“What’s this I hear about financial troubles?” Congressman Donnelly asked.
Bertie Hoover supplied the answer. “When the war began, I thought it would be over in a few months, and I planned on funding it from my own pocket. That was naive. Here we are three years later, and I rely on donations from wealthy men such as yourselves. We need three million dollars a month to keep sending steamships filled with food to Rotterdam, although our donations are drying up. Last year the U.S. government donated fifteen million dollars. With our entry into the war, those payments have ceased, and our largest personal donor, Alfred Pollard, will be ending his support as well.”
News of the dire situation caused a ripple of murmured concern among those in the group. Bertie stood to pace before the fireplace as he continued. “The problem is that I am rich, and that is always the first thing people think when I ask for donations. Why should they open their wallets for a man they believe could buy Central Park on a whim? It’s not true, of course, as I’ve already given most of my fortune away.”
“What about fundraisers?” one of the men asked.
Bertie shook his head. “People would rather give their money to the Red Cross or buy war bonds. Nobody has ever heard of the CRB. They can’t even find Belgium on a map. I need help drumming up new publicity to keep this drive going. I need a charismatic personality to encourage people to open their wallets.”
“Don’t look at me,” Congressman Donnelly said. “I won reelection by only two hundred votes.Youshould do it, Bertie. Everyone likes you. You’re the best natural leader I’ve ever met. The foreman of your mining crew in Australia said the men would follow you over a cliff if you asked it of them.”
Bertie pointed to his face. “Look at me. I’ve got a baby face as interesting as a bowl of oatmeal. I’m not the right man for the job.”
“What do you suggest?” Wesley asked.
Bertie held up a newspaper, folded into quarters to display a story. “This is the kind of man I need,” he said. “He’s an American pilot who was shot down and trapped in Belgium for six weeks. He’s handsome and funny and courageous. Without the relief supplies shipped into Belgium, he would have died, and he knows it. He’s got the potential to be the perfect spokesman for garnering public support.”
Delia’s heart began to thump. She couldn’t see the newspaper, but it sounded like he was referring to Finn. Bertie passed the newspaper around the room and continued speaking. “I want to use this man to lure our former donors back, starting with Alfred Pollard. Finn Delaney’s story is tailor-made to grab people’s attention and highlight the importance of what our cause means to the innocent people of Belgium.”
Delia’s hands shook too badly to keep taking notes. She had consigned Finn to the deepest vault of her heart, a place she never intended to unlock. Now he was about to join the CRB? Bertie was chasing a pipe dream if he thought Finn could persuade hard-nosed millionaires to open their wallets.
“How can we help?” Wesley asked.
“I need help with legal documents to lock the donors in,” Bertie said. “That was my problem before. I didn’t foresee how the U.S. entering the war would cripple our donations, so in addition to finding new sources of revenue, I want contracts that will bind donors to their commitments for the duration of the war.”
Delia cleared her throat, hoping to draw Wesley’s attention. He mustn’t commit them to working with Finn Delaney. The last time she’d trusted Finn, he cleaned out their bank account and stole her money.
“I’d be happy to help,” Wesley said.
She cleared her throat, louder this time. Wesley shot her scoldingglance, along with a tiny shake of his head before turning back to Bertie with a congenial nod of acceptance.
“We’re happy to help however you need,” he said.
Finn wasnottrustworthy and was completely ill-equipped for this task. She couldn’t exactly blurt out how she knew that in front of all these people; she could only pray that Wesley would stop before he committed them any further.
“I also need help getting Lieutenant Delaney up to snuff,” Bertie said. “He has tremendous charisma, but he is a stranger in the high-finance circles of New York. He’s still using crutches, so he’ll need help getting around the city. While he charms the donors, I need his partner to lock down the commitments by getting everything in writing to make it legal.”
“Miss Byrne can begin working with Lieutenant Delaney immediately,” Wesley offered. “She’ll be an excellent choice to prepare a dossier of potential donors and help Lieutenant Delaney secure contributions.”
Delia was so mad she could spit. Was Wesley so cowardly he was kicking her out of the office to escape her?
“It’s settled then,” Bertie Hoover said. “Now, let us proceed to the matter of international shipping lanes and enforcing our right to use them. Wesley, I gather you prepared a legal brief for persuading Germany to grant us safe passage across the Atlantic?”
Shehad prepared that brief.Shewas the one who had given up her weekend to summarize laws governing shipping lanes for humanitarian relief. Wesley gave a sage smile as he opened her brief and read word for word the opening argument she’d prepared.
The meeting concluded after an hour. Most of the men retreated to the far side of the room, where Bertie opened a humidor and produced cigars. Wesley did not smoke. He had the decency to look a little sheepish as he closed the folder, her brief inside.
“A carriage is waiting outside,” he said. “Shall we?”
If they got into an enclosed carriage, she would strangle him. “Outside,” she bit off. “In the garden.”
“Oh, dear. I sense I am about to be read the riot act.”
Delia held on to the edges of her fraying temper as she led the way to the garden behind Bertie’s town house. An ivy-covered brick wall surrounded the dreadfully overgrown patch of land, with shrubs slumping over, hanging vines, and wild roses. A few stone benches were clustered near a leggy herb garden, but Delia was wound too tightly to sit. She set the case down and whirled to face him.
“Who gave you permission to volunteer me for an assignment I don’t want?”
Wesley blanched. She never spoke to him so harshly, but then again, she never realized how Wesley had led her to believe her affection was returned, all while he escorted the lovely Widow Beekman around town.
