“That’s bad,” Eugenie said.
“I thought it was bad back in Prohibition when the island was crawling with bootleggers, but it’s nothing compared to now.” Lady Williams-Taylor removed a few books from the shelf behind the desk to reveal a small safe. “They were open and honest about what they did, good people trying to make a living off a unique opportunity. These new ones dress up and pretend at civility but they’ll shoot you in the back over nothing faster than a bootlegger ever would’ve. Bootleggers were at least gentlemen, weren’t they, Eugenie?”
“They were, ma’am.”
Lady Williams-Taylor rolled the combination lock back and forth until it opened then removed a small paper from inside. She unfolded it on the high polished mahogany desk and invited Amelia to have a look. “This is a map of Hog Island and Axel’s estate, Shangri-La.” She laid a gloved finger on a spot on the far side of Hog Island that was difficult to see even from the high ground of Government House. “I tried to keep the Windsors away from him when they arrived but they’re stubborn when it comes to falling in with the worst sort.”
“They practically run at them.” Amelia tugged the bonne chance charm back and forth on its chain.
“Axel is one of the most despicable. He didn’t appreciate my meddling in his friendship with the Duke and Duchess and it’s caused a bit of a rift between us. He’ll come to my parties because, of course, everyone who’s anyone here does, but he stopped inviting me and my friends to his. It’s made it hard to get evidence of what’s going on at Shangri-La and especially in that harbor. Most of his staff are Swedish military men, all of them pro-German and loyal beyond being bribed, but there’s one Bahamian maid who works in the house and she’s on our side.”
“Barin Rolle,” Eugenie added. “I’ll introduce you to her.”
“She’s there every day but restricted on where she can go. The other Bahamians he employs are gardeners and they’re never allowed in the house or on the grounds at night, but they’ve told Eugenie of a shortwave antenna that could broadcast Count Basie halfway to Russia.”
“What’s he using it for?” Amelia asked.
“Nothing at the moment, but when he finally does fire it up, I doubt it’ll be able to keep up on the price of whores in Stockholm.”
Amelia snorted in laughter.
“The deepwater harbor is here.” Lady Williams-Taylor pointed to a small bay around an outcropping of land just down the beach from Shangri-La. “The Bahamian groundsmen aren’t allowed there but according to them and Barin, the Swedish employees are regularly there during the day. None of them have seen anything suspicious but they aren’t there at night when everything of interest probably takes place. We can’t sail a ship past there or fly a plane overhead without arousing suspicion, but one person taking a peek at it from the bushes shouldn’t raise any alarms. See if you can find a way to get a look at it when you’re there for cocktails or dinner with the Windsors.”
“Should I look around the house too?”
“No, it isn’t safe, especially with you so close to your mark.” Lady Williams-Taylor folded up the map and returned it to the safe. “Nassau can be a very dangerous place, with desperate people willing to do anything for money. I can afford security. You’re much too young to end up in an alley with a slit throat.”
Amelia touched the gold necklace. “Wallis can be awful but she isn’t that bad.”
“She isn’t, but I don’t trust Axel as far as I could throw him. Be careful, dear. People may call this the Isles of Perpetual
June but it’s full of vipers.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Nassau, February 1941
Amelia lounged with Eugenie in the Windsors’ private cabana at the Emerald Beach Club. With little to no society in Nassau, there weren’t the endless invitations, dinner parties, and balls to attend to, fewer thank-you notes to write, and much less correspondence in general. It gave Amelia more free time than she’d ever enjoyed in Europe.
“Hard to believe there’s a war on when the ocean is so peaceful,” Amelia said to Eugenie as they watched the waves roll up onto the sand. Wallis was kind enough to let them use the cabana when she wasn’t using it, which was often. Wallis detested the heat but Amelia loved the thick air tempered by the sea breeze, the clear skies and the constant ocean tang. She wished Robert were here to enjoy it with her. She hadn’t heard from him since arriving, and what little news she’d had of him came from Susan’s letter. He was in Washington, D.C., and Susan saw him sometimes when she and her fiancé, who’d finally graduated from medical school, drove up for dinners with her old Embassy friends.
“It does make one almost forget all the world’s problems.” Eugenie wiggled her fingers at the club maître d’, who’d given Amelia no end of grief the first time she’d brought Eugenie here, insisting coloreds weren’t allowed in Emerald Beach Club. Amelia had thrown her official position in his face to ensure Eugenie never had trouble coming with her again. It hadn’t stopped him from tossing the occasional sour look in their direction.
“Almost.” Above the roar of the waves, the whir of a fighter plane engine made Amelia tense. Memories of London were hard to escape, especially with the American fighter planes from Florida regularly stopping at Oakes Field to refuel. It was a reminder of why she was here and what she and the world were fighting against.
“Any luck getting into the Duchess’s drawers?” Eugenie asked with a smirk.
“No. There’s hardly ever a chance. Between Mademoiselle Moulichon hovering over Wallis’s dry cleaning or Mr. Hale bringing in packages from Miami, and the maids, laundresses, and footmen, it’s like Grand Central Station in there.” She knew where Wallis kept the key to the desk drawer; she’d found it between hatboxes one afternoon while Mademoiselle Moulichon was off and the Duke and Wallis were sailing with Axel. She’d pinched it and had a copy made in Bay Street. She’d tried to get a look inside the drawer but Mademoiselle Moulichon had come back early and almost found her. It had scared her off any more searching, for the time being.
“See if you can get in there. Mr. Wenner-Gren finally fired up his antenna and he’s got a new code they haven’t cracked yet. See if you can get any idea of what he’s sending and to whom. Lady Williams-Taylor’s contact thinks it might be something about supply ship positions. If those get out, it’ll make them sitting ducks for U-boats and who knows how many sailors will die.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Christ Church Cathedral’s bells sounded the time and Amelia checked her watch. “I have to get back.”
“Me too. No rest for the wicked, eh?”
“I’ll say.”
Amelia strolled up quiet George Street to Government House. After a mild Caribbean winter, she didn’t know how she’d ever endure a frigid Baltimore or Paris once again. Perhaps when the war was over, and all this was behind her, she might settle in Miami. There were plenty of wealthy women in need of private secretaries there and she could easily set up a placement agency to serve them. She no longer needed Wallis’s help to do it, not with Lady Williams-Taylor on her side.
Amelia greeted the guards as she walked into Government House. She was about to go up to her room when the Fendi guest book on the table in the State Drawing Room caught her attention. Mr. Hale only brought it out when people visited, and no one was on the calendar for the Duke and Duchess today. Wallis was busy with her hairdresser and the Duke was at the weekly meeting of the Governor’s Executive Council. Wallis had finally persuaded him to take his duties as Chairman seriously, eager for him to look like a king as much as she wanted to appear like a queen. Besides encouraging him to govern, she’d forced him to cut down on his drinking and the entire household had thanked her for it.
She glanced at the book to see Axel Wenner-Gren’s bombastic signature above General Maximino Camacho’s. Mr. Wenner-Gren rarely visited Government House, especially not unannounced and not with a Mexican general involved in the oil trade in tow. Miss Bright had taught Amelia to be on the lookout for anything unusual no matter how insignificant, and this was unusual.
Footsteps sounded behind her and she straightened. Mr. Hale bustled in and flipped the book closed then slid it off the table and tucked it under his arm. “May I help you, Mrs. Montague?”
If she hadn’t suspected him of being a spy before, she was sure of it now. He didn’t want her to look at the book. “Where’s Her Royal Highness?”
“Upstairs with Mrs. Bethel, who’s seeing to her hair for tonight’s dinner.”
Amelia entered Wallis’s suite to find Wallis dressed in a robe and seated in a white wicker chair in the shade of the veranda while Mrs. Bethel did her hair. In a nod to boosting the local economy, Wallis had agreed to fly Antoine in from New York only once a month and he’d trained the Bahamian Mrs. Bethel to do Wallis’s hair every other day.
“How is business, Mrs. Bethel?” Amelia asked.
“Busy as ever. I had to hire another girl to help out. Every American tourist wants to have their hair done where the Duchess of Windsor has hers done. I can’t thank Your Royal Highness enough for the business your patronage has sent my way.”
“I should set up a salon here and charge them a little extra.” Wallis laughed that too-loud laugh of hers, and somewhere outside, one of the terriers barked.
“That isn’t a bad idea.” Mrs. Bethel removed the cape from around Wallis’s neck and handed her a mirror.
