They saw a little boy try to reach Fala, watched his mom pull him back and stick a straw in his mouth from a bottle of water so he wouldn’t whine.
Elizabeth said, “Frozen. Really? It’s hard to imagine. There’d be utter silence.” She paused a moment. “I can see why you like this place. My grandfather met President Roosevelt.”
“What?”
“He was on Churchill’s staff during World War II, even traveled with him. He didn’t see any fighting, though he’d beentrained at Sandhurst—that’s the royal military academy and officer training center. They assigned him to the War Office in London because of his talents, and that’s where Churchill spotted him.”
“He wasn’t picked because he was an aristocrat, like Churchill, an earl of the realm?”
If her voice had sounded royally snooty before, now it nearly froze him. “I can see why you might think that, Special Agent. Actually, Churchill was brilliant at spotting talent, but you can sneer away, if you wish. You seem to be quite good at it.”
Well, that was a nice solid hit. “All right, no more sneering. Actually, I’m fascinated. What did your grandfather think of Roosevelt?”
“I do remember he said the president was valiant. That’s the word he used. That’s all I remember, sorry. At the time, I didn’t quite know what he meant.” She pointed at the statue. “Is it true everyone tried to hide the fact he was in a wheelchair?”
“Evidently it wasn’t hard to hide his disability from the public since there was no social media, no TV. What Churchill said, that single word makes a perfect tribute.”
“My father told me Grandfather said all the leaders he’d met agreed the war was horrendous and a tragic waste, so many lives lost, so much destruction, all because of a single megalomaniac and his mad ambitions. He wondered what the world would be like when I grew up, but he was sad to say he doubted humanity would change. There’d always be people who wanted what others had and would willingly kill to get it.”
She paused. “I remember my father telling me my grandfather met Clementine, Churchill’s wife. He believed without her Churchill would have continued on, but he’d be dead inside.
“He stayed on with Churchill until he married my grandmother Mary Anne in the late fifties. He was forty-one and Grandmother was twenty-eight. He died too soon, of a heart attack when he was only seventy-seven. I was seven. She diedthe next year, of a broken heart, my parents believe. When I was a child, many times at dinner, my parents would raise a toast to Grandfather and Grandmother. I remember Grandfather carrying me around on his back down to our lake to swim and fish. I missed him. I still miss him.” She raised her chin and said in her coldest voice, “That’s when my father inherited the title and became the tenth Earl of Camden. And yes, it was because he was born to it. He didn’t have to earn it.”
Rome looked at the colossal cascading waterfall, so loud it drowned out all tourist conversations around them. He leaned closer so she would hear him. “What did your grandfather think of Churchill’s paintings?”
She’d thought Rome was a git, tough and smart mouthed, but hardly interested in Churchill’s art. She looked over at him, said slowly, “Churchill painted mainly to keep what he called his black dog of depression at bay. Churchill saw that my grandfather admired a particular impressionist work painted in the South of France and gave it to him. My mom told me Grandfather was very fond of the only painting Churchill ever did of his wife, Clementine, but of course he couldn’t very well ask for it. The French landscape still hangs in my father’s study.”
“Speaking of your parents, do they know what’s happened to you and where you are?”
She said after a moment, “My dad helped me arrange my getaway from England. I doubt my mother knows all of it. I certainly didn’t tell her. The last thing I wanted was to add more alarm. I text them every couple of days, reassure them. And I know Deputy Director Eiserly speaks to Dad frequently. But he’s kept up the pretense he doesn’t know where I am. But I didn’t tell either of them the truth when I left Hurley’s.”
Rome was frowning at her. “Do your parents know about Samir Basara?”
Elizabeth’s voice was matter-of-fact. “Of course, everyone did, it was common knowledge. My friends thought I was verycool. The two of us were very popular in my circle. As for my father, he was appalled. He tried to talk me out of seeing him, said it was making him a laughingstock, and, to be honest, I was secretly pleased to hear it. You see, I was angry at him for hurting my mother with his string of affairs. It was my way of striking back.”
“Your mother knew about your dad’s mistresses?”
“There was a long line, and yes, my mother knew, she knew about all of them. I suppose part of my motivation for being with Samir was to let him feel what it was like to have no power.”
“Of course she has power. She doesn’t have to put up with that crap. She can divorce him. That isn’t against the law now in England, is it?”
Elizabeth grinned. “No, not against the law, and that was pure snark. My mom’s very old-school. She was taught when you married, you signed up for life, so she’s always suffered in silence. Even now, my relationship with my father is strained, though we’ve mended it somewhat over the past year and he did help me get away from England.”
Rome said nothing more as they walked back to the parking lot, baking in the hot, heavy air, wishing he’d had the sense to bring some bottled water. Parents were herding cranky children, guzzling the water he wished he had, no longer snapping photos with their cell phones.
“I can’t believe it’s so hot this late in the day,” Rome said, and first thing, he turned on the air conditioner in the Range Rover. They both leaned over toward the vents. He glanced at his watch. “Perfect timing. Savich knows quite a bit about World War II. You should tell him about your grandfather.”
As Rome started toward Georgetown, he asked her, “Do you drink coffee?”
“Of course.”
“You’re in for a treat. Savich makes the best coffee on the planet.”
Chapter Eighteen
Navarro house
Titusville, Virginia
