She’d been taught to watch for the blue light at Bournemouth, a rare phenomenon that, under the right conditions, could alert her to secret transmissions. She didn’t know if this transmission was secret but someone was defiantly radioing something somewhere. She peered out into the darkness at the cargo ship, wondering if the Southern Cross had radioed it out of a seagoing courtesy she wasn’t familiar with. She tried to see if a similar blue light illuminated the top of the other ship’s antenna when, all of a sudden, the vessel erupted in a ball of flame. Pieces of the hull shot into the sky with an explosion that echoed over the water and silenced the musicians and the guests.
Everyone hurried to the railing, surrounding Amelia with gasps of horror.
“What is it?” Wallis said from beside her, the fear that had paralyzed her during the Paris air raid making her voice quaver. The woman could bluster about her title and standing but the minute she encountered a real threat, she crumpled like a paper bag.
“I’d say the poor bastards were torpedoed,” the Duke said. “U-boat, most likely.”
“Torpedoes?” Wallis nearly hyperventilated at the possibility that they could be the next vessel to go up in flames from the unseen U-boat. The danger hung in the air with the thick smoke and the cries from the sailors flailing in the water.
“We have to help the survivors,” Amelia said. “We can’t leave them to drown.”
“We have to go back to port before we’re attacked.” Wallis looked ready to walk on water to get there.
“We’re perfectly safe,” Mr. Wenner-Gren assured her. “They wouldn’t dare attack us.”
He exchanged a look with Wallis that immediately settled the panic in her blue eyes and made the hair on the back of Amelia’s neck rise. Of course they were safe; he’d probably told the Germans they were in the area, along with the coordinates of the cargo ship.
Amelia looked at the antenna. There was no blue glow coming from it.
“We should help them,” the Duke said.
“At once, Your Royal Highness.” Mr. Wenner-Gren picked up the ship’s phone and gave directions in Swedish to whoever was on the other end of the line.
The engines whirred into life and the wind whipped the guests as the yacht sped up to carry them to the quickly disappearing ship. The flames were doused as the ship stood, stern up out of the water, and slowly slipped beneath the waves, casting the flailing survivors into darkness. As they steamed toward them, the Southern Cross’s crew prepared the lifeboats.
“We should get blankets and coffee ready for the survivors,” Amelia suggested to Wallis. “Imagine what the newspapers will say when they find out you’re involved in saving their lives.”
“They’ll be positively ecstatic.” The plotting tone in her voice was sickening. “Ladies, we have to prepare food and accommodations for those poor souls. Amelia, get some blankets.”
“I’ll show you where they are,” Barin offered. “Follow me.”
Barin led Amelia inside, past the dining room, the smoking room, and down the stairs to the lower deck with the staterooms. She then led her to a linen closet, checking to make sure no one was around before she spoke. “This isn’t the first time we’ve picked up survivors from a torpedo attack. Last year, before the Windsors arrived, we rescued three hundred people from the SS Athenia.”
“How fortunate the Southern Cross was so close.” They both knew it wasn’t a coincidence.
“That was quite an evening you had,” Eugenie said, reading the newspaper article about the hundred sailors they’d rescued from the SS Malta. The New York Times article praised Wallis, writing as if she’d rowed the lifeboats back and forth between the yacht and the survivors for the four hours it had taken to get them all on board.
“She’s practically been canonized.” Amelia lay on the cabana chaise, trying to relax in the sun but she couldn’t. She could still see the wounded and haunted men they’d pulled from the ocean and the many others they couldn’t save.
Eugenie tossed the newspaper on the sand beside her bag. “Your suspicions about the Southern Cross radioing the U-boats about the Malta’s position are probably right. With the Lend-Lease Act signed, convoys will soon be crossing the Atlantic with supplies and if Britain doesn’t get them, they won’t survive.”
“Neither will the sailors on those attacked ships. The Southern Cross can’t be at every sinking. Even if it is, it won’t be long before Mr. Wenner-Gren turns his back on what’s left of his humanity and leaves the survivors to drown.”
“Lady Williams-Taylor says they need to know how U-boats are operating this far south. They have to be refueling and taking on supplies somewhere. We have to find out where.”
They met each other’s glance, the answer so obvious they were ashamed they’d both missed it.
“The deepwater harbor,” they said in unison.
Eugenie nodded. “We need proof.”
“He’s throwing a party in Wallis’s honor at Shangri-La tomorrow night. I’ll see what I can find.” Then she’d see Wallis, Mr. Wenner-Gren, and their black hearts go to hell.
“Amelia, there you are,” Wallis said when Corporal Sawyer held open the car door at Government House and Amelia stepped out. “There’s someone here to see you.”
“Who?” She wasn’t expecting anyone.
Wallis waved her into the State Drawing Room and there, standing beneath Wallis’s portrait, was someone she’d never expected to see.
“Peter.”
“Hello, Melly.”
“What are you doing here?” He was the same but different, a few pounds heavier, his dark hair a touch thinner. They had the same brown eyes but her jaw was rounder like Mother’s and his square one resembled Father’s.
He glanced between her and Wallis, who for once readily relinquished attention. “I’ll leave you two alone. I’m sure you have a lot to discuss.”
Amelia remained rooted to the floor, not sure if she should hug him. There weren’t etiquette books for reunions, and after her last one with Theodore, she was cautious. She didn’t have to decide. Peter opened his arms and gave her a firm, heartfelt hug.
“I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too.” She clung to him, and memories of loss combined with a relief she hadn’t experienced in years flooded through her. He still loved her. She didn’t know if he’d forgiven her but he loved her. She backed out of his embrace. “What are you doing here?”
He glanced uneasily at the portrait of Wallis. “Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”
