She took the paper, her eyes drawn to a pen-and-ink drawing of a handsome, albeit terribly intimidating officer in a German uniform. “Who is that?” she asked.
“That’s General Ryckman, the Krau ... that is, the German officer who is the commandant in occupied Belgium. He’s the one who ordered a bounty on my head.”
She gasped. “Really?”
“Really,” Finn replied. “Everyone knew a plane had crashed near the village, and they searched the area high and low. The fact that I escaped gave General Ryckman a black eye, and to this day that bounty on my head is still there. He promised a thousand pounds to anyone who turned me in. He even offered amnesty if whoever helped me came forward, but Mathilde never did.” Finn fiddled with the edges of the newspaper. “This Belgian paper is at the top of the list of things Ryckman hates. Anyone caught helping publish or distributeLa Libre Belgiquewill be arrested on the spot. One of the guys delivering a crate of them to Antwerp was caught red-handed and sentenced to eight years’ hard labor. He was sent to Germany in handcuffs, and nobody’s heard from him since.”
Delia’s heart thudded. Had she known that Finn was fightingoverseas, she’d have been terrified on his behalf. Doubly so after he was shot down. And to know some awful general had put a bounty on his head? It made the horrors of war focus into harsh clarity.
“Finn, I’m not arguing that this isn’t a tragedy, but I think the diplomats should take over. If the first shot had never been fired, none of this would be necessary.”
Finn looked like he wanted to say more, but he shrugged it off. “Yeah, fine,” he said. “Let’s not argue about the war. Tell me about this Pollard fellow and how we can raise money to help Belgium.”
Delia smoothed her collar and decided to follow Finn’s civilized lead. “Alfred Pollard is a self-made millionaire,” she began. “What Rockefeller is to oil, Pollard is to steamships. He has a reputation for being rigid in his ways, so we’ll have to be on our best behavior when we meet with him. He doesn’t drink or smoke, and he insists that every man who works for him be clean-shaven and refrain from swearing. You’ll need a haircut and a shave before we approach him.”
Finn raked a hand through his wavy blond hair. “They’ve been cutting me slack about that since I’m on convalescent leave. That’s why I’m not required to wear my service uniform right now.”
“Well, you’ll need to be in uniform when we see Pollard. He makes all his employees, even the men in the steelworks, remain clean-shaven and in uniform. So that ratty silk scarf of yours will have to go.”
“I’ve got others that aren’t so bad,” Finn said. “All the aviators wear them.”
“Why?”
Finn pulled the scarf from his neck, then dangled it across the back of her hand. “Feel how silky that is. The scarves aren’t fashion statements. We wear them around our necks while flying because the whole time we’re in the air, we’re looking up, down, and side to side, scanning both sky and land for enemy fighters. Without a soft scarf like this one, my neck would get scraped raw by my leather coat.”
She nodded. “Is it cold up there?”
“It’sfreezing. The wind whips against your face and turns your breath into frost. And when you fly through the clouds, your face gets soaked. It’s kind of great, though.”
She shouldn’t be discussing flying with Finn. It would only lead to her wanting to know more, such as what it felt like to be lifted off the ground or to zoom through a cloud. Or better yet, to fly above the clouds and gaze straight up into heaven. They’d often wondered such things when they were young, and revisiting those memories felt dangerous.
“You wore a proper uniform last night,” she said. It was an olive-drab wool but tailored with a standing collar and shoulder straps embroidered with his officer’s rank. It looked respectable, if not quite as dashing as the aviator’s getup he’d worn in the parade.
“My Army dress uniform,” he said. “I’ll wear it if you think it will help.”
“It will. Get a haircut and a shave too.”
A teasing glint lit his eyes. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, his tone carrying a hint of affection.
She needed to leave. It was too tempting being with him, even though little had changed. She needed safety and security, not a whirlwind ride with the man who had broken her trust.
“Yes, wear your dress uniform for our meeting with Pollard,” she instructed. “Be prepared to share your story of how the CRB’s food and medical supplies saved your life in Belgium. I’ll handle the finance piece. Our meeting is at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning.”
Then she cut the meeting short and fled as if the ghost of an old love affair had been awakened and threatened to lure her back into wondrous but risky territory.
13
Pollard Shipping dominated a sprawling complex of warehouses, piers, and office buildings on the east side of the New York Harbor. Unlike typical dockworkers, the men working for Pollard Shipping wore collared shirts with ties, even though their sleeves were rolled up as they loaded cargo, operated cranes, and hoisted crates on and off wooden pallets.
Delia stole a secretive glance at Finn, sitting opposite her in the carriage. Just as she’d asked, he had submitted to a short haircut and a close shave. Shorn of the tawny blond hair, he looked serious and disturbingly more manly. His jaw was sculpted, the column of his neck strong. His formal uniform consisted of a slim-fitting dark tunic adorned with his lieutenant’s rank, brass buttons, and the Sam Browne belt strapped diagonally across his chest. Despite his fine appearance, he seemed uncomfortable as he continuously rotated a cigarette against his pant leg.
“Don’t eventhinkof lighting that cigarette,” she said.
“I’ve been thinking about it ever since I boarded the carriage,” he grumbled.
“When did you start smoking? It seems so unlike you.”
The corner of his mouth tilted. “I don’t even like the taste oftobacco, but I got hooked when I was in France. It turns out that when you’re either bored or scared witless, a cigarette suddenly tastes like fine wine.” He flashed her a grin. “And the cigarette smoke makes you forget how bad everything else smells.” He pulled a pocket lighter flint from his coat and raised the cigarette.
