How did I end up in this position again? She’d trusted Wallis, believed in her, stood beside her, and in the end, Wallis was willing to hold it over her head to make Amelia do what she wanted. She had no idea what Wallis was even doing or what she was really asking Amelia to do. She could be accused of passing information to the enemy or whatever else Wallis was embroiled in, and it was clear Wallis would drag her down with her if it all went bad. But Wallis could ruin her if she refused.
“Well?” Wallis demanded, and Amelia flinched. There was no way out of this.
“I’ll go.” She couldn’t afford not to.
Chapter Nineteen
Paris, June 20, 1940
Amelia disembarked from the Nice train at Gare de Lyon station, shocked to hear more German than French and see the mass of gray uniforms on the platform. The Blue Train had taken two days to reach Paris instead of the usual five hours, delayed by the confusion of transporting people and troops. Amelia had been forced to sleep in her seat, and with no energy for the long walk to 24 Boulevard Suchet, she stepped aboard the Paris Metro, one of the few civilians brave or foolish enough to travel with so many German soldiers. The metro trains were still running, the Germans keeping Paris moving for their convenience, not the Parisians’. The soldiers on board were courteous and polite, enjoying their odd holiday, but she sensed that could change in an instant. She kept her head down and made herself as small and unnoticeable as possible. Thankfully, the Germans ignored her and she emerged from La Muette metro station with no incidents and made the short walk to Boulevard Suchet.
The street was eerily still and her knock at the front door sounded like cannon fire. Mr. Hardeley, his face as somber as the few others’ she’d seen on the walk here, let her in. Amelia stood in the foyer as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. The closed shutters let in only slivers of light that illuminated the dust covers over the furniture. She’d spent hours with Wallis planning every detail of the decor and now it was protected by nothing more than a few locks, an old caretaker, and the red letter pasted on the door stating the house was under the protection of the American government. The lack of life inside reminded her of standing in the Wellesley house before she’d left it to the creditors and her past forever.
How did I end up in this situation again? She’d asked that question over and over on the train to Paris. Another person she’d loved and trusted had played her for a dupe, and she’d allowed it to happen. She’d been too enamored of Wallis, too eager to be like her, to be loved and admired by her and others, to see who Wallis really was. Jackson had ruined her life. Wallis might be the end of it if she wasn’t careful.
“We need to get to work,” Monsieur Hardeley urged. “You don’t want to draw too much attention to yourself or the house.”
Together, they hid Wallis’s safe in a trunk beneath the furs, shoes, and other odds and ends from Wallis’s list. Monsieur Hardeley and his son loaded the trunk into his truck. She’d negotiated with him to drive it south, the caretaker eager to get paid to leave Paris and spend the war in the country with his family. Amelia gave them a little extra for their troubles before they drove off. She wasn’t certain she or Wallis would ever see those things again, but she’d upheld her part of the bargain. It was time for her to go.
But where?
She locked up the house then stood on the stoop, debating what to do. She didn’t want to go back to Wallis, but Wallis and the Duke could get her to England. London was full of titled and rich women in need of private secretaries. She could start a new life there, free from anyone’s influence, or she could walk away from Wallis now and find a way to succeed on her own.
Wallis can go to hell.
She hurried toward the train station but her determination slowed with her steps.
She couldn’t afford to leave Wallis. She had nothing but her traveling suit and one change of clothes in her leather satchel. Her savings was in America, and if she distanced herself from Wallis, Wallis might force her to repay the debt or whisper nasty things about Amelia to her wealthy friends and ruin any chance she had of starting over. Everything she owned was with Wallis but she wasn’t, and neither were her friends or Robert. They were at the Chancery, and they were the one thing she had that Wallis didn’t own. They’d help her decide what to do and where to go next.
She skipped the metro, afraid to risk another ride with the soldiers, and decided to walk instead. She hurried down the quiet Avenue du Président Wilson, stepping over and around piles of things discarded by fleeing people, their lives left on the asphalt to be picked over by scavengers and dogs. Overhead, the evening sky was clear of fighter planes, and the sunset was less orange and red without the usual haze of chimney smoke and car exhaust to filter the light. Even the bird songs were louder without the roar of traffic to drown them out. Beneath their twittering, the hum of a single car engine caught her attention. She glanced over her shoulder and saw a black Mercedes idling on the curb down the block. She pulled her light coat closer around her and walked faster. The sooner she reached the safety of the Chancery, the better.
She turned the corner to another street, this one as quiet as the last except for the subtle hum of the Mercedes as it turned the corner too.
He’s following me.
She took a deep breath, determined not to panic while trying to decide what to do. She walked toward a bar just up the block, a small place not listed in Baedeker, eager to get off the street. Inside, despondent Parisians drowned their sorrows in cognac and Grand Marnier, the Germans uninterested in their misery.
“What are you doing in here?” the bartender barked when she approached him, eyeing her as if she were a member of the Totenkopf and drawing everyone’s attention to her.
“Can I use your telephone?” She dug a crisp franc note from her purse and slid it across the bar.
He slapped his hand over the money and tucked it in his apron pocket then jerked his thumb toward the phone in the corner.
“Merci.” She hurried to it, not wanting to spend more time in here than necessary but afraid to go back outside in case the Mercedes was still there. She dialed the number she knew by heart and breathed a sigh of relief when Susan answered the phone. “Susan, it’s Amelia. Is Robert there?”
“No, he’s with Ambassador Bullitt. Where are you?”
“In Paris.”
“What are you doing here?”
