B008AZB1XW EBOK (19 page)

Simon slipped his arm over Elizabeth’s shoulder and kissed the edge of her forehead.

Elizabeth rested her head on his shoulder. “This is nice, isn’t it?”

“Perfect.”

“The river, the bridge; it’s a definite Kodak moment.”

“It is, but that isn’t what I meant,” Simon said. “I meant this. Us. Together.”

The butterflies that had been hibernating in Elizabeth’s stomach morphed into a squadron of Spitfires. “Our we is better than my me.”

Simon cleared his throat. “What I mean to say is. Elizabeth, will you—”

“Show me your papers.”

“Will I…what?”

“Papers,” the man behind them said again. He walked around in front of them. “ID Cards, if you please?”

Simon looked like he wanted to throttle the warden and Elizabeth would have gladly held the man down while he did. But, Simon merely grunted and handed the warden their papers.

“Long way from home,” the man said as he peered at Simon through dirty wire-rimmed spectacles.

“We’re just here for the night. Going to the Spitfire Fundraiser.”

“Hmm.” The warden handed back their papers. “Best move along then. This is no place to be after dark.”

“Of course,” Simon said in a voice so tightly polite it could have snapped. “Thank you.”

With a sigh, Simon held out his hand and helped Elizabeth up. They both nodded to the warden and hurried toward the path to the stairs. By the time they reached the bridge, the sun and the moment were gone.

~~~

The walk to Guildhall was quiet. No matter how much Elizabeth wanted to rewind or just tell Simon “yes,” she had to find the patience to let him do this in his own time and his own way. So, they both pretended he hadn’t just almost proposed. Again. But he had and Elizabeth’s heart swelled to match the smile she was trying so desperately to hide. She tried not to think the words “Mrs. Simon Cross” or “Elizabeth West-Cross” or “Elizabeth West, wife of Professor Simon Cross” or “The Professor and Mrs. Cross”, but those and a dozen of others clouded her mind.

The Spitfire Fund Gala was held in the main ballroom of one of Bath’s gorgeous Georgian buildings. They bought tickets at the door from the ladies manning the entrance on the ground floor, and climbed the grand staircase to the first floor into what felt like an indoor fair. The near part of the room was cordoned off for games and challenges, while the far end served as a dance floor. Big band music gave the elegant room a fun, raucous edge.

Elizabeth’s skin prickled with anticipation. The book they’d spent the last few days searching for was here. Somewhere.

“Let me see what I can find out about the auction,” Simon said, as he excused himself and went off in search of someone in charge.

Unable to stand still and wait, Elizabeth wandered amongst the small game stalls. There was even a caricature of Hitler without ears and crying like a baby. For merely 5p, people could pin the donkey ears on the Fuhrer. Elizabeth had spent 10p and got him right in the kisser, twice, much to the pleasure of the crowd, before Simon returned.

“We’re supposed to look for a Mrs. Abbott.” Simon explained as he came to her side. “She’s in charge of the auction. They wouldn’t tell me anything else.”

“Any idea where to start?”

A voice came over the loud speakers and the music faded. “May I have your attention, please?” the woman said. “Over here. Next to the kissing booth! “

Elizabeth stretched onto her tiptoes to see who was talking. A beautiful woman in her early thirties stood on a small makeshift stage and waved to the crowd. “Thank you,” she said in a perfect cut-glass accent. “Thank you so much for coming and supporting our boys. I’m Mrs. Abbott.”

There was a round of applause from the crowd. “I’m guessing we start there,” Elizabeth said.

“I’d like to thank the gentlemen who normally use this lovely historic space for allowing us to usurp it for the evening.” She winked at a man in full Naval dress. “And of course, to the ladies auxiliary for their help with the refreshments and the young Americans, where are you?” She scanned the floor.

A small group of US army enlisted men whistled, waved and said things like “over here baby!”

“Right there, yes.” She read from a small index card. “From the 1st Battalion, 16th Infantry Regiment, 1st Infantry Division for their help with our many booths.”

Another round of applause bubbled up from the crowd.

“Remember, every shilling you donate, every ticket you purchase brings us that much closer to reaching our goals. That much closer to giving our brave troops the tools they need to win this blasted war!”

The room nearly exploded with applause.

“Together we can see this through. I’ve never been so proud as I am tonight, to be part of Bath. Part of Somerset. Part of England!”

Elizabeth had to hand it to the lady; she was a pro. She waved to the crowd as the applause continued until the music started again and she stepped down.

Elizabeth and Simon walked toward her before they lost her in the crowd. She was even more beautiful up close. Mrs. Abbott’s skin was pale and perfect, and her dress actually shimmered. Elizabeth tugged on the collar of her own plain dress. All that could be said for hers was that it was finally clean.

Simon smoothed down his hair and straightened his tie. “Let me handle this.” He stepped forward.

Mrs. Abbott made charming small talk and whirled about to accept the adulation of many admirers. She even schmoozed gracefully. “Oh, thank you. Such an important cause. It’s the least I can do.”

“Mrs. Abbott,” Simon said. “Very rousing speech.”

“Thank you,” she said and was about to spin away and be willowy to someone else, when she did a double take. An actual old-timey movie double take and her engaging smile, engaged fully on Simon. “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure,” she said extending her hand like a drooping flower.

Elizabeth cocked her head slightly to the side, surprised, but not really, at the small stab of jealousy that poked through. Anything for the cause, she reminded herself.

“Forgive me.” Simon took her hand gently. “Sir Simon Cross.”

He whipped out that title like a…like a person with a title would. Mrs. Abbott’s pale gray eyes visibly sparkled at the mere mention of his sir-iness. She took a quick measure of Simon and must have liked how things added up. She slipped her arm into his and without so much as a how do you do, took him off into the crowd.

Elizabeth stood there, mouth open, like a giant pile of dumb. Finally, she managed to snap out of it and trailed after them like a piece of toilet paper stuck to one of their shoes.

He was just trying to get information; that was all. This was just a recon mission. She trusted Simon. It was that snooty vamp she didn’t trust. No one had that much going for them without a pact with the devil or a lot of air brushing. Possibly both.

After a few minutes, Simon eased away from her clutches and pulled Elizabeth to the side. “The silent auction won’t start until ten. They’ll open the viewing room for half an hour before that. I think though,” he said with a glance over his shoulder, “with a little work, I could get in early.”

Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest. “I bet you could. Sir Simon.”

“Now, Elizabeth—”

She couldn’t help it. She was feeling extra stabby. “Don’t now Elizabeth me. I saw how she looked at you.”

Simon laughed.

Elizabeth put her hands on her hips. Under normal circumstances she didn’t consider herself a jealous person, and she wasn’t jealous. She wasn’t. She was insulted, riled. Simon continued to laugh and Elizabeth rolled her eyes. Oh hell, she was jealous. “It’s not funny.”

“Trust me, it is,” Simon said. “I don’t think we’ve ever been anywhere where some man hasn’t hit on you. And for once, the shoe is on the other foot.”

“I’d like to ram my foot—”

“Elizabeth!”

“I’m sorry.” She was sorry. A little.

Simon smiled and gently touched her cheek. “You’ve nothing to worry about. Let me see if I can charm her into viewing the items early.”

“Just make sure that’s all she shows you.”

Simon looked around the room and found Mrs. Abbott. “She is quite attractive.”

Elizabeth knew he was teasing her, but her petulant gene spliced with jealousy anyway. “Maybe you should take off your wedding ring.”

“Oh, no,” he said, turning the ring on his finger. “I think it excites her.”

“And on that note,” Elizabeth said. “I need a drink.”

Simon started to say something, but Elizabeth beat him to it. “No scrumpy.”

~~~

Evan had grown used to the little cottage. It had only been a few days, but it was so charming and peaceful, he’d quickly fallen into a routine and felt quite at home. He felt stronger too. Last night, he’d slept through the night without nightmares for the first time in he couldn’t remember how long.

The foodstuffs were mostly edible, but he did venture down into the village earlier that day. He’d done a masterful job of blending in even if he did say so himself and to himself. That was the one thing he missed. Company. While he was in the hospital, he missed Lillian every hour of every day, but his mind was never fully clear. Now that it was, he felt that ache to see her even more keenly.

He tried to remember the day he left, but the memory wouldn’t come. All sorts of others slipped into its place. The day he brought Gerald home. The day he proposed. The day he met her. He’d been on assignment in Chicago. It was 1871 and the night before the Great Fire. Together, they’d survived. Now, she was facing that horror again. But this time she was alone.

Why on earth had he left? Now, it seems absurd that he ever left her side, even for a minute. What he wouldn’t give to have that chance again.

He stabbed at the fire in the hearth. The poker brought the coals back to life. “Lillian.”

A loud knocking on the door made him jump and turn toward it. Damn, it must have been the fire that gave him away. Why was it always the fire?

The knocking came again. “Hello?”

With the poker still in one hand he went to the door. “Who is it?”

“A friend.”

“You’ve got the wrong house.”

“No,” the man said. “Simon Cross sent me.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Elizabeth didn’t like it. Didn’t like it one teeny tiny, itty bitty bit. Why did Simon and Mrs. Abbott have to look so perfect together, like something out of Vanity Fair? They both carried themselves with the easy grace that privilege and excellent breeding gave a person. Elizabeth had a whole lot of neither.

“I’d like to begin her beguine,” Elizabeth mumbled as she watched them glide around the dance floor, effortlessly, like they were glued together. It was beautiful, graceful and slightly nauseating. Finally, the song ended and Glenn Miller’s In the Mood came on. Simon and Mrs. Abbott left the dance floor, heads together, whispering conspiratorially.

The young American servicemen, no older than the incoming freshmen she’d seen every day, hooted and jumped onto the floor. One of them leapt up into the air and came down into a splits that looked so painful, Elizabeth’s hamstring twinged in sympathy. He popped right back up though and two of the men began the most raucous, athletic jitterbug she’d ever seen. The crowd parted to give them room and applauded after each wild flip.

The beat was infectious and Elizabeth couldn’t stop herself from dancing in place. One of the soldiers saw her and grabbed onto her hand. Before she could protest, he’d pulled her onto the floor. She had no idea what she was doing, but the boys didn’t care. They twirled her, swung her around, picked her up and flipped her over their backs. One slung her into the air and another snatched her up. It was all she could do not to fly into the crowd in a wild spin. Somehow, the boys kept her upright and they jitterbugged and lindy hopped until Elizabeth was ready to pass out or the song ended, whichever happened first. Luckily, it was the song that ended and not Elizabeth.

The boys from Company B helped keep her mind off Simon. They were loud and charming and hell-bent for fun. Whoever said US GIs were overpaid, oversexed and over here had it right. Except for the pay part. There wasn’t enough money on Earth to pay these boys for what they were about to do. It was horrifying to realize that most of these kids would never see their next birthday. Considering what they were facing, Elizabeth felt ashamed of her selfishness and pettiness earlier. Simon would be fine and they’d do what they had to do to find the Shard.

~~~

For over an hour Simon endured Mrs. Abbott’s ceaseless innuendos. He’d had his fill of women like her. He had been expected, in fact, to marry a woman who had been very much like her, beautiful but cold and shallow, raised to care about herself above all. He’d given that up when he’d moved to America. Had given up, really, on love of any sort. Until Elizabeth. How he’d rather be holding her than Mrs. Abbott right now. However, circumstances dictated something else and Simon dutifully played his part as the willing lover. Judging from some of the looks he received, it seemed he wouldn’t be the only man who’d had the role. She was a rich widow, bored with war and looking for excitement, and, apparently, used to finding it.

When Mrs. Abbott led him into the Aix-en-Provence room, Simon hoped she was going to show him the auction items, but she had something else in mind. It was all he could do to pry her off him and get to the table with the books.

“Wonderful items,” he said, barely sidestepping her wandering hand.

“Find anything interesting?” she asked seductively.

“Yes.”
The Book of Iona
was there, but the box was gone. They were so close and still so far away. “This volume, there’s supposed to be an ornate case. Is it here somewhere?”

“Mr. Watson took care of all the details,” she said, leaning against the table, palms flat on the surface, back arched seductively. “Are you really more interested in some stuffy old box than you are in me?”

Simon had to tread carefully. “Of course not. It’s just a trifle, but I was hoping to add it to my collection.”

“You like to collect things?” she said as she walked her fingers up his chest.