Finn pushed himself into sitting position, wincing against the pain in his leg, but this conversation was too important to handle while lying down. He owed Bertie Hoover his life. The reason Mathilde had been able to feed and tend his injuries was all due to the supplies sent in by the CRB. Mathilde, her family, and millions of other decent people whose lives had been upended by the war had all been put at risk when Finn hitched a ride on the barge.
“I didn’t understand the details of your operation or the riskI was bringing to it. All I knew was that my presence endangered the woman who hid me in her house. The Germans execute people for such things. I needed to get back to France, but I wish now I’d found a different way of escape. I’m truly sorry.”
“Prove it.”
“How?”
“You’re a celebrity. The first American hero of this war, and you were kept alive by the supplies sent in by the CRB. Ever since the U.S. entered the war, I’ve lost my government funding. My donors are being lured to other causes. The CRB is on the verge of collapse for want of funds. I need a charismatic face to get people to open their wallets to the tune of three million dollars a month.”
Finn sagged against the pillow again. Three million dollars? He couldn’t even get his mind around a number that big.
“You have to understand. I’m not good at that sort of thing. I can fly an airplane and face down the Germans in a dogfight, but don’t ask me to speak in public.”
Bertie used his cigar to point in Finn’s face. “Youoweme, and I’m not asking. I’mtellingyou that your new assignment is to raise funds for the CRB, and you begin immediately.”
8
Delia’s plans to press forward with Wesley were delayed first by his bout with a head cold, then by a trip with his daughter to visit colleges in Boston. Two weeks had passed, and he had barely been in the office at all. It was fortunate they had no court appearances until next month. The only truly pressing matter was their volunteer work regarding the Commission for the Relief of Belgium. The organization was hemorrhaging cash, and the charity’s annual meeting loomed on Monday.
It was late Friday afternoon when the bombshell landed on Delia’s desk. She and Reginald were the only people in the office, and the casual way Reginald set the CRB’s budget on her desk gave no hint of the trouble it contained.
Delia gaped at the balance sheet. The humanitarian organization wasn’t merely running a deficit; it was on the verge of bankruptcy. Reginald was an accountant and ought to have sounded the alarm immediately.
“Why didn’t you show this to Wesley when he was here this morning?” she asked Reginald.
“Because Wesley was engaged in business that actually generates revenue for the firm. His charitable interest in the CRB ought to come after his obligations to paying clients.”
Delia pursed her lips. She knew exactly how Wesley was going to react to this report: he would be incensed that it was allowed to gather dust while Reginald pinched pennies. She held the report aloft. “What caused the CRB’s budget to plummet more than a million dollars in the space of a month?”
Reginald calmly took back the report. “Alfred Pollard informed us that he will be redirecting his donations to Liberty Bonds. As a patriotic American, he is more concerned with the health and safety of the troops marching into a war zone than freeloaders depending on the charity of others.”
There was no point in her wasting time arguing with Reginald. Alfred Pollard was the largest donor to the CRB, and the organization might not survive without his generosity. She snatched the report back from Reginald and slipped it into her briefcase. “I want to get this to Wesley before he has dinner with his daughter.”
Reginald smirked. “Still polishing the apple for Wesley?”
She ignored the taunt and hurried out the door. By the time she got to the subway and traveled across town, the sun was beginning to set. She still had three more blocks to go, hurrying along the treelined sidewalk, before reaching Wesley’s town house.
Hints of prosperous domesticity were all around. Mothers pushing baby carriages, parents sitting on their front stoops to take in the sunset, lovers holding hands as they strolled down the walk. Would she someday live here? For a girl who had grown up in an orphanage, it seemed impossible. But with each passing week, she sensed Wesley’s resistance to her continuing to slip. Hopefully, his obsession with the difference in their ages would fade soon because she was tired of waiting.
She quickened her pace, eager to get the budget report to him before he sat down to dinner with Amy. He might even ask her to join them. His town house was straight ahead. Window boxes filled with scarlet geraniums lent a cheery touch to the otherwise formal white limestone facade.
A carriage passed Delia and slowed near Wesley’s house. Itwas a nice carriage with brass fittings and glossy red spokes in the wheels. Before it rolled to a halt, Wesley appeared at the door and sprang down the short flight of steps. He arrived at the carriage just as its door swung open.
A woman alighted, laughing as she accepted Wesley’s assistance to step down from the carriage. Delia caught her breath as she recognized Constance Beekman, a widow whom Wesley had helped settle a few thorny legal issues concerning her late husband’s estate. She looked splendid in her lilac suit, its jacket and pleated skirt perfectly tailored. She even had on a matching silk beret pinned to her upswept chestnut hair.
A rock landed in Delia’s stomach. Mrs. Beekman had already concluded her business with their firm, hadn’t she? What other reason could she have for visiting Wesley?
Delia remained frozen on the sidewalk as Wesley clasped the other woman’s hands and kissed her on both cheeks.
Both cheeks! This wasn’t the way Wesley usually greeted women of his acquaintance. He was always gracious and polite, but never forward. Yet here he was, extending his arm to escort Mrs. Beekman into his home. As the door closed behind them, Delia still hadn’t moved a muscle.
It would be wrong to assume something was going on between Wesley and the elegant widow just because he gave her a warm greeting. There could be an innocent explanation for this, but it still felt as though a thousand dreams were crumbling, the disenchantment making it hard for her to breathe.
She still needed to deliver the CRB’s budget report to Wesley. She’d rather run away and conjure innocent explanations for what she’d just witnessed, but that wasn’t an option. Her limbs were heavy with dread as she walked to the town house and climbed the front steps. The lacy curtains in Wesley’s sitting room were open, allowing her to peer inside. Wesley and Mrs. Beekman were sitting together on the sofa in the parlor. Wesley’s arm was around her shoulders, and she had a hand on his knee.
Delia jerked her gaze away as though she’d been burned. But she had to get this over with, so she banged the brass knocker on the door. As soon as she delivered the budget report, she could flee home and collapse, but not a moment before.
A maid answered the front door with a smile. “Miss Delia!” she greeted.
