Beyond All Dreams (17 page)

It was that connection to Maine that Luke hoped would buy him a little goodwill. He made an appointment to meet with the secretary at his home. Upon arriving at the leafy neighborhood in Georgetown, Luke was surprised to be led into the backyard, where Secretary Long was wearing a battered old coat, mud-encrusted boots, and a pair of work gloves.

“You're from a logging family,” the secretary said. “Prove it by helping me fix this fence.” He handed Luke a splitting maul, and the two of them worked to knock the rails free of the post to begin the repairs.

“I can't stand anything that smacks of navy rigmarole and hidebound rules,” Secretary Long groused as he rocked the post free of the soil. “They only bother me if they need something signed, but I hear you've been asking about an old shipwreck. What's that about?”

Luke explained Anna's concern over the validity of the old government report on the sinking of the
Culpeper
. Secretary Long grunted as he hefted the post from the ground.

“Look, Callahan, here's the thing,” the secretary said. “Admiral Channing signed off on that report back when he was still a junior officer wet behind his ears. They know it's full of errors, but it would be an embarrassment to admit it. Admiral Channing is the best thing this navy has seen in decades. We can't risk damaging his reputation. So tell this young lady to
stand down. She's probably right that the
Culpeper
was a lot farther south when it sank, but we won't be revising that report just to make her happy.”

Luke thanked Secretary Long, careful to verify what he had learned. A few well-placed questions confirmed Admiral Channing's burgeoning reputation, and from what Luke knew of Washington politics, it made perfect sense. He had firsthand experience with the way people could close ranks around favored politicians, while draining the life from ones who'd been deemed troublesome.

It wasn't until he knocked on the door of a retired diplomat that he got an answer he'd never expected to hear. Jeremiah Hammond was ninety years old, and he could remember the main courses served at White House dinners almost half a century ago. He'd served in diplomatic posts all over the world and had seen the
Culpeper
many times over the years.

And what he had to say about the ship was astounding. Luke was so baffled, he asked the old diplomat to repeat the story before he could accept that he was hearing correctly.

“Are you certain?” Luke pressed. It would be cruel to bring this kind of information to Anna unless it could be verified.

“I know what I saw,” Jeremiah replied. “The
Culpeper
was docked in the bay of Manila two years after it supposedly sank off the coast of Bermuda. It had been freshly painted and had a new name, but it had a big metal sounding machine bolted to its stern, the kind exploring ships use. That kind of ship costs a fortune, and the
Culpeper
was unique. I know it was the same ship.”

Luke was flabbergasted. “What did you do?”

“I asked the navy about it, and they insisted I was mistaken. I didn't have any proof, and the navy was adamant the ship sank, so I dropped it. Very clannish folks, those navy fellows. That
was back in 1884. I remember because it was the same year I had dinner with Thomas Jefferson.”

“Thomas Jefferson? The one who wrote the Declaration of Independence?”

Jeremiah nodded. “Did you know he had red hair? Very clever, that young man.”

Relief trickled through Luke. Jeremiah Hammond was ancient, but not old enough to have dined with Thomas Jefferson. The man's mind was clearly failing, and it called into question everything he'd just said about the
Culpeper
.

Luke thanked the old diplomat and headed back to the Capitol, mulling over the strange new information about the
Culpeper
. What was he supposed to do with it? He couldn't tell Anna. He needed more proof of the ship's survival than the sketchy memory of a ninety-year-old man. The diplomat could have had his dates wrong. Or the ship's sighting could be a figment of his imagination, just like his dinner with Thomas Jefferson.

Besides, if he told this to Anna, it would stir her suspicions like a tornado. It didn't take much to stoke Anna's overactive imagination, and it would be cruel to tell her unless he had real proof.

Later that evening, Luke sat sprawled in a club chair in the congressional retiring room, an oversized globe on the floor beside him. He idly tapped his shoe on the globe, setting it into a slow rotation as he watched the continents and oceans of the world rotate. Fifty-six men disappeared along with that ship. Anna's request aside, what obligation did he have to those men? They were American sailors, and it appeared the navy's official story about their fate had been covered up to protect the reputation of the officer who signed off on a shoddy report.

He drew a deep breath, massaging the skin between his eyes. He wouldn't lie to protect anyone, but withholding Jeremiah's ramblings wasn't precisely a lie, was it? Everything he knew
about politics told him that Secretary Long was correct, and the old diplomat was confused.

But Luke still didn't know what to do.

It didn't take long to find a treasure trove of information about Violet Desjardins. Gertrude discovered that the opera singer had left the stage a decade ago, married an Italian aristocrat, and now lived in a villa overlooking Italy's Lake Como.

Anna sat in the map room and stared at Violet's photograph. When Luke told her of the singer who traveled through Bangor long ago, she suspected Violet had been a washed-up vaudeville performer.

That wasn't the case. She was a wealthy woman of stunning beauty. The black-and-white photograph showed a middle-aged woman still hauntingly beautiful, draped in jewelry and diaphanous silk. Violet's posture was self-assured, her skin perfect as she gave a half smile at the camera, lovingly fingering a long rope of gemstones draped around her neck.

Gertrude also brought articles about the famous opera singer. Anna devoured every word of them. Violet's answers to the questions were confident, witty, and elegant. In one interview she was asked about the collection of jewelry she'd acquired on her travels through Russia, France, and the Mediterranean islands. She had a brooch from a Russian prince and a torque excavated from an Etruscan dig in Crete. When asked what her favorite piece of jewelry was, she laughed and dismissed her famous collection of jewelry.

“I've always been quite fond of tourmalines,” Violet was reported to have said.

Anna grabbed the black-and-white photograph of Violet, studying each detail. It was impossible to know for certain, but
she'd bet her bottom dollar the long rope of gems around her neck were tourmalines. It set off a surge of jealousy. Had they been a gift from Luke?

“Hello, Anna.”

She dropped the picture. Luke stood in the doorway, a rolled-up report in his hand. As he crossed the room toward her, she tried to shuffle the photograph beneath a stack of papers, but he'd already spotted it.

“Is that . . . ?” He pulled the photograph from beneath the papers, his face going very still as he recognized the woman in the picture. She wanted to sink into the floor and disappear, especially given the way he seemed hypnotized by the image of the woman he'd once loved.

“Why do you have this?” he finally asked.

Her mouth went dry and the room felt unaccountably hot. “I was curious,” she admitted.

The fondness in Luke's eyes as he looked at Violet's photograph was unmistakable. Was he still in love with her? Did he know she had married? Luke seemed too mesmerized to drag his eyes away from the photograph and articulate a coherent sentence. Or issue a normal greeting. Or even breathe.

“She's still beautiful,” he said. “It's hard to look at a picture like this and not wonder about what might have been if only . . .”

His sentence trailed off as he stared at the picture, a faint smile on his lips. “Violet Desjardins,” he murmured, almost like a prayer. “That woman could hold a room of people spellbound merely by talking about the weather.”

The jealousy festering in Anna grew and expanded. She had no business getting jealous over Violet, but what would it be like to be the recipient of the unabashed adoration she saw glowing on his face. Literally
glowing
! His thumb traced the edge of the picture, and his deep poet's expression turned wistful.

He tossed the photograph down. “Violet and I would have been a disaster,” he said with a note of humor creeping into his voice.

“You would?”

“We were too much alike. Impulsive. Hotheaded. It was an exhilarating ride, but a dangerous one. I've always needed someone to reel me in, and she couldn't do that. I wanted the two of us to run off, get married, and shoot straight for the stars. It would have been spectacular, until we killed each other competing for center stage.” He looked at her, a half smile on his face. “You'd be a much better choice in that respect.”

She moved back a half step. “Why are you here?” she asked, eager to change the subject.

“I thought you might like to know what I found out about the
Culpeper
.”

“You found something?” She forgot about the pictures and gestured for him to sit. “Tell me.”

Luke took a seat, looking stiff and uncomfortable. “Anna, I've spoken with people from the navy, the War Department, and the State Department. There's no grand conspiracy or mystery; it's all just an attempt to save Admiral Channing's reputation.”

Her spirits sank as Luke outlined the coordinated campaign to protect Admiral Channing's sterling reputation. The man's military prowess rivaled Napoleon, but as a young officer he'd been sloppy with the paper work, and that was why the navy was so adamant in their refusal to reopen the case.

Luke's news ought to have been comforting. She didn't want to imagine there was some dark plot behind the disappearance of the
Culpeper
, but something still didn't sit right.

“It still seems strange,” she said, “the way everyone was so hostile to me.”

“Now you know why.”

“Are you sure?” she pressed. “Are you positive that's all there is?

“I'm certain of it, Anna.”

She could trust him. Of all the men in Washington, Luke had vowed he would never lie or varnish the truth. And why should she be disappointed by this news? She didn't really believe her father had somehow miraculously survived, and yet it irked her to leave that final report on the
Culpeper
uncorrected. Her entire life had been devoted to cultivating and protecting the world of information. So was her father's. How could she stay silent about such an inaccurate report?

It was almost as if Luke could read her mind. “Buy the typewriter and write your father's story,” he suggested, a conspiratorial glint in his eye. “Set the record straight. If Admiral Channing needs to hide behind the skirts of a map librarian to protect his reputation, he isn't worthy of his rank.”

When he talked like that, she felt as if she actually had the power to make a mark in the world. She was trapped in his gaze, savoring the energy that flowed between them simply by looking into his eyes.

“Anna . . . would you join me for dinner tonight?”

She jerked back in her chair. It was one thing to dream about a man like Luke, but stepping into the real world beside him was quite another.

“I'm not the sort of woman who can hold a room of people spellbound by talking about the weather. You don't know who I really am.” The girl who'd been teased on the playground, who clammed up in front of crowds, who got nervous even venturing into unexplored hallways of the Capitol.

He stared at her for the longest time, and she fought the temptation to fidget in her seat. Finally he rose, adjusted his vest, and headed for the door. Relief gusted out of her lungs. She gathered the articles about Violet Desjardins into a stack
with the photograph on top. They'd need to be returned to Gertrude before . . .

Luke strode back into the room, and she dropped the pages, startled by the intensity on his face.

“I don't know why you are so distrustful of me,” he said. There was no accusation in his voice, only frustrated bewilderment. “If it's the last thing I do, I intend to earn your trust and convince you I know
exactly
who you are, and I adore you anyway. Maybe then you won't be so intimidated by a happily married woman who lives five thousand miles away.”

He glanced both ways, scanning the room and finding it empty of onlookers. He leaned down and planted a long, deep kiss directly on her mouth. He pulled back, his face flushed with determination. “Or afraid of a man who wants to lay his heart at your feet.”

This time he left for good. She stared at his back in stunned disbelief as he walked out the door, her lips tingling and her heart pounding.