She held paying my debt over my head in Paris then used me as a pawn. She’d do it again if given the chance. Amelia had to remember that and not be taken in by her kind gesture and the cozy afternoon. If push came to shove, Wallis would look out for no one but herself.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Shangri-La, March 15, 1941

“To Her Royal Highness, the heroine.” Mr. Wenner-Gren raised his champagne glass to Wallis.

“To Her Royal Highness,” the guests cheered in unison.

Wallis blushed with the required humility but the satisfaction in her eyes gave her away. She basked in their admiration and radiated it back like her tiara did the torchlight around the massive square pool. The water sparkled blue in the center of the green grass of Shangri-La’s massive tiered garden. Beyond it, stone terraces led up to a folly of multiple arches overlooking lily ponds. Amelia could hear croaking frogs competing with the waves from the nearby beach. Somewhere down that beach was the deepwater harbor.

The band began to play and with Wallis occupied with Mr. Wenner-Gren, Amelia slowly made her way through the highest of Bahamian society, wandering behind groups of people who strolled up the terraces toward the folly. She reached the arched stone with a view of the ocean. The waves were louder here than the band’s melodious bass drums and accompanied the chirping frogs and insects, bringing the night alive. Below, on the white strip of sand between the foliage and the dark water, a cargo truck drove toward the spit of land separating the Shangri-La beach from the deepwater harbor. She couldn’t see much in the sliver of the crescent moon except the white foam waves washing across the pale sand. Amelia checked to make sure no one noticed or cared what she was doing, then started down to the beach. She kept close to where the windswept autograph trees and tangles of sea grapes met the sand, her dark silk dress allowing her to blend into the shadows and obscure her from anyone who might be watching. Sand chafed her skin and stockings as her kitten heels sank with each step but she kept going. The hum of a truck engine over the hill was barely audible during the slight pauses between the waves. Something was happening there and she wanted to see what it was.

She followed the beach until it curved toward the jutting point of the spit. She found a path through the foliage that crossed the spit and would save her time. She crept along it, stopping more than once to carefully free her skirt from a bush. She couldn’t return to the party looking as if she’d had a roll in one of the dunes and have Wallis questioning where she’d been.

She followed the narrow, rocky path until it stopped near the crest and gasped in horror at the sight below. In a natural cove that protected it from the waves, a long U-boat sat at the surface, the hatches open as sailors unloaded crates and supplies from the truck into the ship. The faint smell of diesel fuel mingled with the ocean air from the large metal tanks on the dock between where the U-boat sat and the other side, where the Southern Cross bobbed against its moorings.

I have to tell someone. I have to tell Lady Williams-Taylor. It wasn’t her mission to stop anything, simply to observe and report, but she had to say something to someone before the U-boat slipped into the open ocean and sank another ship.

Amelia picked her way back down the path, struggling to keep to the barely marked trail, until she reached the soft sand that tugged at her feet and slowed her steps as she hurried to Shangri-La. Her calves ached from rushing through the sand and she slowed down when the band’s music began to mingle with the constant breaking waves. She couldn’t rush into the party like a crazed madwoman but had to appear calm and composed. In the shade of the folly, she picked leaves off her dress and removed her stockings, tossing the torn-up things into the bushes, glad her dress was long enough to cover the tops of her shoes. When she was suitably put together, she walked down the terraces and back to the pool, looking around for Barin but she didn’t see her among the Bahamian maids and footmen circulating with trays of cocktails and hors d’oeuvres.

“Where have you been?” Wallis hissed when she took her place beside her on the terra-cotta-tiled terrace.

“Exploring the gardens. They’re so big I didn’t realize how far I’d wandered until I had to turn back.” That was enough of a truth to hide the lie.

“I think my hem is coming loose. Please get me a safety pin.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Amelia was glad to have a reason to go inside the breezy home with wood-beam ceilings, limestone floors, and fine art.

A large bedroom with wainscoting and an attached bathroom was where the numerous female guests came to freshen their lipstick or get help with a torn stocking or a falling coiffure from the female attendant.

“She’s dressed like a queen,” plump Mrs. Stewart said to Mrs. Mackintosh as they left the restroom.

“She’s certainly acting like one but I guess this is as close to a throne as she’ll ever get.”

Their voices faded as Amelia wandered past the ladies’ room and deeper into the house.

I need to find a phone. Barin had given her a rough sketch of the house, and the office was near the back with a view of the ocean. She crept along the hallway, keeping a careful eye out for Mr. Wenner-Gren’s Swedish footmen. If they caught her here, she wasn’t sure they’d fall for her innocent smiles or lies about getting lost. From what she’d seen on the Southern Cross, his employees didn’t look like the type of men to be put off by a simpering woman.

She turned another corner, sure she was near the study, when footsteps against the tile sounded up ahead. She ducked into the closest room, her heart pounding in her chest as she pressed against the wall in the darkness behind the door while someone passed.

Once they were gone, Amelia peeked into the hall and noticed the room across from her, catching the silhouette of a phone at the corner of the large Honduran-mahogany desk in front of the ironwork-covered windows.

Amelia slipped across the hallway and slowly closed the door behind her. She lifted the phone receiver and listened to see if anyone was on the line but there was no one. She dialed Lady Williams-Taylor’s number, her home close enough for Amelia not to need the operator. It was risky to call her directly but she had no choice. That submarine had to be stopped.

“Pick up, pick up,” Amelia urged as the phone on the other end rang and no one answered.

She hung up, not sure what to do, then tried again, nearly collapsing against the desk when the butler answered, “Williams-Taylor residence.”

“Mrs. Montague calling for Miss Heastie.”

“One moment, please.”

Amelia twisted the phone cord around her finger, listening for footsteps in the hallway while she waited for Eugenie to come on. The line crackled and popped, and the noise of the waves from outside drifted through the windows.

Eugenie came on at last. “Amelia, what’s wrong?”

“I’m at Shangri-La. There’s a submarine at the deepwater harbor taking on supplies. I saw it. I don’t know how long we’ve got until it sets sail but it’s here.”

“I’ll tell Lady Williams-Taylor. Fingers crossed they can get a plane out of Florida to take care of it before it gets away. Stay safe, Amelia, and hope for fireworks.”

“I will.” She hung up, careful to return everything to exactly where she’d found it. She cracked open the office door and, not seeing anyone in the hallway, scurried out. She retraced her steps to the main room, making sure to get a safety pin from the bathroom attendant.

“Is Barin working tonight?” she asked the young Bahamian woman attending to the guests.

“She is, but I haven’t seen her.”

“If you do, tell her Mrs. Montague would like to speak with her.” The more people she could get the word out to, the better.

“I will.”

Amelia dropped a dollar bill from her clutch purse into the young woman’s tip jar then hurried back outside to the party.

“What took you so long?” Wallis snapped when Amelia returned.

“It was busy in there. Too much champagne.”

“This is an island of morons and drunks.” Wallis took the safety pin, distracted by one of the morons who came to speak to her. Amelia stepped back, standing on the fringes as usual but on the lookout for Barin. She didn’t see her, and with Wallis in a terror about Amelia being gone for so long, she had to remain close by.

Amelia checked the Cartier watch Wallis and the Duke had given her for Christmas. Time was ticking, and in between the band’s songs she listened for the hum of fighter planes but there was nothing except the chatter of guests. Wallis and the Duke were speaking with members of the General Assembly when Mr. Wenner-Gren joined them. He stood beside Wallis and leaned down to whisper something in her ear.

Amelia felt a bead of sweat roll down her back, afraid he knew about the call and her sneaking around and was telling Wallis.

He didn’t stay with Wallis long before wending through his guests for more conversation, and Amelia allowed her tense shoulders to relax.

“My hem is worse than I thought. We have to go inside and see to it before it gets worse,” Wallis instructed a few minutes later and led Amelia inside.

“The restroom is this way, ma’am.” Amelia pointed as Wallis headed toward the east wing of the house.

“It’s too crowded in there and I’ll have no privacy. The last thing I need is women whispering about the color of my garters and having it end up in the gossip columns. Axel put one of his rooms at my disposal. We’ll go there.”

Wallis led Amelia deep into the house and into a bedroom with a four-poster bed and white wainscoting on either side of the large, plantation-style windows with a view of the ocean. Inside, Mr. Wenner-Gren stood waiting for them.

“Mrs. Montague, how nice of you to join us.” He strode around her, closed the door, and turned the key in the lock then dropped it in his tuxedo pocket. “I understand you’ve been making telephone calls from my private office?”

“I don’t know what you mean, sir.” The clicking phone line. Someone must have been listening.

“Of course you do. Who were you calling and what was it about?”