“I’ll show you the garden.” She led him outside. They followed the main path beneath the palms and the poinciana trees with their vibrant red flowers and spreading branches where iguanas lounged or tugged at the bright petals. The Bahamian gardeners worked near the house, trimming the bougainvillea while chatting with each other in Bahamian Creole. Amelia understood only a word or two and left them to their conversation as she led Peter to the far end of the garden, where the Caribbean pines and yellow elder trees offered shade and privacy. “What brings you here?”
“I had business with the railroad in Miami and decided to take a plane over to see you. Wallis was kind enough to invite me here when I called to arrange it. I rather wanted to see it and you for myself. Theodore said you were looking well.”
“I know he didn’t say that.”
“Well, not in so many words. He said you were as chic as the high-class whore you worked for.”
“That sounds more like him.” A bright green anole lizard darted across the path in front of them as Amelia debated asking the next question. “What did Mother say?”
“That if you’re going to work for a whore, at least it’s one who’s finally given you some sense of style.”
“Practically a compliment.”
“Mother is Mother the way Wallis is Wallis and she isn’t going to change any more than Wallis will. We simply have to accept them as they are and work with them as best we can. But you’ve changed. You’re nothing like you used to be.”
“Good.” She never wanted to be that meek and gullible mouse again.
He glanced around to make sure no one was near them. “Your friend Mr. Morton called on me in Baltimore and told me what you’ve been up to these last few years.”
Amelia touched the bonne chance charm, shocked as much by this as seeing Peter in the flesh.
“He said you worked at the Embassy in London during the Blitz. I could hardly believe it. You in the middle of all that, it’s really something.”
“I just did what everyone else did. The sound of planes still makes me want to dive for cover.”
He sat beside her on an iron bench beneath a rubber tree. “I’m serious. It took a lot of guts to do that, and what you’re doing here.”
She cocked her head at him. “My work for Wallis?”
“No.” He tugged his tie and looked around again, as if expecting a gardener to jump out from behind a bush. Then he leaned forward and whispered, “The other stuff.”
It wasn’t possible. “How do you know?”
“Mr. Morton told me something of it, at least what he could. He said I’d be shot if I told anyone else. I don’t think he was kidding. I don’t know much about it but I know enough.” He took her hand and held it tight. “You’ve done well for yourself with school and your job and now this. It’s what I came here to tell you. I’m proud of you.”
She covered his hand with her other one. “You don’t know what that means to me.”
“I do. I’m sorry I wasn’t always there for you after Father died, and all the things with Jackson. If I hadn’t been so wrapped up in college and my life, maybe I could’ve stopped you from getting in trouble, but I was and I regret it. I want to make it right.”
“What about Mother?” She’d never expected this. Perhaps there was another miracle waiting for her.
“When the war is over we can tell her about you and she might soften.”
She shot him a skeptical look.
“Or not, but it’s worth a try. I can’t wait to hear your stories when you’re free to tell them.”
Peter stayed for lunch with Amelia and Wallis, who was in top form as hostess, reminiscing about summers at Cousin Lelia’s while laying on a simple but substantial offering of rock lobster and pigeon peas and rice. The Duke dropped in to eat his usual fruit tart before leaving to meet with the Governor’s Executive Council.
At the end of the day, Wallis and Amelia stood at the front door to wave Peter off before Corporal Sawyer drove him to the airport. It was hard to see him go but she was glad he’d come.
“I think that went very well,” Wallis said with the same pride as when one of her dinner parties was a success.
“Thank you for arranging it. It was good to see him.” It gave her hope for a different future, Thanksgivings with family and new and better memories of home.
“I had to make him welcome, on your behalf. That bitch mother of yours will never come around, but I want you to have someone on your side the way I’ve had you and Aunt Bessie on mine.”
Amelia didn’t know what to say. Peter was right: Wallis was Wallis, and she could be caring and a witch at the same time. She’d done something so sweet for Amelia, who was actively working against her.
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.
